Page 93 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

She could cry for the relief that flooded through her at the sound of Alek’s voice and the heavy hand he laid on her shoulder. If they were anywhere but in public, she might have very well launched into his arms. As it were, she took a step back until she bumped into his chest. Between the two Caersans, she would always choose her betrothed.

“Not at all.” Loren pushed his shoulders back, silver hair rippling with the movement. “I was merely thanking her for the thoughtful invitation to your wedding.”

Alek’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “You are very welcome. Now I must have a word with Miss Harlow. Enjoy your evening, General.”

Loren scowled at the quick dismissal but inclined his head to them both nonetheless before turning on his heel to march away. Emillie watched him go, her breathing still ragged as she scrambled to figure out how he could possibly have such knowledge about her.

It was not until they were as alone as they could be on the balcony that Alek shifted so he stood before her, his brows low and black eyes searching her face. “Are you okay?”

She did not know how to answer that question. Instead, she blurted, “Did you tell him about my…”

“No.” Alek’s frown deepened. “What did he say to you?”

Emotions swelled to the surface. She laid a hand over her throat and averted her gaze to the gilded filigree ceiling. Each breath burned from the unspoken words, but sorting through the burst dam of thoughts was too much.

All at once, she understood Ariadne’s penchant for keeping her thoughts to herself. It was safer to pretend all was well, particularly when it was not certain who one could believe.

“Emillie.” Alek’s voice lowered so only she could hear him, except unlike Loren, his voice remained light and concerned rather than threatening. “If our agreement is going to work, you need to trust me. I would never tell that snake anything. Your troubles are mine. Let me help you.”

“He asked about Ariadne,” she rasped. He was right. She needed an ally in all of this and he was the strongest one she had. “He knows I have something to do with her disappearance and threatened to take…everything I love…if I did not tell him where she is.”

Alek’s mouth thinned. His gaze swiveled to the ballroom below them to glare at the General from afar as he rejoined his soldier cronies. “Do you know where she is?”

“No.”

“Wrong.” His depthless eyes shot back to her. “She is in Monsumbra. Do not say anything different.”

Emillie nodded. This was not her strong suit. She could recite information from books or devise a plan to accomplish anything, but ask her to wade through the infested waters of the Society, and she drowned. Books were straightforward. They never played games. People lied and swindled to get what they wanted. She could not keep up.

“Why was he asking about her?” Alek shifted again so his back turned to those on the balcony and he could lean his arms on the rail, effectively cutting off any other Caersans from joining their conversation.

Following suit, Emillie gripped the rail, her back rigid. “He wants to marry her…to be my father’s heir.”

A moment ago, she did not think Alek could seethe anymore. She had been wrong. His nostrils flared, and he sucked on his teeth as he thought. When he spoke next, it was little more than a breath. “He is growing dangerous.”

“Growing dangerous?” Emillie looked up at him, stomach hollowing. “He is dangerous. Look what he did to Madan—”

She snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late. Alek’s eyes widened just enough to tell her he understood exactly what she implied. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Say nothing more for now, but that conversation is not over. I will keep an eye on the General.”

With that, he pushed back from the rail and held out his arm. She took it, mind still reeling from the unexpected interrogations. Between Dierdre and Belina, then Loren, she had had more than enough of the Society for one night.

Madan had missed Algorath. He hadn’t visited the mage city since Melia’s threats, and he was quite glad vampires outlived mages. In another century, he could return without fear. So long as he kept his nose clean until then, of course.

His sister, however, was well on her way to making a name for herself amongst the mages. Not only did she lie to their faces about who she was, but her plans to free Azriel were questionable at best. By the time she left, hopefully in one piece and with his brother alive and well by her side, she’d have likely ripped through the Suin District like a wrathful tornado.

Watching her train with Kall over the two nights of his visit, stepping in when he wished to participate or provide guidance as a vampire with a far more similar body size than the massive dhemon, had shown him a side of Ariadne he didn’t know existed. Namely, how cutthroat she could be. Any sign of weakness, and she took advantage of it. One slip-up, one tiny mistake, resulted in her capitalizing and, often, finishing the round with either a submission or concession.

Yet she never acknowledged the improvements. She only seemed to see her mistakes. No matter the praise, no matter the encouragement, she pushed it aside in frustration.

The last night of his stay with Phulan, Madan sat across the amethyst table from her and finally asked, “Why don’t you listen when we tell you you’re doing well?”

Ariadne looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. For a long moment, she didn’t reply. When she did, her voice was small. “I do not see what you see.”

“I’m impressed,” Madan said with as much sincerity as he could muster, “that you’d remained so focused for so long. You’ve only been training for a month, and the progress has been incredible.”

Color flushed across her cheeks. She glanced at Kall, who said nothing, then to Phulan as though silently pleading for help. For some confirmation that she was right in her self-deprecation. “I rarely win.”

Madan scoffed. “We are over thrice your age, and you’ve gotten the better of us both many times. How long do you train each night?”

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