Page 1 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Chapter 1

Azriel was not familiar with the concept of peace. For so long it had evaded him, hidden beneath the rubble and ash of his past. The very notion that such a thing could be born from his trail of carnage and agony didn’t sit quite right.

Nonetheless, he’d gotten everything he wanted. From his brother on the mend to his wife accepting him for who he was, everything was perfect. All around him, his life flowed with ease and grace and simplicity. Not a whisper of Ehrun or his renegade band of dhemons since their encounter over a fortnight prior, not a hitch in the plan to move with Ariadne back to Eastwood Province.

It was no wonder, then, that something dark and foreboding curled in his gut. Any semblance of tranquility never lasted long in his life. Sooner or later, something was bound to happen.

He leaned into his palms on the rail overlooking the foyer of his Laeton manor, the servants below moving with swift purpose. Petre, the red-headed butler and head of staff, directed the vortex of Rusans to ensure the carriage was stocked with supplies sufficient for the long journey ahead. They’d stop at inns along the way for meals at the start and end of the night, of course, but provisions for midnight eating were necessary for Azriel, Ariadne, and their small company.

Madan had left a week prior, eager to return to Monsumbra to be with Whelan. Though Azriel had been apprehensive about his solo travel, his brother assured him that he’d be just fine once he and Brutis met up.

Brutis and Razer, their faithful friends, had been separated from them for months, charged with protecting the clutch from Ehrun alongside Mhorn. Though they could usually communicate with them through a telepathic link, the distance between them was too great. Between Razer moving the clutch through the Keonis Mountains with Brutis and Azriel’s residence at the heart of Valenul, there’d been no opportunities to so much as talk since becoming a guard, then Lord Governor. He missed Razer, and not hearing from him for so long weighed heavily.

Keeping such a massive secret from Ariadne—gods, from everyone—had been difficult. He’d continue to do so, however, until he knew it was safe.

Ariadne’s floral scent announced her approach before he heard her footsteps, shoving all thoughts of his friends aside. His bond purred in contentment as her hand drifted across his back, light as a feather, then down his arm. She slipped into view beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder, following his line of sight down into the foyer.

“Are you excited to go home?” She looped her arm around his, curling in even closer.

He grunted by way of response, then followed up with a gravelly, “I’m ready to be there with you.”

Ariadne hummed in approval. “I admit…I am afraid. I have never lived anywhere but in Laeton. My family and friends are all here.”

His heart sank. He knew all too well what it felt like to have his world ripped out from under him. It’d happened entirely too recently when Ehrun threatened his brother’s life, forcing Azriel’s hand so that his bond to Ariadne had clicked into place and caused his father’s death. He’d left everything and everyone he loved to start anew, and it’d been difficult.

“We’ll visit as often as we can,” he assured her, leaning a cheek on top of her head. “You’ll come anytime I’m called to meet with the Council.”

Tension seeped from Ariadne at the words. “You promise?”

He chuckled. “As if I could stay away from you for that long.”

She echoed his laugh, but something dark twisted in Azriel’s chest. He knew all too well what happened when separated from her, and it’d been nearly disastrous for him in the year he’d refused to help Madan in Laeton. His attempted suicide had been the least of his concerns.

Dhemons were meant to bond with other dhemons; such a connection allowed them to physically feel their other half. They’d know if they were injured, sick, or had even died. Without such a shared link, Azriel’s bond had assumed the worst: death. It’d been millennia since the dhemons’ connection to the Underworld had been severed, and as such, dhemons whose mates had died or whose bonds weren’t reciprocated lost all sense of themselves.

Azriel had watched that precise decline twist Ehrun into the wretch he now was. Then he experienced the beginning stages for himself after Ariadne’s rescue from the bastard. Only Madan’s shared blood with her had kept him tethered to the world, the same way he and Madan had kept the Crowe from Ehrun’s fate.

To go through such horrors again would never be high on Azriel’s agenda. As little as a mere week apart could start the patterns of memory loss again, the beginning of the end. He wouldn’t dare risk it.

“I look forward to meeting your grandmother,” Ariadne said after a beat of silence, dragging him back from the memories of those dark nights. Coming back into contact with her at the Vertium ball had revived everything he’d forgotten, and too much of it had been terrible.

Too often, he’d reverted to his old ways as one of the Crowe’s most trusted soldiers.

Azriel nodded, lifting his cheek . “She’s quite ready to meet you as well. Something tells me she’s missed having a lively house, much as she claims to be content with solitude.”

“No one truly wishes to be alone.” She tilted her head back to look up at him, her oceanic eyes glittering. “Perhaps we can host a ball before the end of the Season.”

“Most potential attendees are here in Laeton,” he reminded her. The Season was hardly halfway through, yet those families of the Society still clung to hope that their sons and daughters would find their match. It’d be weeks before they returned to their main homes in Eastwood Province.

Ariadne stuck out her bottom lip in a feigned pout. “You are ruining all my fun.”

A quick, soft kiss turned her mouth upward, but all too soon, the fun dissipated from her face as the realization of what it all meant set in once more. She would be just as alone as Dowager Margot Caldwell without her friends and sister. Emillie had been by just the night before to say her farewells. They’d all been sad to part ways before dawn, though Azriel had had far more practice in such goodbyes with Madan. Centuries more.

“The carriage is ready, my Lord!” Petre called from the foyer, his hair shining in the light of the chandelier.

Taking Ariadne’s hand, Azriel descended the stairs to where the head of staff stood tall and proud of his work. “Thank you, Petre.”

“A meal has been prepared for each night of travel,” he explained and gestured toward the front door for them to lead the way. They did so, and he continued, “I requested a few extra in case it takes longer than expected or if an inn has tawdry choices.”

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