Page 111 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

On one knee, he could do nothing but watch the avian stalk forward, looking ready to make his death long and painful. Azriel finally faced his demise.

He always wondered how it’d come about. At one point, he thought it’d be at the hands of the vampires for all the terrible deeds he’d committed against Valenul. In a way, it was. A mere year and a half ago, he’d been convinced he could end his own life on his own terms. When he’d put that rope around his neck, he’d done so not only to save himself from the spiral his bond had taken him down but to save Ariadne from his disgusting obsession. Gods, he’d even hoped at one point that he’d be killed in some grand battle with Ehrun where the twisted dhemon bled out beside him. It’d have been a poetic death.

Now he knew, though. He’d die alone at the hands of another prisoner, surrounded by people cheering for his death and celebrating their winnings.

If only he could’ve seen Ariadne one last time. But even after death, he’d never see her again. She was bound for Empyrean, to sit in the golden halls of all that was good and holy. He would return to his creator, Keon, and like his patron god, he’d spend the rest of eternity separated from the only woman he would ever truly love.

Azriel closed his eyes and focused on the perfect face that had haunted him those past weeks. Perhaps Keon would take pity and send him back to find her again in the next life. “Until the very end, my love.”

Ariadne strained against Phulan’s hold. The mage cursed her again and again as she screamed, her voice swallowed by the cacophony of rabid onlookers seeking the blood of her husband. They hollered as the fae stabbed Azriel, and the crowds surged forward to see how it would all end.

All around them, the chant rose us: “Kill the Crowe! Kill the Crowe!”

Something had been wrong the moment Azriel’s feet hit the sand. Ariadne recognized the dull eyes and unsteady sway. His pale, gaunt face and unkempt hair, though someone had tried to braid it back for him. Perhaps it had been the other dhemon with her own long braid.

She did not know, and she did not care. All she cared about was Azriel not fighting the way she knew he could. Like his last bout in the Pits, he was not himself. Only this time, it was not only due to the frailness of his body. It was from the potions Melia likely fed him regularly.

Each shaking step he took appeared forced. Delayed. The frown forming between his brows confirmed what she already knew: he was trying. At least…at first.

“He is going to die!” Ariadne screamed, yanking her arm from Phulan and shoving her way through the crowd. Her heart thundered. Her stomach twisted. He’d given up. Why would he give up? Why would he not want to see her again? She had fought so hard to get there, to plan their attack to free him, to hold him again and never let him go, and yet…

He knelt in the sand and watched the fae approach with what looked like reservation on his face. All hope vanished as blood trickled from his parted lips.

And she was going to watch him die.

No. No.

“Don’t!” Phulan pushed to her side. “Melia will see you—”

“Azriel!” Ariadne ignored the mage and pressed herself over the low rail, keeping the crowd from falling into the fighting pit below. She bent at the waist as she screamed his name again and again, slapping Phulan’s hands away. She would throw herself into the hole if she must in order to get his attention.

At first, Azriel closed his eyes. He turned his face toward her, unseeing, as tears slid down his face.

“Get up!” she screamed. “Open your eyes! Fight back!”

His brows creased again. Then those perfect, ruby eyes opened again and found her face. For a moment, what he saw did not seem to register. He stared and stared.

“Please, Azriel!” Tears streamed down her face now, too, and she clutched at her own chest, unable to hold the splintering pieces of her heart together while the fae grabbed his horn and jerked his head to the side as though to make a show of it.

But Azriel’s eyes never left hers.

“Get up!” she begged again, choking on her own words. She was going to be sick from the shattering of her soul. “Please!”

Azriel’s lip pulled back in a snarl. Those dull eyes filled with life again, and he roared, blood flying from his mouth as he slammed his horns into the fae’s stomach. The man stumbled back at the sudden, unexpected impact.

And, praise the gods, he stood.

“Ariadne!” he called back, staring at her for a long moment as though seeing her for the first time. Perhaps after so long under Melia’s thumb, it felt that way to him.

She shook her head and pointed at the fae. “Kill him!”

Whether it was his own will power or that of the bond forcing him to obey her, Ariadne did not know. She did not care. All that mattered was that he was up, if barely, and doing what she commanded. He fought back.

The fae’s eyes widened, shocked by Azriel’s sudden surge of strength. After doing so little, it did not surprise her. Azriel had been a walking corpse upon entering the fight and did not stray from that as it continued. Nonetheless, the fae man steadied himself and squared off with the dhemon, determination in every hard edge of his beautiful face.

Though Azriel was on his feet again, that did not mean he would walk away, and that terrified Ariadne the most. She could only do so much when it came to spurring him on. He would have to do the rest.

“We have to leave,” Phulan hissed in her ear. “Melia saw us.”

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