Page 20 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

The last several nights of travel were then filled with the blistering cold of the Saalo Desert, while the days kept outside the Caersans’ impenetrable tents remained agonizing in the heat of the sun. He shifted the best he could into the slivers of shade from the tents but often awoke to slow-healing burns across his exposed skin. The hue of blue quickly darkened to compensate, but it was never enough.

When at last they arrived at the massive mage city on the banks of Brulus Lake, the last of Azriel’s nerves were shot. Between surviving off scraps of food and just enough water to sustain him through the desert, hardly sleeping through the days and the long nights of walking, and recognizing the first signs of memory loss thanks to his bond, he hadn’t had the time to mentally prepare himself for what he saw as they crested the final sandy dune. Even in the moonlight, it was a terribly magnificent sight to behold.

The crimson walls of Algorath stretched high into the night sky and encompassed the city completely. Two colossal towers carved from single blocks of red jasper rose to frame the sculpted gates. Silhouetted figures moved along the wall and within the backlit windows of the monoliths.

A shout rose up upon their approach, and after a quick exchange with Nikolai, the sentinels at the top of the jasper towers eased the gates open. The city on the far side of the wall appeared silent and undisturbed. Flat-topped adobe buildings lined the stone streets and alleys with shuttered windows and sparse lighting. Not even a stray animal scurried through the cool desert darkness.

Behind Azriel, a soldier scoffed. “Mages, always asleep.”

“We are guests,” Nikolai reminded him quietly, the horses’ hooves clicking as they made their way down the main road. “Hold your tongue.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Azriel threw the soldier a knowing smirk, savoring the Caersan’s discomfort. The edges of Algorath remained calm and quiet even in the middle of the day; young mages or small bands of ruffians causing mischief for their parents were the worst of the offenders. It was the heart of the city which gave Algorath its reputation.

As they drew nearer, the noise built. Though not as many mages roamed the streets at night as vampires did in Valenul’s markets, there were more than enough to remind him where they now were: the greatest mage city in all of Myridia.

Melia’s territory.

Emillie couldn’t have known what awaited him within these desert walls. She’d asked him to be sent here as a saving grace. Being back in the city, however, made Azriel’s skin crawl and his senses go on high alert. Melia could be watching him already, waiting for the moment to strike him down.

Yet upon their arrival at the center of the bustling night market, she had yet to make her appearance. As if she needed to physically face him to cause him harm.

Nikolai spoke with a human sentinel, and they were directed to a building with elegant carvings and pointed arch windows. On either side of the entrance, like many within view, grew palm trees.

There, a mage waited, his hands clasped behind his back. His white-streaked ebony hair was pulled into a long braid, and his deep amber eyes almost glowed as he tracked their movement toward him. Fine lines spread out from the corners of his eyes and framed his mouth, his tawny skin weathered from age and the harsh climate. The intricate robes he wore appeared heavy and suffocating, but Azriel knew from experience just how deceiving the desert clothes were. Spun from enchanted wool, it likely kept the man warm during the cold nights while fighting off heat throughout the blistering days.

“Thank you for meeting me, Mair Solt.” Nikolai dismounted and sketched a bow to the mage. His soldiers inclined their heads from their saddles but didn’t join him on the ground. They didn’t expect to stay long, then.

“Captain Jensen.” Mair Solt didn’t move, his light, lilting voice dancing like a song in the still desert air. As the primary elected official in charge of the courts and justice system within Algorath, soldiers—even ambassadors of other nations—were below him. “I received word you’d arrive with a prisoner. A traitor.”

The Mair’s gaze flickered to Azriel, then back to Nikolai. The Captain drew himself up and nodded once. “He is to go to the Pits.”

“I see a dhemon, not a vampire.” Solt studied the Caersan, his face a mask of neutrality. “They’re your enemies, not traitors.”

“You are mistaken.” Nikolai glared back at Azriel. “He’s a half-breed and disguised himself as one of us to steal a title and abduct a wife for his own gain.”

Azriel’s blood ran cold at the accusations—at how horrifyingly close the vampire was to the truth of his past. He schooled his own expression from tempered rage to the stony countenance he’d projected for so long as a guard.

Mair Solt narrowed his eyes. “You have the documentation of this?”

“Of course.” Nikolai fished from his saddle bags a thick envelope sealed with the Princeps’ wax, then another pressed shut with crimson. Loren’s seal.

“Then we will take him from here.”

Desert sentinels with their faces hidden by white shemagh scarves moved forward. They carried no weapons. There’d be no need. Not with their magic honed to kill or incapacitate. One took the key from Nikolai and unfastened the lock; fae magic didn’t react the same as their own. Another drew from their robes a wide collar to replace the fae-crafted ring around his neck. The lighter metal was a blessing; the itch of mage magic against his skin, however, was not. It was sealed with magic, not a key.

“Do you have a warden with whom I may keep in contact?” Nikolai stepped back and accepted the fae collar and its key from the sentinel. He tucked it into his saddle bag from whence he’d pulled the envelopes. “My Lord Princeps expects regular updates and proof of payment for his prisoner.”

Mair Solt nodded and shifted away from the doors behind him. “Indeed.”

As though summoned by the question, a beautiful woman with sun-kissed skin and thick, straight brown hair stepped out. She wore finely embroidered robes that hugged her curves and enhanced her figure from sandaled feet to bejeweled neck. Her silver eyes shone like moonlight as she shifted her gaze from Mair Solt to Nikolai before finally settling on Azriel.

His heart crashed against his ribs, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to run—run as fast and as far as he could into the desert. Whatever awaited him out in those sands, the sun and heat and inevitable death, would be far better than what awaited him within those jasper walls. He’d accept even Nikolai’s sword through his heart.

“Good evening,” the mage said, her soft and angelic voice far too familiar. “My name is Melia Tagh, Desmo of Suin District.”

Waking up beside Whelan never got old. The dhemon’s massive body curled around Madan, radiating heat. Winter days were perfect. Summer days, the blankets tended to be pushed aside in favor of his partner.

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