Chapter 41
It took two nights for Azriel and those able-bodied enough to make their way across the battlefield and collect the dead. The instructions were clear: dhemons, fae, and mages were to be brought to the southern encampment where they could see to each of their customs.
Amongst the dead, they found Kholp. When had he died? He’d been close to Azriel at the start, yet didn’t seem to make it much further than halfway to the gates.
Pol’s body was recovered thanks to Madan’s quiet directions.
Something had happened between the two on the battlefield that Azriel did not want to question.
Nothing short of shame dulled his brother’s eyes at the mention of the high fae.
Still, it didn’t compare to the pained cries from Haen, mildly injured but alive, and Edira, who’d been summoned on crutches from the medic tent.
At the foot of the Hub’s wall, a familiar dhemon woman was pulled free of the stone wreckage: Cinisja. The one Azriel had met on his way through the Eastern Passage to Algorath. She’d followed them to the end, just as she’d promised.
Valenul soldiers were to be brought to the Hub, where they could be identified by their living counterparts, then put to rest. The Rusans and Caersans who joined their army were a bit of an anomaly, but their remains were delivered to camp with the hope of uncovering the name of each person.
Amongst them, an unarmored, yet crimson-clad man that Azriel couldn’t quite make out through the blood was claimed to have been found beneath a pile of Valenul soldiers.
Dragons, too large to be moved, were to be burned on the battlefield under the close supervision of magic-wielders who’d been practicing their techniques with Phulan for keeping the dragonfire contained.
A total of five dragons had died in the fighting.
Fasj when she attacked the Hub’s walls. H’ask, the poisonous red dragon, was killed alongside his bondheart, Ygret, when they attacked the backside of the Valenul army.
Two young dragons had also found their end when one was trapped beneath a metal net and the other’s bondheart was killed on the field.
But it was the largest of the dragons that drew Azriel’s attention when they finally reached him at the gates of the Hub.
Half-buried in snow drifts, the deep red of Mhorn’s scales almost disguised the dried and frozen blood that coated his chest around the huge ballista still firmly lodged there.
With his golden eyes still open, staring at a distant place that Azriel’s living mind could not comprehend, it almost appeared as though Mhorn were awaiting his next instructions.
Only…the last instructions he truly took to heart had been those that killed him.
Razer’s heavy footfalls crunched through the snow as Azriel swept the piles of white ice from Mhorn’s huge face. Warmth billowed from the great blue dragon as he blew, not fire, but heat from his mouth to melt the snow from the red dragon.
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” Azriel murmured, breaking an icicle from the massive spiraling black horn dangling over Mhorn’s face. “You were supposed to be protecting the clutch.”
They’d moved the great eggs to the southern mountains to keep them close in the event that Loren had a plan to search cave systems during the battle.
Keeping the clutch close meant they could rally together to guard them from the villainous King.
It wasn’t supposed to be a way for Mhorn to shirk his duties and fly into battle.
“It’s my fault.” The small voice said as Almandine and Ariadne made their way towards them.
The huff of indignation from Razer preceded his rumbling words. “No one could convince Mhorn of anything.”
But Almandine raised her head a touch, her dark eyes glittering with the movement.
Though dragons could not cry, a regretful sorrow seeped through the vinculums as she looked over Mhorn’s body.
“Perhaps, but telling him that you needed his help had him demanding I stay with the clutch while he fought.”
While he fought. Mhorn didn’t even get the chance to fight. Not before taking the huge pike for Razer.
Not before saving both their lives.
Ariadne laid a hand on her bondheart’s shoulder. “You did what you believed to be right.”
“I knew I couldn’t do much in terms of battle,” Almandine explained, though by Ariadne’s unshifting expression, Azriel had the feeling the two of them had already discussed her absence on the field that night. “So I went to the one who could.”
A long silence followed the proclamation. The young dragon lowered her nose to Mhorn’s face and exhaled a curl of smoke—a loving gesture typically reserved between dragons for those they considered family.
“I’m sorry for causing this loss,” Almandine finally whispered. “I know he meant a lot to you.”
Azriel swallowed hard. After spending the last year and a half being angry and bitter towards his father’s bondheart, he wished he had just one more moment with the dragon.
