Page 75 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“Do not balk,” Phulan murmured and stepped into the lion’s den. “They can read you like a book. Don’t let them.”

It took all her concentration to wipe the expression from her face. Once she felt confident in having schooled her features, Ariadne followed Phulan past the first group of mages silently appraising her. She had done this many times before, particularly after the Reveal during Vertium. Getting labeled as the Golden Rose put a target on her back for judgment.

It was in the first room they entered, however, that Ariadne feared she would not make it far in her ruse. Three prisoners—two fae and a human—lined the back wall wearing nothing but a white sarong. The fae were of an olive complexion with delicately pointed ears and long raven black hair, broad chests shining as though rubbed with oil. The human beside them, tanned by the sun and just as glistening, had blond hair cropped close to his head. His hazel eyes snapped to her, took in the veins at her neck, and quickly averted his gaze.

“What are they doing here?” Ariadne whispered, noting the metal bands around the fae’s throats and human’s wrists that marked them as prisoners. Her blood roared in her ears. Azriel. Azriel would be here and, gods, she would ruin everything the moment she saw him.

Phulan did not seem surprised, however. “Most Desmos will have their fighters on display at these gatherings. It’s not uncommon to use them to boast about their victories.”

“A disgusting practice,” a mage nearby added in, countless thin black braids swaying as she leaned toward them, her emerald eyes sparkling. She stuck out her ebony hand, the gold bangles about her wrist jangling. “My name is Isla. You must be visiting from Valenul.”

For a long moment, Ariadne stared at the outstretched hand, her mind not catching up beyond the prospect of seeing her husband. After a subtle nudge from Phulan, however, Ariadne remembered the common Algorathian greeting. She tucked the fingers of her left hand into the grasp of the mage’s right, and together, they turned their hands over twice. “I am Cressida. Phulan is my guardian.”

Isla raised a brow. “Interesting that an adult vampire would need a guardian.”

“A request of her late parents,” Phulan explained, mimicking the greeting with Isla. “As is tradition for the Caersans.”

“Ah.” Isla’s nod of understanding did not meet her gaze as she took in Ariadne’s clothing. She returned her attention to the prisoners after a moment and said in a low voice, “The entire prison system is repulsive if you ask me.”

Ariadne watched her curiously. She had been under the impression most of the mages agreed with the Pits, yet if there were some in a Desmo’s circle who disavowed it, it could not be as popular as she once believed. “They are attempting to do something similar in Valenul.”

Isla shook her head with a scoff. “And I’m trying to end the practice here. I pray the gods speak sense into your people before it’s too late.”

“You are a politician, then?” Despite meeting with several women to discuss the prospects of freeing Azriel, Ariadne still could not wrap her mind around women being treated with the same respect as the men.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Isla said with a laugh. “It’s common around here. Vampires regressed after the curse.”

Oh, that much Ariadne knew. If there had been one thing she learned from Camilla’s outings with Rusans and Emillie’s incessant studying, it was how poorly Caersan women were treated. Though they played the game well and made do with what they had, the men controlled everything. After their magic had been stripped away, reducing vampires back to their most primal forms in which many men were larger, stronger, and faster, they quickly dug their claws into what little power they had left. Including their dominion over others—one of the many reasons they never sought a way to break the curse.

Vampires did not have much power left after the curse. They gained incredible night vision, endurance, and strength as a whole but at a price. The amount of blood required to sate them, particularly right after their transitions, was enormous. Caersan men became dangerous and capable of killing the women through brute strength alone.

Rusan vampires, those with mixed heritage, had less standing and less power in comparison as well. Even half-mages were no better off, what with vampire blood nulling the magic—likely where Markus had gotten the idea to use it against mages—and fae rarely interacted with vampires outside of merchant business.

The rest of Myridia saw Valenul as a war-torn kingdom and stayed far away.

“Are all of the Desmo’s fighters on display tonight?” Phulan asked, steering the conversation back to what they were most curious about.

The human prisoner shot them a glare from his place near the wall. He crossed his arms, muscles rippling with the movement, and sucked on his teeth.

“I have no idea,” Isla admitted. “But there are quite a few.”

“Is there anything to be done about their sentences?” Ariadne pried, praying for a solution to breaking Azriel free of his shackles. “Will the Mair hear any cases?”

Isla offered her a pitying look. “Until a new Mair is elected, no changes will be made. The law is set: all of their sentences are to be fulfilled or shortened by the grace of Emry—in the Pits.”

“And who sentences them?”

“The Iudex.” At the look of confusion on Ariadne’s face, Isla added, “A jury of five elected officials who look at the evidence.”

When Ariadne opened her mouth to ask another question, Phulan laid a hand on her shoulder and cut her off. “Darling Cressida is still very new to Algorathian law. Thank you for helping her understand these circumstances a little more.”

Isla nodded, sensing, as Ariadne did, the end of their conversation. “Of course. Please feel free to reach out if you need more insight. I’m happy to help. I’m a Raegi in the Medie District.”

With that, Isla slipped away. Ariadne watched her go, a thousand more questions swirling in her wake. Perhaps Phulan had been wise to halt the interrogation. If they were not careful, they could easily spill the truth about who she was and what her intentions were.

They moved through the rooms with nary a word to one another and even less to anyone Ariadne did not know. Phulan nodded discreetly to several mages they passed but did not make introductions. Whether she considered these people friends or merely kept them close to keep an eye on them, Ariadne had no idea. Her lone friend in this excursion did well at holding her mask in place. Not a slip in her expression or tell-tale flicker of emotion.

Yet in each room, Ariadne’s heart sank. She did not want to admit to Phulan how desperately she wanted—no, needed—to see her husband alive and well. Each passing night had had her on edge, waiting for word to reach them that a dhemon had perished in the Pits.

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