Chapter 6
“It’s time .”
Brutis’s voice jolted Madan from his haze.
After his encounter with Azriel, he’d fallen into a light sleep with his head on Whelan’s lap.
As angry as he was at his brother for what he’d done—he’d done worse to Azriel in the past—his partner had been beside himself.
If it hadn’t been for Phulan’s intervention, Madan wasn’t certain Whelan would’ve walked away without gravely injuring Azriel.
The excitement of it all had drained Madan so entirely that he wanted nothing more than to lie down and await Ariadne’s signal. When it came, however, he felt less than prepared despite the hours he’d spent previously setting up for any eventuality.
“What?” Even his thoughts sounded groggy.
Madan groaned as he sat up from Whelan, his mate fussing over him as he moved. Red eyes flickered to his throat, and he grimaced at what he saw there—a bruised replica of his brother’s hand, no doubt.
“Madan?” Ariadne’s distant voice almost went unnoticed until Whelan froze, his brows lowering in concentration as he, too, heard her through their bondhearts’ connections.
“I’m here.” Madan rubbed his eyes to clear the sleep from them.
“I am in the library.”
Oh, fuck. Brutis really meant now when he said it was time.
Launching to his feet, Madan hurried back to the center of the camp where Phulan sat with Edira, Zeke, and Luce at the edge of the dying fire.
Emillie, he guessed, had gone into the tent with the impending daylight quite literally on the horizon.
The Noct would be needed to get Ariadne safely out of Laeton.
Edira pushed a mug of steaming tea into Madan’s hand. “The herbs will wake you up.”
After mumbling his thanks to the high fae, he turned to Phulan. “She’s in the library.”
“I cannot find the book.” Ariadne’s words were frantic as though she were actively searching for what Emillie had described. “Everything in here is different—the library is completely rearranged."
This wasn’t what he needed at that moment.
She should have been able to follow Emillie’s precise directions to where the book should be shelved and get the ritual so Madan could relay it to those with him.
Between Zeke and Luce, he had every reason to be confident they could make it work when applied to a full-blooded dhemon like Ehrun.
“Do I have your permission,” Edira said as he sipped the tea, “to listen in on your conversations? I may be able to help relay information to others while you help Ariadne.”
Madan nodded, distracted as he considered his next move. “Yes, of course.”
Before anyone could stop him—namely Luce—he turned to the tent with Emillie and whipped open the front flap.
His half-sister sat in the dark on her bedroll and startled at his sudden appearance.
Behind him sounded a deep, threatening growl, and he resisted the urge to take the bitterness he had for his brother out on the lycan who was merely trying to protect his sister.
From his pocket, he pulled the Noct Ariadne had given to Emillie and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”
Emillie cringed away from it. “I told you, I do not trust it.”
“I need you to trust me.” Madan shoved as much meaning into his tone as he could muster. “Ariadne can’t find the book, and I need your help. Now get out here.”
He’d never spoken to her like that. Especially as her guard, his instructions had always been light and understanding of her place in the Society.
But they no longer had the luxury of that usual dance of patience.
Not with their mutual sister risking everything to get to the book that only Emillie knew of.
With that, he stepped back and let the flap swing into place. Turning, Madan almost ran smack into Luce in her fae form, who stood so close, eyes blazing, that he startled just like Emillie. He made to step around her, muttering a curse, but she shifted to stand in his way.
“You don’t order her around like that,” Luce said, her voice low and dangerous.
Madan didn’t have time for this, nor was he in the mood to listen. But when he tried to take the high road by side-stepping again and failed, he bared his own fangs at the lycan. “Get out of my way.”
“You have no idea what she’s been through these last few weeks,” Luce whispered. “Don’t ever speak to her like that again.”
“And you don’t get to make such demands,” he snapped back, volume growing with each word, “when you can’t even admit to yourself that you bonded to her!”
Luce’s umber cheeks paled, and her golden eyes snapped to a spot over his shoulder.
Fucking. Great. Madan pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a deep breath, no doubt in his mind that Emillie had emerged from the tent and listened to their argument. As angry as he was at everyone but Whelan, it wasn’t his place to expose the lycan like that.
