Page 87 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Azriel crossed his arms over his chest and studied the other prisoners. There was a noticeable decrease. “How many died?”

“Five.” Raoul pointed to the far end of the training grounds. “But we gained three more just yesterday.”

“Species?”

“All mages.”

He grunted in response. After coming so close to dying, Azriel understood one important thing: he couldn’t stay here. Not any longer than he needed to, and so he required friends. He needed to plan how to get out and take as many of these people with him as possible.

Because there were few more loyal than a freed prisoner to their liberator.

Then he saw her. Sasja made her way back onto the training grounds, looking just as bored and displeased as ever. The hair on the sides of her head was longer, sticking up in puffs near the base of her horns. But she walked with as much confidence as ever, even if she remained too lean. The hollows of her cheeks, however, were less defined. Perhaps Melia had deemed her victory in the Pits worthy of some revitalization.

Azriel excused himself from Raoul and made his way across the grounds. For once, Sasja didn’t look shocked by his approach. Instead, her lips curled in amusement.

“He lives,” she said in the dhemon tongue, resting her hands on her hips. “I, for one, am surprised.”

He stopped before her and didn’t say anything for a long moment. How could he express his gratitude for what she’d done for him? If it hadn’t been for her, he would have woken up in the Underworld.

“All thanks to you,” he finally said and laid both palms, one on top of the other, over his heart in a traditional dhemon symbol of gratefulness. “I don’t know how I can repay you. You could have let them kill me, and yet—”

“I won’t stand by to watch a tree fairy slaughter my brethren.” Sasja gave the remaining fae in the training yard a withering look, her ruby eyes glinting in the sunlight. “I may not believe the same things as you, but in here, it doesn’t matter. In here, we survive together.”

That hadn’t been what Azriel expected. A snarky reply about his uselessness in the Pits, perhaps, or even a monologue about how she’d rather be the one to end his miserable existence, but not that. Not a proverbial hand extended between them in truce—to work together.

So Azriel just blinked at her and blurted, “What?”

Sasja rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft. I saw why you took that blade in the side and nearly bled out. You were distracted.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” Now she glared at him and crossed her arms. “Like every other man I’ve met, you thought I couldn’t take care of myself.”

Azriel held up both hands in surrender. “You got the better of me in here. I know you can fight.”

“But…” she started for him and waited expectantly.

He sighed, recognizing defeat. “But if you felt as I did going in there, I thought you wouldn’t be able to keep your head on straight.”

Lines formed between Sasja’s brows. “If I felt like you? What do you mean?”

“I’ve hardly eaten properly since arriving,” he explained, “and blood is…difficult to come by. In all honesty, I couldn’t keep my head on straight.”

“You haven’t been getting food?” Her gaze flickered toward the chateau and back. “The Desmo always gets me proper food before a fight. Maybe not any other time, but always before the Pits.”

It was Azriel’s turn to frown. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not at all.” Sasja’s mouth curved into a sneer of disgust. “What kind of game is she playing at? Doesn’t she want you to win?”

But Azriel knew the truth. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and grit his teeth for a long moment as though the pressure in his head could ease the sudden rise of anger. “No. She wants to torture me the only way she knows how.”

“Why?”

He opened his eyes again and chuckled darkly. “That’s quite the story.”

As promised, Ariadne’s healing sessions with Phulan were numerous. Kall insisted on overseeing each one despite his obvious discomfort. Rather than bring any further attention to it by asking questions or making more of a fuss, he made sure to end each one with a hot cup of tea and fresh food. Once back on her feet, he had her outside, where they continued their practice, Phulan not far behind to offer her magic.

It pained Ariadne to see him so upset. She could feel it in the way he sparred with her after—more gentle and cautious than before. Even when she assured him that she felt fine once the session was finished, he insisted on going easy.

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