Page 119 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“Ariadne?” But it was not Melia who spoke.

The voice was of someone she had not expected, though she knew entirely too well. Her heart sank like a stone. When she turned, her entire world fell out from beneath her. Every lie she had woven and plan she had pieced together faded in an instant. There was no escaping the trap. Melia had spun her web like the spider she was and could now feast upon her victories.

Nikolai Jensen stood in the doorway, his brown brows pinched together in shock. “Apologies. Lady Caldwell?”

“Right on time, Colonel.” Melia smiled up at him, though there was no warmth in it. Only cold, sharp victory.

“No,” Ariadne breathed, unable to hide her panic. No longer a Captain, then, but a Colonel. Which only meant he was ever the faithful servant of Loren Gard. “What are you doing here?”

Melia stood gracefully and swept around to him. “So this woman doesn’t go by the name of Cressida Quinn?”

With a shake of his head, Nikolai said, “This is Lady Ariadne Caldwell, wife of…”

A wicked smirk curled Melia’s lips. “Azriel Caldwell.”

“Yes.” Nikolai scoffed, still staring at her. “This is where you have been? Are you trying to free that monster?”

Ariadne pushed to her feet with far less finesse than Melia. She did not know whether to back away from the impending doom or face it straight on. What could she do to Melia now? There was no more element of surprise. Not when it was she who remained petrified with shock.

“Colonel,” Ariadne said, the word feeling strange on her tongue when looking at her former Elit, “listen to me: he is not what you think him to be. He is no criminal.”

“Treason is a crime in Valenul.” Nikolai’s lip curled in disgust. “What you are doing is nothing short of that. General Gard will want to speak with you.”

Melia hummed and tilted her head. “I believe her punishment for such crimes should be carried out here, in Algorath. After all, she is on our soil, not yours.”

“The Pits?” Nikolai gawked at her. “She would not last a night.”

Heat washed across Ariadne’s cheeks. He could not know she was so much more now. That she at least had a fighting chance in the Pits. She started forward, the blood pounding in her ears drowning out Melia’s response. If she was to go to the Pits, then she would make it worthwhile.

Flicking the dagger loose, Ariadne pulled it free through a split in her gown. She stepped closer to Melia and struck—

Nikolai caught and held her wrist firmly, a breath from Melia’s back, and hissed, “What are you doing?”

“She is the monster!” Hot tears slipped down Ariadne’s cheeks. Not from sorrow but frustration. She had been so close…

Calm as ever, Melia stepped aside and snapped her fingers once. A guard swept into the room, face obscured by their shemagh, and took hold of Ariadne’s arms. She struggled against the hold, the dagger dropping from her grip as an invisible hand pried her fingers loose.

“Were you trying to kill me? I have every right to defend myself.” The magic flared again. Melia tilted her head in thought, then said in a calm, cool voice, “I want her head.”

Azriel woke with a start. A distant scream split the air before coming to a sudden, nerve-shattering end as though whoever had made such a sound had been stifled in the worst of ways. His bond, reignited by Ariadne’s appearance at the Pits, ached. It throbbed through him like a wound, demanding to be tended to. Seeing her, hearing her voice…it had not been enough to satiate that horrible monster inside him.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the haunting sound that echoed through his mind. It sounded so familiar…but whoever Melia tortured was none of his business. She was unhinged with the power her position as the Desmo gave her, and she took it out on her prisoners entirely too often.

Nonetheless, he lay awake for a while in the eerie silence, grateful for the blood he had consumed in the Pits. Though his stomach and leg still ached from the daggers, the wounds had healed enough to not remain a threat to his life. And now that he knew Ariadne was somewhere in Algorath—was searching for him—he could no longer waste away.

The bond wouldn’t allow it even if he wanted to.

So when he woke the next morning, he didn’t get into the line for food. No healer, Fetor or otherwise, had been sent to his cell. Melia no longer cared if he lived or died, though he was certain she wished he’d died in the Pits. Instead, he slowly made his way to the training grounds and slumped against the outer wall before sinking to a seated position, one hand tucked tight against the slow-healing wound in his gut. If he wasn’t careful, he’d reopen it. It was bad enough that he still tasted his own blood every now and again.

It wasn’t long before Sasja sat beside him and, after setting down a bowl of food beside him, said, “Don’t eat it. It’s from her.”

So Melia still drugged his food. He nodded and picked up the bowl. A disgusting part of him wanted to feel the oblivion that would await if he ingested whatever she’d concocted. The bowl shook in his hands as he stared at it. As terrible as it was…it felt good, the release from it all.

“Don’t you dare.” Raoul sat cross-legged in front of him with his own bowl cradled in his lap. “Your head is finally clear enough to listen, so listen: that shit will get you killed, and we need you right now.”

Azriel frowned without looking up. “What?”

“The fae have rallied with you.” Raoul glanced over his shoulder to where the high fae men sat across the grounds. The one Azriel had met at Melia’s party, Liulund, raised his bowl in greeting. “Whatever you did for them…they won’t let it go.”

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