Page 33 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Ariadne pried her gaze from the dhemon and turned it to her brother. “Thank you.”

“I teach her.” Kall’s eyes glittered with intrigue.

Her heart stumbled. Of course. Madan would be busy as the Lord Governor, so a dhemon would have to step in. The cutthroat horned fae across from her had faced off with Ehrun and his cronies mere weeks ago and walked away from it—even if he had been wounded.

Despite her reservations, she nodded and said again, “Thank you.”

Beside her, Margot merely ate and listened to the exchange. When Ariadne looked to her for support of any kind, the elderly Caersan smiled encouragingly and nodded her approval. Such things had never been an option for her. The time to learn had long since passed.

“Tomorrow,” Kall said, the corner of his mouth ticking up. The smirk twisted the scars across his face in a strange way.

Ariadne’s confidence from moments ago flagged. Sitting in the same room as the dhemons was one thing. To have one teach her? Touch her? Perhaps she had been a bit hasty in the request. Nonetheless, she gave Kall a small smile in hopes it would be enough to fool herself into believing it would all be fine.

Chapter 8

Emillie stared, expressionless, at her reflection the evening after her engagement celebration. Nothing but an echoing silence reverberated in her mind.

The doors to her suite opened, and she watched in the mirror as her maid, Violet, entered with quiet steps. The small Rusan vampire had honey-brown hair and pretty emerald eyes. She curtsied upon approach only to hesitate at the sight before her. Violet bit her lip, the tip of her fangs making a quick appearance before she righted her expression and continued forward.

A vicious bruise wrapped around Emillie’s eye—the only lingering mark from her father’s violent outburst after the celebration. She had never before been subject to his brutal beatings. Nearly fifty and one hundred years of peace had reigned between them, kept intact by her sister’s safeguards. In an instant, that peace shattered.

Every ounce of respect vanished the moment the back of his fist collided with her face in the foyer after the final guest—Alek—had departed. She had not expected it. Had not seen it coming. He had moved fast as a viper and struck without warning.

The servants had scattered like roaches in candlelight, silent with alarm. Her vision flickered from the impact. No one witnessed as he had stood over her, crumpled on the floor and sporting a wound so great it would have cracked a human’s skull.

“You lying little brat!” he had screamed, finally free to let loose with Alek gone. Her fiancé had spent the entire night by her side. His departure had been slow, only irritating her father more. “Where the fuck did Ariadne go?”

But she had not replied, refusing to speak of her sister’s whereabouts. In response, he dragged her back to her feet and shook her by the shoulders, spraying blood from her leaking nose across her gown. Again and again, he demanded an answer. Again and again, she refused. Even when his hand had cracked against her face a second time, splitting her lip, she only glared at him.

Ariadne’s words echoed in her mind: You are one of the bravest people I know.

Now Violet carefully powdered Emillie’s cheeks and eye, hiding the bruise beneath the makeup. The Rusan’s thin, quick fingers braided her hair into a crown and pinned it into place without a word. By the time she stepped back, Emillie appeared almost normal.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and turned to look at Violet. “Will Penelope be here in the morning?”

Violet froze, gaping at her for a long moment before saying, “No, Miss. Penelope has been…relieved.”

Icy dread curled in Emillie’s gut at the words. Ariadne’s maid had been helping her get ready for bed every morning for weeks, stopping only when Azriel’s true heritage was revealed and her sister had returned. Though she did not need the assistance, the companionship had been welcomed. For her to leave so suddenly…

“What do you mean?” Emillie searched the Rusan’s pretty face for any indication. When Violet hesitated again, she pressed, “Please tell me.”

“The Princeps has sent her away,” Violet explained, her shaking fingers smoothing her skirts. Her voice cracked as she continued, “She will not be returning.”

Gods, no. If her father sent Penelope away, there could only be one reason for it: she had been an accomplice to Emillie’s plan to get her sister out of the manor and spent many nights pretending to care for Ariadne while knowing full well what had occurred.

If he knew about Penelope…

“And Thom?” Emillie swallowed hard, not wanting to know but needing to nonetheless.

Violet shook her head at the mention of the stablehand, her brother, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Thom is gone.”

Gone. A horrible, finite word. Emillie’s chest compressed. The stablehand had not wanted to help her at first. It had been her pleas that broke him down bit by bit. He had tried so hard to stay out of the mess she concocted.

“He was let go as well?”

Another shake of her head. “No, Miss. Thom is…the Princeps…”

Emillie was going to puke. She launched to her feet and wrapped her arms around Violet. The Rusan shuddered, burying her face in Emillie’s shoulder, and heaved in a gasping breath. There was nothing for her to do but hold the woman who had spent so many years taking care of her alongside Penelope and Thom.

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