“What’s the timeline?” Madan grasped for anything that could give him more with which to work.
Another long pause. This time, he assumed it was due to Brutis instructing Almandine to connect Ariadne through the vinculum. It took several minutes, during which Whelan worked his way back to where Madan sat, no doubt listening in through his connection with Oria.
“They've been at the reception for some time now.” Almandine’s voice, small already, barely registered thanks to the distance.
Brutis added, “They will be a little longer before they head back.”
The words made Madan’s heart lurch into his throat. That was when everything could devolve all too quickly—when Loren would discover Ariadne’s treachery and act. He could only pray to Keon that it would not be the violent outburst that he imagined.
“Let me know when they leave.” Madan rubbed at his brow, then turned his attention to Whelan, his shoulders slumping in silent defeat. When he spoke aloud to his partner, he did so quietly and in the dhemon language, “I’m scared.”
Whelan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he knelt at Madan’s feet and took his hand between his, pressing his lips to his fingers. When he looked up, his red eyes shone with worry. It wasn’t often that Madan admitted those kinds of feelings.He’d spent his entire life having to be strong and use his vastly different skills to make a name for himself amongst the dhemons.
“What do you need from me?” Whelan asked finally, matching his tone and tongue.
Sucking on his teeth for several heartbeats, Madan loosed a heavy breath before saying, “I need you to tell me that everything is going to be fine…that we won’t lose anyone else.”
At that, Whelan hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped, and considered his words. Every emotion that Madan himself felt passed behind his mate’s eyes: anguish, despair, hopelessness. Then he merely said, “Madan…”
“Lie to me.” Madan searched his mate’s eyes, hoping to see some gleam of hope hidden there. When he found nothing but the mutual pain of having lost their best friend, his throat tightened. Something was going to go terribly wrong. There were too many variables for him to control and too many pieces on the board to predict the outcome of what would occur once Ariadne got that book.
IfAriadne got that book.
Madan continued, “Lie to me, Whelan. Please. Just this once.”
Grimacing, Whelan nodded and plastered a smile onto his perfect face. “Everything’s going to go perfectly. We’re all going to be alright. She’ll be safe, and we’ll get her outwiththe ritual.”
With that, Madan leaned down and pressed his lips to Whelan’s hand. Gods, he needed something to go right. Something.Anything. If that meant having his partner there with him at that moment, lying to his face at his behest, then so be it. He’d take what he could get—even if it meant pushing the pain off until later.
The quiet, familiar wail had them breaking apart entirely too soon. Madan looked over Whelan’s shoulder to where Razerstirred, shifting his huge body to curl his face closer to his bondheart.
“Fuck,” Madan breathed and stood in tandem with Whelan. “It’s wearing off too fast.”
Before either of them could take a step forward, Phulan appeared from the circle around the campfire. A small vial glinted in her hand, and her hard expression told Madan all he needed to know: she also understood just how dangerous it was for Azriel to be coming-to so quickly. Her illusions had never been as powerful as Melia’s, and her potions suffered as a consequence.
Calculating the timeline in his own mind, Madan forced his feet to move, intercepting the mage as she approached his brother. His heart twisted at the sight of Azriel, half-drugged and staring into space with an unfocused gaze as he swept his hand through the grass as though trying to decipher where he lay. For a brief moment, those red eyes swiveled to him and lit up in recognition. All too soon, it faded, and he groaned again, bringing his hands to his face as he always did when waking from his potion-addled state.
“He’s going to start screaming again.” Phulan made to step around him, but Madan shifted to block her path. Her sharp amethyst eyes snapped to his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to stop her from giving it to him, only to realize just how much worse it would be to try controlling him without it. “Move, boy.”
Madan held his ground. “No.”
Behind him, Razer rumbled in agreement.
Phulan sighed. “He’s going to hurt himself.”
“We’re going to need him soon.” Madan glanced back at the dragon, now moving his great head over Azriel protectively. “Once Ariadne gets back to the manor with Loren, we can let him go.”
The mage scoffed. “He won’t be in his right mind until morning, no matter what we do. You plan to send him into a fight like that?”
A gut-punch like none other, but Madan lifted his chin a fraction. “He’s done it before.”
“In the Pits? He nearlydied,” Phulan hissed, her eyes glossing with emotion in a rare crack in her usual calm demeanor. “AndIhad to watch it happen.”
“He’ll survive.” Madan spoke the words like a prayer to Keon. “Because it’s for Ariadne.”
Even Phulan couldn’t argue with that. She’d recounted the tale herself of the way his half-sister had nearly thrown herself into the fighting pit while commanding her husband toget up. And, gods damn him, he’d done it. Done it, killed the fae, and won the match.
“We need him,” Madan added with another look at the prone figure on the ground. “He’s the Dhemon King.”
