Page 50 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“Their courts will rarely listen to such cases,” Ariadne said. “I am well aware. That does not mean I cannot try.”

“I have it under good authority that Azriel is in a bad position.” Madan pulled from his pocket a letter and set it on the table. “He is imprisoned under the Desmo of the Suin District—one of several across the city.”

Still, Ariadne didn’t seem put out. “Certainly, the Desmo will listen to reason.”

Whelan snorted. “No Desmo will let go of their prisoners lightly. Particularly not Melia Tagh. It’s how they make money.”

Ariadne frowned and set her fork down. “But he has been wrongfully—”

“According to the documents provided,” Madan cut in, “he’s been charged with treason and”—he glanced at her apologetically—“rape.”

She gaped at him, and his heart sank at what he saw. At first, she looked affronted—shocked that anyone would believe such licentious claims. Then understanding took hold and those bright, oceanic eyes darkened. She sank back in her chair, her shoulders curling in on herself as she wrestled with her own past.

“In the eyes of the Algorathian government,” Madan continued, “he has every reason to be there. Every reason to die in the Pits. They don’t take kindly to…people with those labels.”

“He would never.” Ariadne looked at him with pleading eyes. “Can you not say something in his defense?”

Madan shook his head. “My word doesn’t outweigh that of the Princeps.”

“These are serious accusations,” Margot said with a huff and peered up at him. “Could you not speak with the Princeps to come to an agreement for his release?”

He sighed. “Nor do I have pull with Markus Harlow.”

“Do not lie to yourself, boy.” Margot shook her head. “Tell him the truth, and you will become the second most powerful vampire in Valenul.”

The blood drained from Madan’s face, and for a moment, his head swam. “The General—”

“The General is a snake.” Whelan’s grip on his chair’s arms tightened, and the wood creaked from the pressure.

“Easy, alhija.” Madan swallowed back the rising tide of discomfort and fear at the thought of Loren Gard. He would have to face the General again one day, and he could only pray to any god listening that he could do so without issue.

“I will kill him for what he did to you,” Whelan snarled, falling back into the dhemon language. “I’ll have his head on the fucking mantle before long, I swear to you.”

“Now who’s being rude?” Kall snapped back in kind. “Quit with your death threats and focus on the task at hand. That bastard has nothing to do with what we’ll be attempting to accomplish in Algorath.”

Ariadne looked between them, her brows drawn together with uncertainty. “How does any of this help me?”

“Melia Tagh is the Desmo overseeing Azriel’s imprisonment.” Madan glared at both dhemons before refocusing on her. “Azriel has a history with Melia—one that will make it particularly difficult to free him.”

Her eyes widened with understanding. “He and Melia were together once?”

“It was brief,” Madan said, hoping to soothe the look of hurt forming. “About a century ago, he and I were sent to Algorath to gather mages under the Crowe’s orders. He wanted their help in the war.”

“And this Melia was one of them?” Margot’s eyes brightened with curiosity. Being as old as she was, Madan was certain she didn’t often come across a tale or even a drop of gossip she hadn’t yet heard. Though she moved slowly and spoke little, her ears were as sharp as ever.

Madan nodded once, then looked between his grandmother and half-sister. “I need you both to understand that we’ve done a lot of things in the past that we are not proud of today. We fought wholeheartedly against vampires for centuries. There were orders we executed without batting an eye, but after a few hundred years of it…we were tired.”

His sister bit her lip as though just realizing how true it must have all been. Her brother and her husband were, in the eyes of Valenul, murderers and traitors. Yet, to her credit, she said nothing. She merely sat in her chair, still curled in on herself, and listened.

“The Crowe was desperate.” Madan scowled down at his plate. “When we brought back the mages, he had Azriel and me feed them our blood. It nulled their magic long enough for him to kill them and place them near mages’ merchant camps.”

Now Ariadne gaped at him as though not quite seeing him, but a monster. He ignored the guilt curling in his gut and powered on, “We had no idea that had been his intention. The Crowe sought to start a war between Valenul and Algorath, hoping the mages would weaken the vampires enough for us to drive them out of the Valley.”

“Then Melia discovered the truth,” Whelan added, and Madan’s shoulders sagged in relief. He couldn’t keep looking at the horror growing on his sister’s face. “She’d been told the mages were being sent on missions into the villages and camps. When no one returned, she investigated.”

“She put a sword through Azriel when he’d tried to explain,” Madan said. “She told him to stay out of Algorath, or she’d hunt him down and make the rest of his life miserable. Now she controls him.”

A long silence met his final proclamation. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Gods, if he did anything at all, he would be surprised. He’d as good as declared his own brother dead.

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