Page 103 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Whelan chuckled as Madan pivoted and headed back for the stairs before calling, “No bath, then?”

“If Lord Knoll requires a meeting,” Madan threw over his shoulder, “then I should send a response so he can be ready for my arrival.”

And within an hour, Madan had not only received an acknowledgment from Lord Knoll but was riding Rune up his switchback drive to where his Monsumbra manor sat at the top of a steep hill. The humble building, much like the Caldwells’ Laeton home, was built from burnt red stone and sported several beautiful stained glass windows. Madan had seen the outside of it once prior when he’d accompanied his grandfather on a similar visit during his reign as Lord Governor.

Now his approach felt quite different. Madan had managed to not get distracted by Whelan—a true feat since the dhemon had insisted on bathing with him—and therefore remained on edge. With no proper release, his tension only grew as he dismounted and handed Rune’s reins to the stablehand, who already held another horse steady.

Who else would be joining them, then?

The manor butler opened the door before he could knock and showed him through the quaint foyer of black marble and cream walls to an evergreen parlor fitted with a roaring hearth, mahogany tables, and couches of green velvet so dark they almost appeared black. With the fire at full blast, the room was so sweltering that Madan was forced to unbutton his coat and loosen the cravat at his neck. He stood near the window with its emerald drapes—the Lord certainly seemed to like the color—in hopes of garnering some chill from outside.

It was no use. By the time the butler returned with a crystal glass of liquor, sweat ran down his spine.

“Thank you,” Madan said, accepting the drink. “Is Lord Knoll entertaining? Perhaps I should reschedule.”

The butler straightened, his blond mustache ruffling. “That will be unnecessary, Lord Governor. My Lord is just finishing business with Lord Theobald before the latter returns to Laeton.”

Oren Theobald had been one of Azriel’s first supporters in the Council Chambers. The paunchy redhead had done the same for Madan upon his arrival. The Caersan was one of the few he could honestly say he didn’t hate.

“If I may,” Madan said, “I’d greatly enjoy seeing Lord Theobald myself. Would you please request I join them?”

Anything to get out of that parlor.

The butler gave a quick bow and was on his way. Before long, he returned and motioned for Madan to follow. He did so, patting the sweat from his forehead with a kerchief.

And not a moment too soon. The Lord’s office was not far off the foyer and almost as hot as the parlor. He stifled his groan of displeasure. At least this room was brighter than the last with its yellow walls and pale wood furniture.

“Lord Governor!” Lord Oren Theobald was on his feet and clasping his forearm in an instant, his strikingly long fangs making their appearance with a broad grin. “I am pleased to see you again. How have you been faring?”

Remembering to be mourning his brother—cousin, to them—Madan let his face settle into a wan expression. “Struggling, if I may be so honest.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. He had no idea what he was doing as the Lord Governor. Documents to sign swept over his desk nightly, and more information than he could keep up with piled into his head. On top of all his new responsibilities, he worried for his siblings.

Though Ariadne was determined to rescue her husband, Madan couldn’t help remembering the withdrawn woman he’d guarded for the last year. She trained hard and such dedication worked in her favor. Her confidence had improved, and she was beginning to hold her own when sparring. But he knew Kall held back. Phulan protected her, too. A dhemon fighting her at full strength and with the intent to kill would do just that. Likewise, a mage would stop her in her tracks.

Azriel could hold his own. So long as Melia played the role of a fair Desmo—and he knew she wouldn’t. Not for long, anyway.

Emillie fought a battle completely different from that of the others. The mind games required of the Society worried Madan and leaving her in the care of Alek Nightingale wasn’t ideal with Loren sniffing around. He could only hope she would be safer once they reached Waer Province.

“The position of Lord Governor is a difficult one,” Lord Veron Knoll said from his seat behind his broad oak desk. The Caersan seemed unperturbed about the manor’s incessant heat, his bald head and umber skin not showing a glint of perspiration. Though his features didn’t reveal it, Veron Knoll was one of the eldest vampires still alive in Valenul. A feat not known to many who’d held the top seat in Monsumbra.

It was no wonder he’d been chosen as the steward during Garth Caldwell’s illness.

“Quite!” Lord Theobald agreed with a nod. “You have done well, considering your circumstances.”

Circumstances. As though Azriel’s supposed death and his subsequent rise to power in Eastwood were nothing more than a business exchange. He knew the Lords meant nothing cruel by it, however. Being a Lord Governor was a hazardous occupation. Being the Lord Governor of Eastwood Province was like signing one’s own death certificate.

“I thank you,” Madan said with an incline of his head. He swirled his liquor, took a sip, and then continued, “What brings the two of you together?”

Veron gestured to the couch near the hearth and pushed himself to his feet to join them. Oren and Madan took a seat in the plush cushions as he rounded his desk and said, “The same thing which had me sending you a request for an audience. I am honored you made the trek to me.”

“Not a problem.” Madan leaned back in his seat as Knoll took his place in a wingback chair. “It’s an honor to work with you.”

Oren nodded his agreement, his face alight with understanding. “Your relatively sedentary position in Eastwood is invaluable to us all.”

“And your guidance has been appreciated,” Madan added. He needed to build a rapport with these Caersans before assuming to do more than either of them. “What’s the news?”

Knoll shifted himself deeper into the chair with a sigh and looked between them. “These soldiers are more than we agreed to with General Gard, and they are far more undisciplined than we were led to believe.”

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