They landed, Almandine inching closer to stand beside the great blue dragon, and Azriel pulled her from Razer’s back, still cradling her to him as he surveyed the ruins. She looked from him to the dragons to the burnt house.
“What am I looking at?” She frowned.
“The Caldwell Estate.”
A chill went down Ariadne’s spine as she whipped her attention back up to her husband. “Why would you bring me here?”
At that, Azriel set her on her feet, took her hand, and stepped closer to the destroyed manor. “This was supposed to be our home.”
“It is gone, Azriel.” Ariadne followed, her heart hammering as they edged closer. She had learned of its horrific end from a combination of stories from Madan and Margot. The two were the last Caldwells to stand inside the halls, and it was the former who gave the order to have it burned, effectively preventing anyone else from entering ever again. “How is this better than our tent?”
They stepped across the crumbling threshold of the front door onto tiles that were so far beyond repair, Ariadne was surprised they did not turn to dust underfoot. Between the destruction and the increase in rain, nothing appeared as she remembered. As if she could properly recall the manor as it was.
“Come over here.” Azriel tugged gently on her hand and led her through a half-standing arch that must have once been a threshold. Beyond, the remnants of the room spread out before them with the ash of its previous decor pooled in corners and beneath loose stones. What took up the most space, however, was a large tent settled up against a remaining chimney shaft.
“You moved our things?” Ariadne turned wide eyes up to him. “Why?”
Pushing back her wet hair, Azriel drew his thumb across her lower lip, peridot eyes taking her in. “I wanted to spend a night with my wife in the home we never got to share.”
Her heart cracked at that, and she leaned into his touch. “My home is here…in your arms.”
At that, Azriel hummed. “Indulge me.”
“Of course.” Ariadne stepped closer and pressed her mouth to his.
Without another word, they crossed to the tent and pushed through the entrance. All the belongings that they had packed and brought with them to Eastwood had been moved from the camp to the new location. A bed made up of furs and quilts had been made up near the wide hearth in which green-tinted flames waved, smokeless and bright. Their chests of clothes stood opposite with fresh linens and their meager, easy pieces of fashion.
“Did you move this?” Ariadne asked, crossing to the pile of furs waiting for them and sitting while she yanked the laces of her boots loose.
Azriel followed suit, doing the same as he said, “I had help.”
The last time he had had help preparing a surprise for her, it was Phulan and Kall who put them together. Her heart gave a throb at the thought. There would be no sandwiches or other fresh food prepared by her friend this time. Nonetheless, someone close to them had a hand in this.
“Who?” She flopped back, braid flicking out beside her as she did.
Dropping his second boot to the floor, Azriel fell into the space beside her, propping his head up with his fist. “Edira and Liulund.”
All at once, the names surprised her, yet made perfect sense. She pursed her lips as she thought of it. The two high fae were proficient in their use of magic and would make quick work of moving the tent as it is. As Ariadne had never seen any high fae produce fire, it made sense that the unnatural color would come from a magic-wielder.
“Are they together?” Ariadne asked after a lull. “Their dynamic at meetings is…unique.”
Azriel’s mouth twisted as he fought back a smile. “Are we gossiping? Is that what we do now?”
“I do not believe for even one moment that you, Azriel the Crowe, are not a gossip.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I, for one, am offended that you think you could fool me quite so readily.”
This. Moments like this were what made the fighting and battles and war worthwhile. To lie on a soft bed together and enjoy the peace found only in the eye of the storm. If she could stop time and immerse herself in one moment for the rest of eternity, it would be there, with him, on the ruins of what should have been their home.
“I don’t have any idea what’s happening between just about anyone,” Azriel admitted. “Well. With one exception.”
Ariadne raised her brows expectantly. “Go on.”
Chuckling softly, he rolled onto his back. “Jakhov.”
“And Revelie.” She rose up on her elbow. “I think she is going to do the ritual.”
Peridot eyes widening, Azriel gaped at her. “Does she understand what that will likely do?”
“I explained everything to her when we were in Laeton together.” An involuntary shudder slipped down her spine at the thought. “She knows that my goal is to complete the bond through the ritual.”
