Page 85 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

In an instant, Ariadne hung from the chains in the dhemon keep, her throat raw from screams. Ehrun’s knife dug into her back again and again, the sharp blade as hot and painful as ever. Each cut brought with it another lesson.

“What do you know of the Keonis Tree?” he had asked once, carving into her like he was skinning a buck. She had not answered. There was nothing she could say to make him stop. “The one your people stole from us. After they killed our last priestess amongst its onyx boughs, our last connection to the Underworld was ripped away…”

The words slammed into her for the second time, unlocked by the magic cutting into her scars. They muddied with the agony, drowned out by the sound of someone screaming and a booming voice yelling above it. She did not recall such an interaction with Ehrun. No one interrupted him. At least not without consequences.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the pain stopped.

Ariadne opened her bleary eyes, and the room swam around her. Her throat burned as she inhaled a floral scent she did not recognize. Black boots shifted into view, followed by a deep azure hand that moved towards her, then hesitated and pulled back. Her cheek pressed against the plush rug on the floor.

Why was she lying down? Had she started there?

“Get out!” Phulan snarled, her voice more lethal than Ariadne could remember it ever being. “Everything is fine.”

“Not fine!” Kall’s words were low and dark and equally vicious.

Her head spun as she lifted it from the floor. An easy breeze swept across her damp skin, and clarity snapped into place. She was not wearing a shirt. Her bare breasts pressed into the floor, so her back and all the torment of her past lay open for all to see. If, of course, all were the only two friends she had in the city of Algorath.

To her surprise, however, it was Kall who yanked his shirt from his back and laid it over her. The floral scent clung to it. Not what she recalled from all their times grappling together, but then again, they had both always smelled of soil, grass, and sweat. She rarely spent time with him after they had cleaned up for the day.

The two bickered in the dhemon tongue, gesturing wildly in her direction. She eased upright, drawing Kall’s massive shirt around her body as she moved. The skin on her back tingled as the fabric shifted over it, and warmth rushed up and down her spine.

“Ariadne.” Phulan’s sharp tone drew her attention up to the mage, who did not look at her but glowered at the dhemon instead. “Tell this brute you wanted this.”

It took a moment to find her voice. When she did, it rasped from her like a hiss. “No.”

Kall stiffened, his lip pulling back in a snarl. He advanced on the mage with more hate in his gaze than she had ever seen before.

“I needed this.” Ariadne pushed to her feet, clutching the shirt around her body like bedding. She swayed, shadows darkening the edges of her vision for a beat, before she stepped between them and shook her head. “I did not realize just how involved this process would be…but I need it to happen, and I need you to understand that.”

“Azriel—”

“Azriel would let me choose.” Ariadne grimaced. “Even if it killed him to hear that…again.”

Something sad shifted through Kall’s ruby eyes. Memories of his own deepened the lines between his brows. “You not know his pain.”

“Please, Kall.”

The dhemon grunted, clearly still displeased. After a moment, he nodded nonetheless. “Yes, Ydhom.”

Phulan pointed at the door. “Get out.”

To Ariadne’s surprise, Kall did not move. He had acquiesced to her will, but he still glared at the mage before him. Instead, he took a step back and sat on one of the beds, arms crossed. “I stay.”

Ariadne bit her lip. “Kall…”

He shook his head, that sadness returning before he repeated, “I stay.”

“You will not interrupt me again,” Phulan warned before turning back to Ariadne and tilting her head. “Would you like to continue? This will take more time than I thought. Possibly several sessions.”

Ignoring the rumble of frustration from the dhemon, Ariadne nodded. “Just make it go away.”

Chapter 20

Azriel couldn’t recall how he’d gotten out of the Pits. He couldn’t remember how they had won or how he had been so injured as to become such a dead weight. Almost literally. Flashes of the fight returned as he struggled to open his eyes, wondering how many days had passed since being pulled from what should’ve been his grave.

Two vivid details remained clear: he should’ve never been worried about Sasja, and the wound to his side had been far worse than he’d initially thought. Removing that dagger almost killed him. The blade had kept the blood where it needed to be: inside his body. As soon as it was gone, his too-slow healing couldn’t keep up. The severed ligaments in his knees hadn’t helped his predicament.

When at last he peeled his eyes open, Azriel stared at the wall of his cell. The stone seemed to ripple like a stream, and so he slammed his eyes shut again, welcoming the darkness provided by his eyelids. His side ached. His head swam. When he pushed to sit up, he had to lean his horns against the wall to keep himself grounded.

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