Chapter 14
Ariadne had never before been in the war room.
Never wanted to be there until now. The raised map of Myridia spread out along the length of the table where she sat at its head.
When she had attempted to sit to Azriel’s left, he scoffed and dragged another chair to fit at the narrow end.
Then he sat her in the large throne, taking the smaller seat for himself.
No one said a word as they filed in to see her in his place.
In fact, each member of the makeshift council paused to pay their respects to her before turning to Azriel and doing the same.
None more so than the dhemon woman, Thorin, who dropped to her knees before her and pressed her forehead to her hand.
When she asked Azriel about it, he said, “Word has been spreading amongst the dhemons about how you risked your life for the ritual. This will not be the last you see of this respect.”
She frowned at him. This was the first she had heard about it.
Whelan, she knew, had not mentioned it—not when he still held a grudge for having been hauled out of the battle prematurely.
Likewise, Lhuka had not stayed long enough to know she had ever been in any true danger.
And Azriel had been unconscious for half the week since their return. “Who would have done that?”
Her husband raised his brows as though shocked by the confusion. “Ehrun.”
Any follow-up question died on her lips as the door opened again, letting in Edira and Luce.
The former, representing the latest high fae to reach Auhla, had her hair hanging mostly loose around her shoulders and wore a long tunic with trousers.
The latter had on her usual clothing but walked with a lighter step and less tension than Ariadne could remember from before.
They both placed a hand over their heart and inclined their heads to them both before seating themselves at the remaining two chairs.
Azriel inclined his head to them both. “Welcome, Edira of the high fae and Luce of the lycan.”
“Queen.” Luce turned to face them fully. “Queen of the Lycan.”
After exchanging a glance with Ariadne, Azriel tilted his head. “Apologies. I was unaware the lycan had a sitting Queen.”
Liulund, with his black-inked eyes and shaved head, sat forward. “None recognized by the high fae royalty, but the lineage remains.”
Having drawn her attention to him, Edira raised a brow and let her hazel gaze soak up the high fae across the table from her. She nodded to him in silent thanks, then turned back to Luce. Liulund’s mouth quirked.
“Please,” Madan said from his seat to Ariadne’s left, “explain. You’ve brought with you a large army of lycan, and I believe I speak for Vhaltrinja and Yvhaltrinja when I say we’re all very grateful for all your support. We wish to know more.”
“My great-grandmother was the last honored Lycan Queen,” Luce explained, addressing the table. “She led a rebellion against the high fae King of the time to regain our ancestral lands in the coastal regions of L’Oden Forest.”
“I had no knowledge of this,” Ariadne admitted, though she had a sneaking suspicion it had likely been discussed by her governess during one of the many history lessons during which she disappeared into one of her romance novels and ignored everything else.
To her endless relief, Lord Oren Theobald also shook his head and cast her a sympathetic look, flashing his extraordinarily long fangs in the process. “As it is not Valenul history, it is not well-known even amongst the members of Society.”
“Victors are those who write the history books,” Phulan noted.
“We’ve recently discovered just how lackluster these lessons are within Valenul,” Edira said with a pained smile. “Your sister was just as surprised by much of this as well.”
But Liulund scoffed. “Don’t pretend as though we’re taught about an existing royal line of lycans, either. It’d give them too much power.”
Edira laughed louder, perhaps, than was necessary. “You’re not wrong about that.”
“Please continue,” Whelan said with a nod to Luce from his place to Azriel’s right. It looked odd for him to be sitting across from Madan rather than next to him, and Ariadne had a sinking feeling that the seat had not always been his, but Kall’s.
Blinking hard, she refocused on the lycan farther down the table.
“When she surrendered at the final battle near Baalor,” Luce said, “she traded herself for the freedom of the lycans who marched under her banner. Her only daughter, my grandmother, had fought in the battles, but was hidden from the high fae to keep her safe.”
Lord Veron Knoll nodded in grave understanding. “A true monarch to lay down her life for her people.”
“The same cannot be said for others in power these nights,” Theobald muttered, his usual cheer diminishing as he glared at Laeton on the map before him. “Coward.”
“Hush.” The command came from Thorin at the far end of the table and quietened the Caersan Lords in an instant. She turned back to Luce. “More story, please.”
