Chapter 18
Travel to Algorath was far faster than Emillie anticipated.
With Lhuka’s bondheart, Venja, carrying her, Luce, and the dhemon and Jakhov’s dragon, Dhanin, carrying him, Phulan, and Revelie, they made it deep into the desert in a single night.
She and Revelie offered to curl up together beneath the shade of Dhanin’s outstretched indigo wing to be protected by the sun, but instead they crested a large dune and came face-to-face with one of the most magnificent sights Emillie had ever seen in her life.
Huge crimson walls stretched out before them with two massive slabs of jasper rising from the red sands on either side of the gates to the mage city. Phulan, who led their party, turned to them and walked backwards, holding her arms out in a grand gesture.
“Welcome to Algorath!” she called, pure joy alighting her features.
“Gods,” Revelie breathed as she and Emillie came to a halt at the top of the dune. “That is…incredible.”
Phulan turned again. “It’s good to be home.”
They marched across the final stretch of desert, leaving the dragons to take off in the opposite direction.
No reason to hide them anymore, what with the way Ariadne and Razer effectively destroyed Melia’s walls during the battle.
At least that was what she came to understand when Phulan explained their dragons’ destination prior to leaving the dhemon keep.
Now they made their way to the front gates of Algorath. Mages stood at the tops of the giant slabs of crimson jasper, patrolling in the same way as Emillie had always seen soldiers across Valenul. They paused and watched their approach with faces hidden behind dark shemaghs.
“State your name and business.” The mage’s deep voice carried down to them with ease, and Emillie had the vague feeling that they were using magic to magnify their words.
Phulan, however, did not seem perplexed by their casual use of spells, only the command itself. She stopped, hands on her hips, and craned her head back to glare up at the mages who dared to bar their entrance. “Phulan of the Chax District, coming home with a couple of friends.”
Above them, the mages exchanged a few words that Emillie could not catch before the mage leaned over the wall and said, “And with whom do you travel, Phulan of the Chax District?”
She groaned but gestured to the group at large. Without pointing out individuals, she tallied off their names. “Lhuka, Jakhov, Revelie, Lucet, and Emillie.”
Another exchange of whispers above them, then the mage asked, “Lady Emillie Nightingale of Waer Province?”
A pit opened in Emillie’s stomach, and her heart lurched into her throat.
In an instant, Luce was by her side in her lycan form.
Fur brushed against her shoulder as the massive wolf peeled back her lips to expose unnervingly long fangs.
On the far side of Luce, Revelie’s face paled a shade, and Jakhov took a step closer to her, his hand reaching over his shoulder to grip the sword on his back.
His sharp face drew taut with cold challenge directed at the mages above them.
Before Emillie could say anything, Phulan replied, “If Mair Solt would like to speak with me about any of my guests, he can find me at my home. Assuming, of course, I am permitted to return to my house?”
This had been far from what Emillie anticipated.
When she was told that Phulan would be allowed home, she did not expect to be analyzed by guards who should not even know her name.
Her sister truly had done a number on Algorath if she left such a lasting impression.
The Desmo Killer, indeed. Ariadne had better never hear that little turn of phrase.
She would end up in one of two ways: a mess of apologies… or a dangerously inflated ego.
“You are,” said the mage above.
“Then I insist you let me in.” With that, Phulan focused her attention ahead and waited for the gates to open. The massive wooden gates peeled back, allowing them through without another word from the guards.
Phulan did not hesitate to charge through the opening and turn off the main road as soon as she was able. Emillie hurried to follow, Luce remaining close by, and when she glanced back, she found Lhuka on her heels with Jakhov taking a shock-frozen Revelie by the arm and hauling her forward.
To Emillie’s relief, however, it did not take long for them to reach Phulan’s red adobe home.
The high ceiling stretched out above her as they entered the main room, where collections of stones lined the walls.
A massive slab of amethyst served as the table where Phulan led them and commanded them all to sit.
Like the obedient strangers to this city that they were, those of them still in a humanoid form took up residence in the chairs. Luce plopped herself beside the table as a wolf and looked on expectantly.
“I can’t quite express how grateful I am to be home.” Phulan whipped open the doors to her garden and looked out, the joy slipping from her expression the longer she stared at the emptiness beyond.
