Page 80 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Ridiculous. This was ridiculous. He’d barely been injured, and yet he couldn’t even keep himself upright. How was Sasja still moving?

But she wasn’t. Not really. As the fae now holding the sword advanced on him, Sasja swayed. Azriel’s vision blurred again. The fae before him swung down at Azriel. Swung right at his neck.

And he couldn’t make himself move.

Ariadne’s scream drowned in the din of the crowd as the brunette high fae’s sword swung at Azriel. Pure terror flooded her veins, and if it were not for Phulan’s hold on her arm, she would have thrown herself into the pit before her to make it stop. He was going to die right there in front of her—right when she had finally found him.

And, gods, how she had wanted to cry the moment she saw her husband. When last she had seen Azriel in the foyer of the Harlow Estate, he had been strong. So strong, he had nearly torn through a dozen Caersan soldiers.

Now, she could see his sunken cheeks even from afar. His arms were too thin and his legs too weak. The dhemon who had fought Ehrun on the highway—who had defended her from those who wished to steal her away and who cut through the vampires at the Gard’s manor—was not who entered the pit that night. Her husband, who had seen to her protection so many times, would not have faltered against a handful of high fae.

But the dhemon she watched in the Pits was not the same man. It couldn’t be. Not when he was so weak and disoriented that he just watched as his death swung at him from above.

Then the female dhemon was there, blocking the blade with her own. In her wake, the archer died in the sands from a wicked gash running the width of his gut. She forced the fae back a few steps, her own emaciated form quaking from the effort, and before her opponent could collect himself, she drove the sword through his middle.

It was over.

Ariadne could not breathe. As the betters around her roared their approval, and people moved to and from the railing, none of it registered. She only saw him.

Azriel swayed in the sands below, his eyes unfocused. Blood—too much blood—pooled around him. The dhemon woman crouched before him and gripped one of his horns, giving his head a shake, but when he looked up at her, it was as though he could not see what was right in front of him.

Ariadne needed to get to him, or he would die.

“Don’t move,” Phulan hissed in her ear. “Not yet.”

But Ariadne could not listen. Not with Azriel so close. “He needs me, he needs blood, he—”

“If he sees you, we’re done.” Phulan kept her voice low and even, as though speaking to a cornered animal. Maybe she was. “Because if Melia sees you with him…she’ll know the truth. She’ll kill you both.”

“If I do not go to him,” Ariadne breathed, “he will die.”

Still, Phulan did not let go. Her fingers dug in hard on Ariadne’s arm. “His Desmo won’t let him. I swear it.”

Peeling her eyes from the place Azriel still knelt in his pool of blood, she scanned the mage with wide eyes. “She hates him.”

“And she wants him to suffer.”

That did not make her feel any better. She would kill Melia for doing this to him. For starving him and the dhemon woman who looked even more frail than he did. Of all her prisoners, the two of them were in their weakest states. How could Melia let this happen?

“And because she wants him to suffer,” Phulan continued, drawing her gaze back from where the dhemon woman tried to help Azriel to his feet, “she will ensure he lives for a good long while. Until she’s satisfied with his pain.”

The dhemon sagged under Azriel’s weight as he clambered to his feet and immediately fell again. He could not put weight on his injured knee, and more blood gushed from his wound with every movement. Even from her vantage point so far away, Ariadne could see how close to unconsciousness he teetered.

“We know he’s alive,” Phulan hissed and tugged at her arm. “Now we must go.”

So, wiping away her tears, Ariadne turned and walked away.

Chapter 19

Everything was perfect. Almost. Loren had never felt such achievement in his career until the moment he read the latest updates from the provinces. The troop movement did precisely as it was meant to: create more stability in regions requiring a heavy hand. Crime rates fell, and raids lessened.

The only thing missing was the satisfaction of an execution.

He looked forward to the update from Nikolai on what was happening in Algorath. Though he would prefer to oversee Tenebra’s final moments himself, learning of the half-breed bastard’s demise would have to be enough. Once his Desmo finished playing with him, of course. The mage wardens were known for their ruthless ability to drag out a prisoner’s life far longer than necessary to keep up the entertainment in the Pits.

Since sending the ex-Lord Governor to the desert, Loren’s views on the Pits had changed quite drastically. Perhaps Alek Nightingale had been onto something. For decades, he had asked the Council to put in a fighting arena, but altering the prison and judicial system after millennia of stagnation was like trying to dredge up water during a drought. No one listened.

There were merits to the mages’ trial by combat, however. Not only did it bring in revenue, it kept crime low with less pressure from their city sentinels. It would also be an interesting way to dispose of unwanted filth like half-dhemon abominations.

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