Page 76 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

It tormented her, the waiting. The not knowing. She hated every minute they were separated, and in the middle of Melia’s party, she had nothing to keep her mind busy.

And then she saw the blue skin, the spiraling horns, and red eyes.

Her heart lurched into her throat. Phulan caught her by the wrist as she jerked forward. The mage’s fingers dug into her skin and hauled her back, allowing her the time for her mind to catch up to what she saw.

It was not Azriel.

Ariadne had never seen a female dhemon before. Not up close, anyway. The woman’s elegant features were sharp. Sharper, perhaps, than they were meant to be. Her gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes made it look as though her skin stretched over the bones like a starved animal. By the way her glare pierced into the mages gawking at her, Ariadne was reminded of a stray dog she had once seen in an alley in Laeton, protecting a meager scrap of food with a snarl.

“Come with me,” Phulan said quietly, cutting through the fading pounding in Ariadne’s ears. “You must meet the Desmo.”

The dhemon’s gaze snapped to her and held firm. She tilted her head, those deep ruby eyes sliding over the webbed veins before landing on the exposed brand. Her lips parted as her brows pinched together, and when she met Ariadne’s stare again, she shook her head ever so slightly.

Her blood ran cold. What did that mean? The subtle motion could have so many implications, Ariadne did not even know where to begin. Perhaps the dhemon hated her for her place in the Society—an understandable, if regrettable, circumstance. Or she had teased together who Ariadne truly was in search of.

If the latter, she could very well be in grave danger. That meant the woman knew who she was, and such knowledge was not meant for everyone.

Phulan gave Ariadne another tug, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with a stunning mage rippling with power. Her curtain of brown hair draped around her devastatingly lovely face with eyes of melted silver. They shone like the moon as they studied Ariadne, sending another rush of cold through her.

“Phulan.” Melia Tagh extended her hand. They exchanged a quick greeting before she turned to Ariadne. “I heard you have a new ward.”

“Cressida, my Lady.” Ariadne hurried into a curtsy, praying her Caersan manners, matched with her lack of coordination, were enough to keep the mage from distrusting their presence. “I am honored to be here.”

“So polite.” Melia looked her over with a discerning eye. “What brings you into my friend’s care?”

Ariadne glanced at Phulan. The term friend was, at best, loosely used. She let her face fall, the pain she still felt from watching Azriel dragged away in chains bleeding through. “My village was raided and…”

Melia’s moonlight eyes slid to the brand on full display. Her face softened, something Ariadne had not expected. “Dhemons?”

“I barely escaped.”

Gods, how true those words were. She felt no remorse for twisting her own past in her favor. If these mages were as skilled at sensing her thoughts as she believed them to be, she could not risk straying too far from the truth.

“Her parents were good friends of mine,” Phulan said and scooped up Ariadne’s arm to give her hand a protective pat. “They requested I look after her in their Will.”

Then Melia’s gaze darkened again. “You’ve always been close to those in Keonis.”

Ariadne’s stomach knotted, uncertain what to say next.

Luckily, Phulan relieved her of the burden. “You well know I haven’t visited there in decades. Too many enemies surround the Eastern Passage.”

Whatever Melia sensed in Phulan’s words seemed to assuage her. For now. She gave her a brisk nod. “Too true. Now…” She turned her attention back to Ariadne. “How are you enjoying Algorath?”

Twisting her fingers along the hem of her thin cobalt skirt, Ariadne offered her a half-smile. “It is beautiful. I only wish I were here under different circumstances.”

“Of course.” Melia beckoned her to follow as she moved toward the open doors leading onto a balcony. “It’s why I didn’t send an invitation the moment I heard Phulan had a Caersan visitor. Perhaps I was still too eager?”

Ariadne followed, clutching Phulan’s arm as though it were her last tether to the world. “I am most grateful to have such friends open their homes to me in my time of need.”

“Algorath is certainly the place to be in such times,” Phulan agreed, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “The magic in the air is healing.”

As though on command, cool air swept across the balcony as the sun set, turning the Noct’s chill nearly frigid. A variety of comfortable couches and tables and chairs were arranged along the outside of the chateau. Most were arranged in formations for small groups of people to sit and chat idly, which some did. Others were in pairs or alone. None sat at the edge overlooking the rest of the grounds.

Clutching her shawl closer, Ariadne moved to look beyond the balcony’s rail. Phulan held firm at first, her amethyst eyes shooting her a warning, but she gave in after an insistent tug. Even Melia noted her silent inquiry and leaned a hip on the rail as though begging for more questions from the curious vampire.

What she found below, however, only swallowed her whole. Beyond an array of desert plants beautifully curated and arranged in an inaccessible garden lay a huge expanse of sand surrounded by high jasper walls. At the tops stood guards with scimitars at their hips and their faces shrouded by shemaghs. A small overhang provided hardly any coverage from the sun at its daily peak, with a box of wooden weapons stored below.

Training grounds.

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