Page 26 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“I will do that, Mister…”

“Phillips.” He sliced through the wheat with a powerful stroke of his tool. “Eli Phillips.”

Ariadne adjusted her seat once more in the saddle and nodded. “I will do that, Mister Phillips. Thank you again.”

When he did not respond, she nudged Astra forward again and followed his directions. She wove carefully between the twisting trunks of the apple trees, her stomach growling at the sight of the small, unripe apples hanging around her. Only a few nibbles of bread remained in her satchel, which she ignored. She could wait.

No other vampires made an appearance in the orchard. Dark silhouettes roamed between them in the distance, pausing to inspect and trim or otherwise care for the trees, but with the harvest a couple months out, the narrow spaces between rows remained relatively empty. Transforming blossoms and winking stars overhead remained her company.

And after so long alone on a road, Ariadne was desperate for some form of companionship. The very idea proved how far she had come since the beginning of the Season.

Yet the next road proved to be even less occupied than the last. Thick redwoods and firs lined the road opposite the orchard, interrupted only by finely trimmed hedges and broad driveways leading to what Ariadne could only assume were manors of Monsumbra’s less influential Lords. No Councilmen or those with any sway amongst the Governors would reside so close to the farmlands.

So it was when she, at last, crested a hill overlooking the enormous swaths of well-manicured land owned by Valenul’s most affluent that she breathed a sigh of relief. Tall privacy bushes lined the borders of each estate, where lush gardens sprawled in an array of night-muted colors. Ponds filled the low dips of land, often accompanied by weeping willows and gazebos overlooking the water. Lazy drives swept through pastures and fields to the grand entry steps at the front of the grand stone manors.

Compared to the small houses dotting the farmlands, the sheer size of the properties and their corresponding structures seemed superfluous. Despite the looks of them feeling like home, Ariadne could not wrap her mind around the privilege to which she had become so accustomed. Laeton’s lack of local fields and orchards had played a large part in her blindness to it all. Her father rarely taking her or Emillie on trips outside of Central Province played another.

She descended to the lane of massive estates, pulling the hood of her cloak up to obscure her face from anyone looking on. No one, not even the guards in their towers, needed to see their Golden Rose sneaking into the capital of Eastwood Province alone. Each iron gate she passed at the mouth of the drives was embellished with family names. Councilmen and Lords of the Society.

When Ariadne finally arrived at the one she had been searching for, she frowned at the lack of guards at the entrance. Every other manor she had passed had at least two trained vampires glaring as she passed. They likely thought her to be some sort of vagabond, what with her filthy clothes and satchel.

Despite the pointed lack of vampires at the entrance, she felt eyes on her as she turned up the driveway. It was different than when she had made her way through the foothills of the mountains—closer and more intense.

Knowing now the company Azriel and Madan kept, Ariadne shuddered to think who observed her progress up the dark, lanternless lane. The longer she thought about it, the more glowing red eyes she saw. Whether they were truly present or not, she had no idea.

No stablehand met her at the entrance to the Caldwell manor. The massive pale stone building rivaled the Harlows’ back in Laeton with tall windows and towers stretching into the night sky like fingers beckoning to the gods of Empyrean. Dark wood front doors, carved with elegant depictions of the surrounding mountains, leered down at her as though daring her to enter.

Ariadne sucked in a deep breath, knowing very well it may not be a vampire standing behind those doors, and dismounted Astra. Leaving the near-empty satchel dangling from the saddle, she hurried up the front steps, where she pushed through the doors without knocking.

The foyer beyond opened around her like a great cavern. The tiled floor gleamed and sparkled under the huge crystal chandelier. Deep burgundy walls, at once comforting and overbearing, stretched high. A circular wooden table sat in the center, bearing a single thin vase and one flower. The six white and red petals were now familiar and made her heart ache. The gladiolus tristis—the moonlight flower—and symbol of the Caldwells.

“You made it!”

Jumping at the sudden call from above, Ariadne whipped around for the owner of the familiar voice. Madan, his marbled eyes shining with delight, bounded down the curving staircase. He had been expecting her, it seemed. How he had known she would be arriving, she did not care—only that he was there, and he welcomed her with open arms.

She nearly wept with relief as she breathed, “Madan!”

As he reached the foyer floor, he held his arms wide and rushed forward. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

Ariadne folded herself into his embrace, going so far as to hold him longer in search of a physical touch she had not realized she craved in a long, long time. A torrent of emotions twisted and expanded in her chest. The good and bad knotted together in a thorny bramble that stung her, inside and out.

“You are in quite a pleasant mood.” Ariadne sniffled and turned her watery gaze up at him. “Have you not heard?”

Madan’s initial excitement faded, the corners of his mouth turning down. He took a step back, his arms dropping back to his sides. His left sleeve, rolled to the length of his amputated arm, scrunched to expose the still-fresh skin. “I have.”

“About what really happened?” Certainly by now her father would have spun some sort of story to not only conceal the truth of her marriage, and now, her disappearance.

He sighed and glanced back up the stairs behind him as though expecting someone to join them in the foyer. When no one came, he refocused on her and nodded. “Yes, I know the truth of it. What I don’t know is how you got out of Laeton…or why. You were safe there.”

Discomfort twisted in her gut. “Do you wish for me to return?”

“No!” He looked behind him again. “Why, though, did you leave?”

“I want to help.” She searched his gaze, unreadable as it had been during his nights as her personal guard. As unreadable as the night he had broken her free of that cell in the dhemon keep. “I cannot let him die in Algorath. I could not bear it…”

His face blanched. “This is not your burden, Ariadne. I will find a way to free my brother. They’ve appointed me the new Lord Governor, but I have…help from others.”

“Please, Madan.” Ariadne took his only hand in hers and squeezed it hard. “I have to do this.”

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