A moment to apologize for his stubbornness and ire.
It’d been misplaced. Mhorn had only ever done as the Crowe asked of him: he protected Azriel, even when Azriel had been ungrateful for the sacrifices made since his father’s death.
For severing the vinculum had been a sacrifice that Azriel hadn’t understood until he faced war, when he asked Razer to do the same, given Azriel’s death.
When Kall and Bindhe had died together, he’d realized that even if he couldn’t be with Ariadne in this life, someone who knew his heart like no other should.
Razer was that someone. And their agreement to sever the vinculum in the event of one of their deaths made Azriel understand that Mhorn leaving the Crowe to die alone had been one of the most difficult decisions he ever had to make.
So Azriel shook his head and laid a hand on Almandine’s nose. “This isn’t your fault.”
And for the first time since experiencing it first-hand, Azriel shared the memory of his father’s final moments.
Images of Ehrun leering down at him, ax in hand and ready to strike, then Azazel the Crowe stepping between them to give Azriel the chance to run.
Only when his broken leg gave out did his father flounder just enough for Ehrun’s blade to come down and the Crowe give Mhorn his final command.
No…
The final plea of a father desperate to save his son.
“Protect him.”
Then Azriel turned and crouched beside Mhorn’s face. “He did precisely what my father asked of him and kept me safe.” He smiled grimly over his shoulder at Almandine. “You merely gave him the opportunity to ensure it. If you hadn’t…”
Ariadne closed the distance between them to lay her hand on his shoulder. The welcomed weight eased the tightness in his throat. Though he didn’t speak aloud, the knot there had grown larger and larger the longer he thought about it.
“I know he’s proud of you,” Ariadne said, and even though Azriel was not certain of whom she referred to, he nodded. She squeezed his shoulder a bit. “I saw your father.”
The air grew thin at that. One hand on Mhorn’s soft nose, Azriel looked up at her as he scrambled to catch up to what she was saying.
He already knew that she had seen him on his way to save him in Auhla.
This was something they’d discussed numerous times.
But by the way she’d hesitated to say those four words, he sensed she was not referring to the night of her rescue.
“Oh, this will be interesting.” Razer lowered his belly to the snow as though settling in for a bedtime story and lay his head a little closer to them, providing the warmth needed to reduce Ariadne’s incessant shivering.
Likewise, Almandine crossed to the great blue dragon and snuggled him, draping her long neck over the top of his head.
His golden eyes crossed as he looked up at her in a mixture of annoyance and fondness.
Azriel threw them both a withering glare before turning back to his wife, who now crouched beside him. He asked aloud, “What are you talking about?”
“The night of the ritual.” Ariadne’s brows lowered as she stared at a distant place in an attempt to recall the information. “I had a vision of sorts, I think.”
“Sounds like you need to talk to Phulan,” Razer cut in. “More than him, anyway.”
There was never any peace with that dragon around. Azriel cut him another sharp look before refocusing on his wife. “And you saw my father?”
“I saw…everyone.” Ariadne bit her lower lip, uncertainty dripping from her as she turned wide eyes up to him as though expecting him to not believe her.
When he did not speak, she sucked in a deep breath and continued, “There is more to you and me than either of us believed. Our being bonded mates is not a coincidence.”
Something about that didn’t sit right with Azriel. The idea that their lives had been planned awoke something deeply protective of their love. “I’m not understanding.”
“I saw the Underworld.”
Oh, that definitely didn’t sit right. Only this time, it made Azriel’s stomach churn in a grotesque combination of bile and heat.
Before he could lose himself to the thoughts that plagued him around Ariadne ever seeing the Underworld, she plowed forward, “Your mother and father were there together, as was Alek Nightingale with a Golden Rose from nearly a hundred years ago, who died. I saw his mother—another Golden Rose—beside a dhemon. And there were so many more pairs. Dhemons standing beside their Golden Roses.”
Azriel gaped at her. “But…why?”
“The High Priestess in Laeton always said that the Golden Rose was Keon’s chosen.” Ariadne’s fingers curled around the hem of her woolen cloak. “I think Keon has been trying to end this war for a long time.”