Page 121 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Vedrick narrowed his cold eyes. “Your right to privacy was removed the moment you became a Lord Governor. The people of Eastwood Province, like all of Valenul, are your constituents and deserve whatever knowledge they wish of you.”

“I was not voted into my title.” Madan had not felt such intense rage building inside him for quite some time. That this was Loren’s doing only fueled him further. “My constituents trust me, as they have trusted every Lord Governor to walk through these halls.”

“Is that so?” Vedrick shook the document. “This was read aloud to the people of Monsumbra just this evening. I do not believe they were very happy with the truth of your predecessor.”

Madan grit his teeth. “You have done enough, Colonel. Take your soldiers and leave.”

“On the contrary.” Vedrick smirked. “My soldiers will remain on the premises, as I have stated. You are to remain on the grounds. All outside communication will be screened.”

“Get out.”

“A pleasure meeting you, Lord Governor.” Vedrick bowed again, and pivoting on his heel, he exited out the front door.

Madan watched him go. For the first time in many years, he wished he’d never returned to the Caersans. Living in the Keonis Mountains had been difficult, certainly, but he now remembered why he’d spent so many centuries planning attacks against the soldiers of Valenul. Though Markus Harlow had long since stepped down from his position as the General, Loren Gard had been the worst possible replacement.

“Is everything alright?” Brutis’s low rumble of a voice slipped through his mind, reminding him how he could never be completely alone.

Madan wanted to throw something. “Tell Whelan I’m sorry.”

The plan had been to visit the dhemon that evening. After taking the day to rest from flying across Valenul, he’d fallen asleep before getting the chance to communicate with his partner. All he wanted was to curl up in Whelan’s arms and forget all of his responsibilities.

Now he wouldn’t have those simple pleasures.

“We’ll get you out, Little One,” Brutis promised, no doubt seeing what had occurred by skimming through Madan’s recent memories. The openness between their minds had once unnerved Madan. Now the strange sensation of Brutis plucking through his thoughts comforted him. It made their connection stronger and eased his tensions when he didn’t have to relay the information again and again.

“I need to tell Margot.” Madan pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I can’t leave her here.”

“And we won’t leave her behind.” Brutis’s consciousness curled around Madan’s mind like a heavy quilt. He could see Whelan beside Lhuka and the fury on their faces. Jakhov and Gavrhil stood not far off, speaking with a dhemon woman he didn’t recognize, three more behind her.

“Who are they?” Madan asked as he started back up the stairs. His grandmother would likely be in the sitting room, stitching as she was wont to do to while away the hours.

Voices he recognized echoed into his mind as Brutis let him in. Jakhov was asking the same question to the woman, who then explained that she’d been sent to them by Dhom. She’d spread the word along her travels that he’d been wrongfully imprisoned by the bloodsuckers and sent to Algorath. They wanted to help.

Madan frowned, slowing to a halt in the middle of the corridor. “An army?”

“Hardly enough for one yet.”

“It’s a start.”

“It’s what we’ll need to get you out of there.”

He started off again until he reached the sitting room. As he suspected, Margot sat near the fire with a needle in one hand and her latest project in the other. Her frail hands moved with unnerving precision for someone who could hardly walk on their own.

“Grandmother.” Madan stopped to lean on the back of the couch opposite her. “It’s time.”

Margot sighed and, without looking up, said, “I knew this was coming. My things have been packed for quite a while.”

“Will you be alright to travel?”

She looked up with her tired green eyes. “I have endured millennia of war, married a man who treated me as a prized possession, and set fire to my daughter’s pyre after she was murdered by her husband. I then spent centuries believing my only grandchildren had also died and that every single one of those things was my fault. I may be old. I may be tired. I am not, Grandson, weak. Do not question my fortitude again.”

Madan almost laughed despite himself. He nodded as she returned to her stitching and took a step back. “I will warn the others, then. We move in less than a week.”

“Tell me where to be and when,” she said, stabbing the needle through the taut fabric with more aggression than necessary, “and I will be there.”

“Good.” He hesitated in the doorway and looked back at her. He didn’t know what he’d do if something befell her—his last connection to the family he had only a vague memory of before growing up with the dhemons. The worst part of such thoughts was that he didn’t know if she understood just how important she was to him. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Grandmother?”

“Grandson.” She didn’t look up at him.

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