Page 53 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Mages, on the other hand, did not need such massive weaponry. Their powers, particularly when combined for massive spells, could do incredible things.

Including turning an entire nation of people into blood-drinking night-walkers.

She lingered for a moment on the thought as they settled in for the day, Bindhe stretching out a wing for them both to lie beneath. With plenty of space between them, Ariadne shimmied into the sand to give herself a more comfortable place to sleep. She had only just laid her head down on her small pack of clothes before she slipped into the sweet grasp of unconsciousness.

By the time Bindhe left them far from the mage city the following night, Ariadne was more than thankful for the dragon’s protection throughout the daylight hours. Without her constant vigilance and protection from the rays, she would have had no way to make it to Algorath.

And by the gods, her first sighting of the city took her breath away.

Never in all her life did she imagine she would make it to Algorath. For so long she had been molded into the perfect image of what a Caersan woman should be: demure, silent, and without opinions on the important matters of, frankly, anything. She swayed from one room to the next with nary a thought for herself—until Darien, of course. He had changed so much about her…

Just to have it all stripped away by Ehrun, one lesson at a time.

Now she stood in the middle of the Saalo Desert beside a half-blind dhemon with an ax strapped to his back and stared up at the massive crimson walls that stretched out and up like a curtain of stone. She had never seen anything quite so grand in all her life, and it sent a spear of nerves through the center of her gut.

“Where do we go from here?” She looked up at Kall, praying to Keon—no, the Goddess of Fire, Emry, ruled these lands—that she knew what to do next. The gates were very much closed, and she had no intention of speaking with the stern sentinels with their obscured faces.

Kall crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, feet wide. “We wait.”

“For what?”

He merely stared at the gates. “Phulan.”

As though she knew who this Phulan person would be. Ariadne sighed and adjusted her own stance in the sand, her boots shifting over the red grains with the slightest movement. After walking for so long over the uneven, slippery terrain, her calves burned. At least they would not for much longer. A vampiric gift she would never be upset about that had kept her from feeling tired or sore after training for hours on end.

They did not have to wait long before the gates opened, and a lone figure strode out. By the way they moved, as though with steady confidence led by their hips, Ariadne could only guess this woman was who they waited for: Phulan.

Ariadne stared as Phulan approached. The woman was stunning. She wore loose pants that hugged her in just the right places and a low-cut shirt that exposed her midriff with wide sleeves that hung off her shoulders. Her hair, shining silky smooth in the moonlight, was mostly black. Two thick streaks of silver stretched from her temples into the long braid that hung over one shoulder. With deep brown skin that crinkled lightly at the corners of her vivid amethyst eyes, she exuded an ancient wisdom that Ariadne had not felt even in the presence of Margot, a vampire as old as the race itself.

“Kall.” Phulan’s plump lips pulled into a smile, and as she stepped to him, she hooked her fingers around his horns and gave them a playful tug.

To Ariadne’s shock, the dhemon laughed. He actually laughed. Then tugged at the end of her braid in return and said something in his language.

Phulan responded in kind before turning to her. When she spoke, her accent was almost as though the words were said in cursive, it was so beautiful. “You must be Ariadne.”

She blinked. Of course, if Phulan had been expecting them, she would be able to guess at her name. So she nodded. “It is lovely to meet you.”

“Hmm.” Phulan pursed her lips. “No. I don’t believe it is.”

Ariadne gaped, not quite certain how to respond. “Pardon me?”

“If our meeting were lovely,” the mage explained, “you’d be here with your husband…not this big oaf.”

Another chuckle from Kall. Perhaps an inside joke she was not privy to. All the same, Ariadne could not disagree with Phulan’s words. If she were indeed a friend of Azriel’s, then she would have been someone he would have introduced her to. Given the correct circumstances.

Whether Phulan saw or sensed Ariadne’s withdrawal at the thought, the mage took up her hand and patted it. “Nonetheless, my dear…welcome to Algorath.”

Chapter 13

Emillie remained close to Alek any time they were in public together. His claim to her had to be known, no matter how much that particular thought made her skin crawl. Though Alek had been nothing but cordial and even an entertaining companion, she could not shake off the feeling of ownership. While Ariadne had sought to be claimed early on in her first Season—and again the second year she debuted when she first pined after Loren Gard—Emillie had avoided the spotlight.

When her sister became the Golden Rose of Valenul, it had doomed Emillie. Not that Ariadne had had any choice in the matter. The High Priestess made her decision based on what Keon whispered to her on Vertium. No, she had been doomed because that meant that every suitor who knew they had no chance with Ariadne—for who could compete with the General?—turned to her.

Every frail attempt to escape the outer rays of her sister’s golden glow had been futile. Her father would have never allowed her to remain on the outskirts for long anyway. With both daughters out in Society, he had to make an impression.

Whether that impression was upon them or the other Caersans, Emillie still did not quite know. All she knew now was that she was, indeed, taken, and she did not care for the way others looked upon her: as the future possession of Lord Governor Alek Nightingale.

None of this changed even as they stood outside around an empty funeral pyre. The stacked wood, not yet lit, looked strange with no corpse. Only a length of gauzy white fabric spread across it layered with a bed of flowers.

---