Another pang of sorrow hit Ariadne hard in the chest. Her accent and broken common tongue sounded far too much like Kall’s.
The four words replayed in her mind, but this time in her friend’s deep voice.
Again and again she repeated them, afraid of the night she would no longer be able to summon his tone and cadence.
“My mother was the firstborn,” Luce explained, “and I am hers. Thus, our line of Lycan Queens continues. No one spoke of us outwardly for these past centuries, but my people have never forgotten Queen Uliet and her sacrifice.”
Azriel leaned forward at this, resting his scarred blue arms on the table’s edge as he studied her with his shining red eyes.
“I’m not one to question a gift when it’s presented to me, yet I must ask: why, then, after all you and your people have endured, do you wish to fight alongside dhemons in Valenul? ”
Lips curling as though she had expected the question, Luce leaned forward as well. “Because Loren Gard put me in chains for avenging my baby brother. I owe him a visit, and my people are thirsty for the blood of the man who allowed vampires to kill their Prince and imprison their Queen.”
Biting her lip, Ariadne watched with quiet concern as her husband’s demeanor shifted from reserved to vicious hunger. A wicked grin spread across his face, exposing his sharp dhemon teeth and long vampire fangs. “I’m thrilled to have you with us, Queen Luce.”
The lycan nodded once to him. “I’m thrilled to be here.”
At that, discussion turned to updates from around the keep.
Thorin explained the dhemons’ progress in creating a makeshift village nearby for the men and women joining them from clans across the Keonis Mountains.
With so little room within Auhla, the new additions to the area were being built at record speed to accommodate the daily flood of soldiers and their families.
Liulund reported his efforts to contact mages and prisoners within Algorath, much to Phulan’s shock.
“Did you not think to speak with me about this?” she demanded once he mentioned having a difficult time getting his messages into the mage city. “As if you don’t have an Algorathian mage literally sitting right beside you. Foolish boy.”
While the two of them bickered about who was best to find a way into Algorath, Oren Theobald sat forward and said, “I have taken it upon myself to sow a bit of discord in Eastwood.”
At that, the mage and high fae ceased their hushed argument and turned to the Caersan Lord along with the rest of the table.
Ariadne, overwhelmed by it all, said nothing and watched as her half-brother grew more and more agitated, with this most recent remark sending him flying over the edge of exasperation.
Madan raised his amputated arm as though to rub his temple, glared at his stump of an arm, and switched the motion to his other hand so he could pinch the bridge of his nose while he soaked up the news. “And what, pray tell, do you think that will do for us, Oren?”
The elder of the two Lords, Veron Knoll, sat up indignantly, looking past Theobald to pierce Madan with a sharp glare.
“You will do well to remember that we have far more experience dealing with the intricacies of Valenul’s politics, no matter how changed they may appear at the moment, than any other vampire at this table. ”
Well, he had that correct. With Ariadne keeping her nose as far from politics as possible—as though a Caersan woman could ever show interest in such things in the Society—alongside Azriel and Madan’s short stints as Lord Governors, they had no right to assume they knew better than either Veron or Oren.
The brisk reminder, however, did nothing to soothe Madan’s agitation.
“Sowing discord and speaking politics are two vastly different things,” he snapped. “What did you do?”
Sitting a little straighter, Lord Theobald said, “I ensured Colonel Foster fed information back to Laeton to make it appear as though chaos reigns in the Keonis Mountains.”
“And what is that meant to do?” Azriel asked, reaching between them and holding Ariadne’s hand.
Veron tilted his head. “To put our enemy at ease.”
“If Gavrhil were still here,” Whelan growled, “he would tell you just how not at ease they are in Laeton.”
“Your attack on their capital,” Veron continued unperturbed, “put them on the back foot. They are off-balance. By convincing them there is still unrest amongst the dhemons, Loren Gard will not seek vengeance immediately.”
Ariadne scoffed. “I doubt that. My Lord Theobald, I must know when you had the opportunity to bring this information to Colonel Foster.”
Oren leaned forward. “I have joined missions into outlying villages in the recent weeks. You forget that by establishing myself with Colonel Foster, I now have a direct line to Loren’s ear.
Allow me to continue feeding him false information mixed in with truth, and he will lose track of which way is up. ”