Emillie had an aching feeling she knew just what plagued the mage. Beside her, Revelie bit her lip and glanced at the dhemons across from them. Lhuka’s face paled as understanding hit, but Jakhov did not take his gaze from the seamstress.
“I’ll make us some tea,” Phulan finally said, her voice quieter as she retreated from the patio. “Something to calm the nerves.”
No one spoke. Phulan swept into the kitchen, lighting the blue flames in the hearth with a casual flick of her wrist. Before long, the kettle steamed and she poured the boiling water over ground spices.
The scent was at once familiar and foreign to Emillie.
Over their time in the dhemon keep, she had grown accustomed to some of the flavors provided by the herbs Phulan had snuck from Algorath.
Yet they had been so frugal with them, not knowing when they would return to the city, that it did not pique her usual taste buds as she sipped.
Smooth vanilla notes mixed with a heated spike of spice had her humming and going back for another gentle slurp immediately.
Revelie, about as familiar with the flavors as she, choked on her first sip.
With a shriek of the chair sliding across the stone floor, Jakhov shot to his feet and yanked the cup from her grasp, spilling the contents across the amethyst. His red eyes blazed in the low light.
Then, as he swiveled his attention around the room, he mumbled an accented apology in common and tilted his horns at Revelie, who leaned back from the gesture.
“Sabharni,” Phulan said as she rounded the corner from the kitchen with fresh-baked flatbread. How she managed to cook something so quickly made Emillie’s head spin. Magic confounded her.
Lhuka took Jakhov’s arm and spoke low in their language. Deep color flushed across the half-eared dhemon’s cheeks. He hissed a reply, attention flickering to Revelie again, before pushing the chair back to the table and disappearing outside. With a quick apology, Lhuka followed his friend.
“By the gods,” Revelie breathed, watching them go. “What was that?”
Glancing at Luce, Emillie studied the lycan’s golden eyes. The wolf nodded once in encouragement. Then she turned to the mage who knew the dhemons better than she ever could. Phulan sighed and shrugged before vanishing the mess on the table as she sat.
“I have a theory.” Emillie gave Revelie a tight smile. “But I am not certain if it is true.”
At that, Revelie sat up a little straighter. “I am a Caersan who left the Society and now committed treason against my own kingdom. Whatever you have to say, I am certain I can handle it.”
At the head of the table, Phulan snorted. “And do you think you can handle a dhemon?”
“What?” Confusion had Revelie gaping between them.
Luce made a small huff and stared at Emillie expectantly.
“I think Jakhov has bonded to you.” Emillie bit her lip.
At first, Revelie laughed. When no one laughed with her at the joke, her smile faded and her eyes widened. This time when she spoke, her voice took on a pitch Emillie had never heard from her. “What?”
“I do not know for certain!” Emillie hurried to say.
But Phulan chuckled. “Speak your truth, girl.”
After shooting the mage a withering look, Emillie looked back to Revelie. “The behavior looks familiar, is all. I have seen it twice before now.”
At the end of the table, Luce huffed, but remained in her lycan form.
That she avoided adding anything to the conversation entirely was a sign unto itself just how different fae bonds could appear.
Yet Azriel had done the same thing to Ariadne by pretending to have no connection to her for as long as he did.
Now it seemed as though Jakhov was doing his best to hold back whatever bond he felt while simultaneously basking in Revelie’s presence.
The way he watched her with nothing but pure possession and the brash acts to keep her safe—even from steaming cups of spiced tea—were all too similar to how Luce and Azriel both acted.
How they both continued to act in the presence of Emillie and Ariadne.
“Why would a dhemon bond to me?” Revelie asked, turning in her seat to look out the open doors. “I am a vampire. We do not bond!”
Emillie was spared from attempting to explain her theories by a sudden shout outside. Dhemon voices rose up, angry and demanding. The next moment, a grunt of pain and the heavy drop of a body followed.
Launching to her feet, Phulan charged outside. “Emry, save me. What is going on out here?”
“An intruder, ma’am.” Lhuka’s voice.
Then Jakhov snarled something in the dhemon tongue to which Phulan responded with a stern rebuttal. They countered one another, the strange language washing over Emillie’s ears like gravel before the three of them returned.