Page 74 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

In an instant, Phulan’s melancholy disappeared and was replaced with her typical keen interest. How she hid away her sorrows with such ease, Ariadne had no idea. In a way, she was envious of the mage’s ability to do so. Hiding her true feelings had never been simple.

“I have the perfect dress.”

And so she did. She had many dresses, in fact, meant to be worn at Algorathian parties, such as the one thrown by Melia. Unfortunately, not one of them suited Ariadne’s typical taste from back in Valenul, and all of them had a low-scooping back.

Her hands shook as she held the meager, draping fabric before her and imagined what it would be like to wear it. For so long she had worked to hide the massive letters across her shoulder blades. The scars sank far deeper than the surface appearance.

EHRUN

It took several tries for Ariadne’s words to form in a tight, airy tone. “Is this all you have?”

“What is it, dear?” Phulan asked from her closet, where she stowed away another gown that had been even more revealing. “I know it’s not what you’re accustomed to, but here things are…different.”

Different. Less oppressive was the better term. Though Ariadne quite liked the Caersan fashions, she was more than aware of how modest it appeared in comparison. These were dresses for someone like Camilla, not her.

“I do not know if I can wear this.”

Phulan called from the closet, “Of course you can, dear. I don’t mind at all.”

She swallowed hard, her throat burning. “I cannot. My back…”

The mage reappeared from the closet, her brows taut. “What happened to your back?”

When Ariadne did not reply right away, Phulan’s gaze snapped to the space just over her shoulder as though she could see the skin there. Something dark swept through her expression before settling into a melancholy understanding. “That bastard.”

Ariadne chewed her lip.

“Has no mage helped you?”

A shake of her head. “No one but Azriel knows.”

A long silence stretched between them. Images of Phulan healing Kall’s wounds with nary a scar flashed through her mind. If the mage could work such powerful magic, not unlike Izara, who had amputated Madan’s arm and sealed his wounds, could she remove scars as well?

“I have a shawl.” Phulan swept back into her closet and produced an opaque black length of fabric that seemed to ripple in the blue candlelight. “Wear this, and no one will be the wiser.”

A weight eased from Ariadne’s chest as she accepted the soft cloth. She blinked back the heat from her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You will look marvelous in it,” Phulan said, her voice softer than Ariadne had ever heard it before, “and I’ll be beside you every step of the way. If we’re to keep up this ruse, you need to look as though you came here with nothing.”

“I did come here with nothing,” Ariadne reminded her with a half-hearted laugh.

“Then we’re already halfway there.” Phulan winked. Her face grew serious again. “When you are ready, darling…I can help you with those scars. Now bathe and change quickly, or we’ll be late.”

Chapter 18

Melia Tagh’s chateau in the Suin District was larger and more magnificent than Phulan’s home in many ways. Three floors of wide, open rooms and sweeping balconies with airy doors and gossamer curtains. It smelled of jasmine and lemons from the garden and remained the perfect temperature no matter the time of day or night. Rich metals that shone in the firelights framed art, and almost as many people attended the evening soiree as Ariadne’s own wedding.

Despite its glamor, it felt sterile and heartless as Ariadne entered beside Phulan. She dressed in the local fashion and traveled farther than the boundaries of the smaller, less populated Chax District without Kall for the first time in weeks. Neither played to her comfort level. Without Kall’s looming shadow, she felt exposed.

Without her usual high-necked ball gowns, she felt positively naked.

Camilla would have loved the gown Ariadne accepted from Phulan. The Caersan woman had always toed the line of what was considered proper in Valenul’s High Society and marveled at the thrill of it all. Now it was Ariadne who wore the daring clothing to keep from standing out—as though the vivid blue veins on her pale skin would not be enough amongst the sun-kissed mages.

The draping cobalt dress would have appeared as a low-backed potato sack hung from her neck if it were not for the braided silver belt around the small of her waist. It gave shape to the otherwise unruly garment that tied loosely from her neck. The front fell low, exposing the slopes of her breasts and the only scar she could not hide with the shawl draping around her shoulders and back: Keon’s symbol. At her hips, the light fabric opened with slits that exposed the full length of her legs. Silver bangles decorated her wrists, and a thin chain felt odd around her ankle. Long silver earrings with obsidian angled from her lobes to match the Noct lying against her sternum. Her hair fell around her shoulders, the curls loose and a bit unruly in the arid climate.

And as she suspected, all eyes turned to her the moment they entered the chateau.

Ariadne’s heart thundered. Not only was this a dangerous mission—entering the home of her enemy, surrounded by those she could not trust—but the open stares made her stomach twist. In Valenul, she could trust the gossipy wives and debutantes to turn away once they were noticed gawking. In Algorath, it seemed, there was no such shame in staring down one’s opponent.

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