“Of what do you speak?” Emillie’s soft question doused the growing fire in Madan’s blood. When no one responded right away, she pushed, “Madan?”
He should have bitten his tongue rather than allow Luce to get the better of him. Slowly, Madan turned to his sister while slipping a neutral mask onto his face, praying it was enough to fool his keen-eyed sister. “I—”
“He was telling me,” Luce interrupted, “what he’d said to the Dhemon King when he admitted his bond to Ariadne.”
Emillie narrowed her eyes between them. If she knew they lied, she said nothing against it. Rather, she slung the Noct around her neck and looked pointedly at where Phulan stood with their collection of ritual supplies.
“Come, then.” The corner of Emillie’s mouth tightened as though to keep herself from asking more questions. “If you make me wear this thing, I would like to help my sister.”
Madan hesitated, then said, “Thank you,” before following her to the campfire. “She said the library’s been rearranged.”
“I know what the book looks like,” she said, “but the language on the cover was nothing I recognized.”
Yet another dilemma that Madan hadn’t anticipated. Could nothing go right?
“I may have a way to help.” Edira stepped forward. “As you’ve already granted me permission to listen in on your conversation, I could, perhaps, use my telepathy to create another channel of communication.”
A knot in Madan’s stomach eased, but at Emillie’s confusion, he turned to her. “She can let you speak directly to Ariadne through me.”
“It won’t be perfect and I can’t hold onto it forever,” Edira explained, “but it might help in this case.”
Brows relaxing, Emillie sucked in a breath. “I will be able to speak with her?”
Edira smiled. “In a way. But quickly. She needs your help.”
The touch of Edira’s consciousness was not alarming to Madan, being that he was almost never entirely alone in his own mind.
Beside him, however, his half-sister squeaked in surprise as she felt the intrusion for the first time.
In the next beat, Emillie’s mind swept against his like the flutter of a butterfly.
“The books are all out of sorts,” came Ariadne’s voice, quiet and distant. Frantic with panic seeping out of every syllable. “The shelves are all disordered and new, and I am running out of time.”
Emillie’s shoulders tensed. At first, she opened her mouth to speak aloud before remembering herself and thinking instead.
An image of the book flashed into Madan’s mind: a brown leather tome with black writing stamped into it.
The words made no sense in either the common or dhemon languages, though the runic print pointed to Emillie attempting to recall the latter—not unusual for someone who hadn’t committed the image to memory and instead pieced it together with what could be recalled.
“Father would never keep books in such a state,” Ariadne replied, the thoughts stuttering through their minds as she no doubt searched for any sign of the old book.
Emillie chewed her cheek. “I thought the same—”
“Em?” The question slammed into Madan hard, and he focused on keeping the connection steady as the word made its way through each link in their chain.
“Yes, Ari.” Emillie smiled sadly as she stared at the flames dancing before her. “I am here. But we can explain later when we see one another. Show me what you see.”
In a flash, the library swam into view, hazy on the edges and nothing more than rows and rows of books.
Everything moved too quickly as Ariadne searched the titles, her fear seeping through the vinculum in waves that threatened to drown him.
With Almandine so young, it didn’t surprise him that she would have difficulty filtering it out, but it was Brutis that Madan was shocked by.
His bondheart’s weariness from near-constant flight prevented him from focusing enough to dam the flood.
“Slow down.” Emillie’s command had their sister coming to a standstill. “Have you found books on medicinals?”
Ariadne’s attention shifted to a different shelf where titles that fit Emillie’s question appeared. “A ritual is not medicine.”
“Not for vampires,” Emillie confirmed, swaying as she spoke. Madan swung out an arm, but it was Luce who grabbed her by the shoulders and held her upright. “But mages and fae use them for healing all the time.”
Understanding pierced through the vinculum.
Ariadne spoke a few words aloud that Madan couldn’t make out before a blonde head bobbed into view, starting at the bottom shelves as Ariadne stepped onto a rolling ladder to begin at the top.
She yanked a book from its place to look at the cover, just for Emillie to send back a resounding no.
Again and again, the books came down… Again and again, none were correct. Seconds slipped by, and as the book continued to elude them, Madan’s heart began to thunder.