Page 57 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“To their cells,” Paerish said as Raoul hauled Azriel to his feet. “No meals.”

Two guards pulled him away from his friend and pushed him toward the barracks. Sasja stumbled along beside him without so much as a glance.

Good.

He’d gotten under her skin. Now he just needed to push a little harder, and before long, he’d have another ally.

Chapter 14

Phulan’s home sat at the northern end of Algorath within the Chax District. The red adobe walls were smooth inside and out and soared high above Ariadne’s head. Though the building was a single story, it felt far more grand. No plants grew around the outside, and instead, Phulan decorated with stone sculptures and a single water fixture that worked its way almost completely around the house.

Inside, shelves of crystals and beautiful, polished stones stood every few feet. Everything from obsidian to jasper to selenite. Her dining table was a massive, carved slab of purple amethyst. She even opted for clear quartz for the chandelier dangling overhead rather than glass crystal most commonly seen in Valenul. There was no surface left untouched or unmade by some stone or another.

A bay of mashrabiya windows, propped open from the bottom, let in the cold desert night air. A plush rug with sitting pillows and woven blankets heaped atop it lay beneath, creating a cozy nook of comforts. They looked so inviting, Ariadne was tempted to lie down amongst them and drift into a deep slumber.

“Dawn is not far off,” Phulan announced and handed her a shallow bowl. “Eat quickly. I have a room for you, then we’ll discuss more in the evening.”

Ariadne looked at the food she had never seen before: a thick orange sauce with vegetables and rice and a thin, airy bread. It smelled divine. She looked up to the mage to ask for a spoon when she found Kall tearing off a piece of his bread and using it to scoop the vegetables into his mouth.

She mimicked the motion and almost gasped at the smooth combination of flavors. Savory and spice danced across her tongue, alighting her senses.

She turned to Phulan, whose lips quirked as she said, “That drivel they call food in Valenul is a true crime.”

“This is incredible,” Ariadne agreed, though she suspected there were many Caersans who would disagree. Their palates were as bland as their personalities. Of course, she had fallen nicely into that very category over the last year—quiet, plain, and unassuming—but that era was over. That Ariadne died the moment her father locked her in the manor and allowed Azriel to be taken away in chains. Again.

No more would Ariadne shrink herself to meet the expectations of others. To fit in the carefully constructed boxes deemed appropriate for Caersan women. To shelter herself from the world and all its darkness.

For there was a darkness in her as well. One she had locked away, hoping it would wither and die as she shrouded it in cheerful colors and pretty smiles. It had sprung up like a well within that deep, miserable chasm that had yawned open all those nights ago. As sure as the spring of hope had rushed forth, so had her own shadows. They had guided her along the hidden paths between Laeton and Monsumbra, following the trails Azriel had once been forced to lead her down.

Ariadne took another bite of the delectable sauce, letting the foreign spices warm her from the inside. Strange how something as simple as a new food could unlock such thoughts.

Yet something glittered in Phulan’s amethyst eyes as they sat at the table. She did not shy away from letting her interest be seen. After several silent minutes in which she and Kall finished their plates, scraping the shallow bowls clean, the mage said, “I’m quite eager to get to know you, Ariadne. Azriel has written many times about you this last year.”

That darkness curled in her gut, hollowing it out with a sweep of cold. She did not focus on the fact that Azriel had failed to mention Phulan to her but instead on the intrigue of this meeting. “What did he say?”

Kall stiffened, his ruby eyes snapping to the mage and giving a subtle shake of his head.

“What?” Ariadne frowned at him. That hollowness whiplashed into icy dread. “What is it?”

The mage, however, did not look as perturbed as the dhemon. “He told me everything that happened with him. Ehrun, that rat. That he was to be your personal guard for the Season. Then he asked me to break his bond to you.”

She should not have been surprised. He had, after all, attempted to end his life to rid himself of the bond. Nonetheless, the words hurt. Azriel had been so desperate to rid himself of her that he sought the aid of a mage.

Ariadne did not hide her grimace. “I see. What did you tell him?”

“An impossible task,” Phulan said, her lips curling into a smile. “Most of the time, anyway. But for darling Azriel, I merely told him no.”

That had not been what she expected. An impossible task, perhaps, but not that she would deny him the freedom of removing the bond. So Ariadne frowned and asked, “Why?”

“It’s a gift and a burden to be a mage.” Phulan sighed, her smile growing. “Though it’s rare to have visions of the future—for any mage, a prophet or not—I’ve been cursed with several.”

Ariadne could not pinpoint the feeling that swirled in her chest. “What did you see?”

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Now, now. I can’t tell you that. Just know what I’ve seen…has yet to come to pass.”

“And how often are your visions correct?”

“The future is malleable.” Phulan stood at that and gestured for them to follow. They did as they were bid, and the three of them walked down a wide hall illuminated with blue light emanating from the sconces. “Remain on your path, however, and you’ll see it happen.”

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