Chapter 39 #2
“I want every Valenul soldier on the training grounds,” Azriel ordered, his voice booming off the walls. He switched into the dhemon language, speaking directly to his people, who moved into action immediately by taking hold of the nearest crimson-clad soldier and pointing out the open doors.
As the tower emptied, the commands were echoed by Caersans and dhemons alike across the Hub, their voices carried by strong wings to bring an end to the last of the fighting.
Ariadne watched them go, stunned at how quickly the vampires yielded.
If anything, she anticipated a greater push-back once they saw proof of Loren’s death.
They followed the soldiers’ exit into what had become a near-white-out blizzard.
Ariadne paused, still protected by the tower entrance’s overhang, and stared out as everyone marched towards the training grounds, dragons now swooping low overhead in a steady reminder that Azriel’s words were a viable threat.
With this massive faction of the army now surrendered, they controlled both Eastwood and Central Provinces.
Only Waer and Notten remained standing, and those stationed there would be brought back soon enough.
“What are we going to do now?” Ariadne looked up at her husband, interlacing her gloved fingers with his.
Azriel’s throat bobbed, then he turned his red gaze to her. “We build something new.”
Emillie did not know how long she sat at Luce’s side once she had been permitted to reenter the medic tent.
Minutes spanned into hours, yet she tucked her fingers under her partner’s unmoving paw and laid her cheek over the soft brown fur.
A hollowness unlike anything Emillie had ever felt before threatened to swallow her whole, each heartbeat an ache akin to dying.
Again and again she heard Phulan’s words from those first few horrible seconds of staring at Luce’s too-still lycan body on her cot.
“I’ve done all I can,” the mage had said as she took Emillie’s hand and led her through the tent flaps. “Now it’s up to her.”
Up to her.
As though Luce, in her right mind, would ever choose to leave. At least…Emillie did not believe she would want anything of the sort.
The pike had been removed from Luce’s broad wolven chest, which now moved in slow and shallow breaths.
Every drop of blood was cleared away so her fur clumped and glistened with salve.
The sharp scent of healing herbs, usually soothing in this tent as a reminder of their medicinal effects, now buried in her nostrils with aggressive determination to scar her memory.
“Stay with me,” Emillie whispered, throat burning around each syllable even as no tears dropped from her eyes. She had cried too much already; there was nothing more to give. Still, she was not above begging.
After all, she could not lose someone else she loved.
She sent Ariadne to Algorath without knowing if she would ever see her sister again; a different type of pain and sorrow that had been relieved upon finding her sister in the mountains.
But that had not compared to the very real and evident loss of her father, murdered before her eyes mere minutes after she claimed to want him dead.
Kyra left not long thereafter, followed by Alek’s brutal fight and subsequent death.
Four of those she held closest in all the world had been ripped from her, some by her own doing, and to lose another?
Emillie could not fathom walking back out of that tent. Not when she had found the woman with whom she wished to spend the rest of her long life beside. The thought of walking away from her partner…gods, her mate? Someone who loved her and whom she loved more fiercely than she could ever imagine?
No.
She would not.
Could not.
“Please, Luce,” Emillie breathed, stroking back the soft fur at the lycan’s neck with her free hand. “Please do not leave me.”
“She has not left you,” said a soft voice just behind her. Emillie did not need to look back to know who stood there.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Emillie slipped her fingers through the soft brown hair and gripped. “I am so frightened, Margot.”
The old Caersan settled in beside her. “I know precisely how you are feeling.”
Emillie’s heart throbbed, and she bit back the harsh words that attempted to slip free.
Of course Margot Caldwell knew all too well the pain of losing those she loved.
After all, she had lit her own daughter's funeral pyre.
Lit those she believed to be her grandsons.
Then, most recently, she said farewell to the man to whom she had been married for millennia.
“Mating, as you know, is not an inherent vampire trait.” Margot’s calm, even tone stroked and soothed those aching parts of Emillie’s soul.
“What you have with Luce…what Azriel has with Ariadne and Madan with Whelan…I cannot pretend to comprehend that connection. And there is one that is stronger than I know, even for those of you who have not yet gone through your respective deity’s ritual. ”
There could be no arguing that. A thread held Emillie captive to Luce in a way she never knew possible. More than love or lust, it enraptured her before she even realized its presence.
“However,” Margot continued, laying a gentle hand on Emillie’s back and rubbing soft circles there, “I am aware of the toll love can have on one’s heart. It has been mere months since my husband’s death. He was not always a kind-hearted man, but after so many centuries together…”
A tense silence stretched between them, then the last Original vampire whispered, “I mean to say that I understand your pain. But know that there is fight still left in Luce. She has not given up on battling her way back to you so long as you do not give up on her.”
The very idea of abandoning Luce had Emillie lifting her head up from her partner’s paw to gape at Margot. “I would never.”
A small smile, filled with years of loss and grief, shone back at her. Margot tilted her head and searched Emillie’s face with those milky green eyes. “I know that, my dear. I see it in your heart.”
Such phrases always set Emillie on her back foot. One could not see the inner workings of her body, nor the waves of pain and hope that raged against one another. As such, she could not begin to understand how Margot could see what she claimed.
Guessing by the confusion on Emillie’s face, Margot’s smile grew, and she elaborated, “You have not moved from her side for anything. Your will alone rivals the gods.”
“I do not understand.” The words were like mud in her mind, moving slowly and not quite making sense.
Margot laughed quietly at that as she stood.
“Never in all my years have I heard of a Caersan woman so overtly manipulate a Councilman to save an innocent man’s life, then flee from the Society, befriend strangers after teetering on the brink of death, and help raise an army for her sister to bring back and liberate the very kingdom she abandoned. ”
Stunned, Emillie could not summon a response. Having her actions laid out in such a manner—as though she were someone of great importance—struck her in the gut. “You say that as though it is not a failure in the eyes of the Society.”
“And if I had said he rather than she?” Margot lifted her brows.
Of course, she was right. Had the same accomplishments been done by a man, no one would bat an eye. Not one Caersan would find it anything less than astonishing. Why, then, did she feel as though it were something of a shame for her?
Years of oppression. The oppression they now fought to dismantle.
“The strength of your will brought you to this moment,” Margot explained. “And the strength of your will shall carry you through this hardship as well.”
With that, Margot turned and made her way back through the rows of cots. Patients continued to be brought in, though the frequency had slowed. The battle, Emillie could only guess, was coming to an end. At least, she prayed so to Keon.
Returning her attention to Luce, Emillie brushed the soft fur back on the lycan’s face and whispered, “Yes…we will get through this. You will make it through.”
No sooner did the words pass her lips than did Luce’s chest expand fully. Emillie’s heart stuttered, then almost burst from behind her ribs as those perfect golden eyes opened slowly. Glazed and unfocused, the twin suns burned with less brilliance than usual—but still…they burned.
Emillie choked back a dry sob. “Luce?”
Pupils expanding at the sound of her voice, Luce’s gaze swung to Emillie. Seconds slipped by, each one bringing with it more fire to ignite the gold irises. A low rumble rolled from Luce’s chest despite the wince of pain that pulled back her wolven lips to expose those long, sharp teeth.
“Shh,” Emillie urged. “I am not leaving.”
Vivid determination shone back at her as Luce shifted her head, placing her long snout on Emillie’s hand. This was what Margot meant, for in that moment, she could see the love and fortitude in the lycan’s heart. The will to live.
And Emillie knew with certainty that all would be well.