Page 100 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Their intention, for the plains mages to eventually kill one another out of bloodlust or to perish in the sun, had been sound. They never imagined their new vampires would learn to control their urges and create an entire kingdom. In fact, they did not care…so long as they did not rule over others who did not wish to submit.

At the start of the incantation, one mage became the anchor for them all. The raw power channeled through the single human killed them, yet they did not falter. Failure held greater consequences than death. They struck with the force of over a hundred mages and ignited the hidden powers of the Noct to engulf the enemy camps with shadow. A shadow that seeped into the very bones of the mages they targeted.

They did not expect their own camps, located a good distance from that of the plains mages, to be struck down as well. Their sacrifice was not honored, turning those allies against the desert mages. While many of the affected plains mages escaped to the darker regions of the Keonis Valley and took their places as Caersans at the head of Valenul’s aristocracy, it had been the innocent caught in the cross-fire who remained south far longer to exact their revenge. Those who lingered near the Steppes were more likely to marry with allied humans, and their descendants became the Rusans.

Valenul’s government had begun as a monarchy, and thus labeled their new home a kingdom. The in-fighting, however, shifted the Caersans’ perspectives, and an organized oligarchy took its place.

Much of it Emillie already knew. But this curious stone, the Noct, was not something she had heard of before. It sounded dangerous, though it was the incantation itself that seemed to be what made the powerful object do what it needed. All of those worn during the ritual, however, had shattered. Mere shards remained with very little power, and no matter how far Emillie read into the book, she could not find another mention of them. They were lost.

Likewise, the incantation had not been translated. Unless someone knew the ancient language on the page, there would be no understanding what else the ritual included. She required the assistance of someone far older, wiser, and more learned to assist her.

Emillie clutched the hulking book to her chest as she stood. There was so much more to read from the ancient pages. Mentions of ancient dhemon rituals, fae curses, and avian traditions provided a plethora to read. It would not be returning to the shelf like so many others. She slipped from the library, her soft-soled slippers padding quietly on the wooden floor as she made her way past the foyer balcony to the wing where her suite lay.

Motion in the foyer caught her eye, and Emillie slowed long enough to see the butler bow Revelie through the front door. Her friend carried a wide, stout white box tied together with a thick lavender ribbon. She spoke quietly to the Rusan, her bright smile lighting up the room.

What a different vantage she had in that moment, standing in the same location as the night Azriel had been dragged away, his ruby-red eyes gleaming with true fear.

She shook the memory from her mind and, with it, the rush of panicked terror.

“Revelie!” Emillie called and set the hefty book on a small table at the top of the stairs. She laid her hand on the rail and swept down the steps as her friend looked up, eyes alight with excitement. “What are you doing here? I was not expecting you!”

Her cheeks flushed. “I finished your dress and could not wait to see it on you.”

Emillie’s heart surged into action. She turned her attention to the box, realizing its significance. Too often, her dresses had been folded into smaller packages for easier transportation home.

“You closed the shop just to bring it to me?” Emillie took hold of the box. “You never deliver your gowns!”

“This is a special occasion,” Revelie said, pushing it into her hands, then nodding to the stairs. “Come now, I must see it on you.”

Together, they made their way back to the second floor. Emillie glanced at the abandoned tome at the top but left it there. She would eventually make her way back to gather it up and continue reading. As much as she looked forward to learning more about Myridia’s secrets, it could wait while one of her best friends was with her.

The oddity of it tugged at Emillie despite herself. Revelie had not made the effort to deliver Ariadne’s gown herself. They had traveled into Laeton to collect it before her wedding to Azriel. It had been an excellent way to break her sister out of the manor and get her some fresh air. Perhaps Revelie knew how needed that had been in comparison to Emillie. Though she was still under surveillance thanks to Sul’s connection to Loren and her father’s heavy hand as of late, she still managed to get herself off the Estate grounds regularly.

She would not, however, be absconding to the Drifter’s Inn and Bistro like her sister had after the engagement to Loren.

Stranger yet, Revelie did not speak again until they had entered Emillie’s suite and locked the door behind them. To ensure privacy, the Caersan had claimed after Emillie gave her friend a questioning look. No one entered her rooms without permission and never without knocking beforehand. Her own guard would be hanged for intruding in such a manner, except in the case of an emergency.

Emillie did not like to think about what kind of emergency would constitute Sul entering her rooms without first asking. She had not heard nor seen her sister’s struggle when the dhemon had taken her away last year, but she saw the aftermath and knew how valiantly Ariadne had struggled.

She set the dress box on the squat table near her low-burning hearth and removed the lid. Beyond the careful wrappings inside, ivory satin gleamed in the candlelight. Emillie pinched the shoulders delicately to ease it from the box. It looked almost identical to when she tried it on at the shop, but no more pins lined hems, and the intricate periwinkle details were completed.

“Come, come,” Revelie said with a nod. “Let us get it on you.”

With the help of her friend, Emillie removed the simple gown she wore for lounging around the house and began the process of sliding into the wedding dress. With the slimmer waist design, they layered a corset beneath, so the delicate buttons would come together.

Halfway through the buttons that ran the length of Emillie’s spine, Revelie whispered, “I have news.”

In an instant, Emillie’s head felt light. So that was why she delivered the gown. She had heard something while working in her shop and did not wish to risk repeating it where others could overhear. It also explained the locked door. If her father or Sul decided they did, in fact, need to speak with them, they would be found out.

And what she was about to say was obviously too important to let loose.

“About Ariadne?” Emillie swallowed hard. What had happened to her sister?

“Yes.” Revelie’s deft fingers made quick work of the buttons, and before long, she steered Emillie to stand before her gilded full-length mirror. She straightened the skirts and hummed in satisfaction as she inspected the way it fit over Emillie’s form.

But Emillie could not stand the silence. She turned to her friend. “What is it?”

“It seems Dierdre was not convinced by your tale at the Praads’ ball.” Revelie’s brows angled in concern, and the small smile from a moment ago faded. “She went inquiring after Ariadne’s whereabouts.”

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