“Yes, sir.” Now the soldier cast his attention to the floor at Loren’s feet, where it belonged. “I was told to inform you that they were under attack and—”
“What do they expect me to do two days later?” Loren glared over his shoulder at Nikolai and addressed his friend. “As though they believe me to be a god capable of appearing at their side at a moment’s notice.”
At that, the Rusan winced but said nothing. There was no rebuttal, of course. As much as Loren fancied himself a god, he knew better than to place himself amongst the celestials with their endless power. He was merely their weapon to be wielded—a sword for Keon to bear and send his horned offspring back to the Underworld where they belonged.
“Were there signs of dragons?” Loren asked after a moment, turning back to the Rusan.
Confusion flickered through the soldier’s eyes, and his mouth drew taut for a moment before he shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. I don’t believe so.”
“Were the images of them not shared with you?”
Hesitation, then the Rusan shook his head again. “No, Your Majesty. I…have heard of nothing of the sort. None of us has, to my knowledge.”
No common foot soldier, at least. A shame his officers truly did not know how to run their commands. How were their soldiers meant to properly prepare or step into battle if they were unprepared to face the inevitable? Even a seasoned soldier would stop short at the sight of their first dragon, and that would be all the beast needed to put an end to them.
“A large, winged lizard is the best way to describe them,” Nikolai offered from behind him. It was not often that the Sword spoke without permission, yet this seemed to be an apt time for such interruptions. “Did you see anything that meets that description?”
The Rusan paled. “No, sir, I didn’t.”
“I suspect,” Loren said, “there will be another messenger sent along soon enough with the results of this siege.”
At that, the soldier inclined his head. “Colonel Foster and the other officers were centralizing their forces in the city to prepare.”
The forces that Loren had just ordered to be moved away from the city and to the perimeter of the Province, as though they would not use their airborne cavalry to locate and avoid the greatest threats. He had not anticipated they would hit Monsumbra first. In fact, he believed the outlying villages and commandments would put up more of a fight before letting anyone pass through.
A grievous oversight by someone who had spent too long, now, on a comfortable throne. Loren needed to have his hands in this fight a little more to keep his mind sharp and prepared for the inevitable battles to come.
Standing, he nodded once to the Rusan soldier before him. “Your report is appreciated. Rest and prepare for the journey back with new orders.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The soldier bowed low at the waist, swaying as he did so. Around him, his escorts surged forward, prepared to catch the exhausted man before he could hit the tiles.
“You.” Loren caught the gaze of one of the soldiers. “Fetch General Wintre immediately and have him assemble the war council. We must prepare for battle in Central Province.”
The man stepped back and bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.” Then he was gone, hurrying to relay his King’s message.
As the others escorted the reporting Rusan from the throne room, Loren turned to Nikolai. “They will have taken Monsumbra, but I will not have them lay siege to Laeton. Not again. We will meet them south of the Hub.”
“A wise decision,” Nikolai said. “Less civilian casualties.”
Loren lifted his lip in a sneer. “I care not for the civilians. I merely want the skies open so I can watch each of those fire-breathing beasts fall.”
Chapter 29
The night Azriel never in his wildest of dreams believed possible arrived—for the second time. Noxidium. Not once did he truly allow himself to hope so fiercely. To even think that he deserved something as wonderful as what was about to happen. After abducting her, destroying her life, and then lying about who he was…Azriel was certain there would come a night that Ariadne would leave him for good.
Now he somehow found himself, not as the monster who carried her away from her old life, but in his vampire form, standing beneath the onyx boughs of the Keonis Tree beside the one woman he quite literally could not live without. The moon hung fat and low over the horizon, its silvery light cutting through the branches to illuminate the collective mass of dhemons that huddled close to the massive twisted and gnarled trunk, brushing their fingers through the inky leaves that remained lush even in the middle of autumn. Dotting the ground between them, the gladiolus tristis flowers bloomed, freshlywatered by the rains of Bastien as they discovered the ritual demanded, their petals opening wide and dotted with moisture to welcome the Noxidium night.
Not one of them had ever stood below the sacred tree. For thousands of years, dhemons were prevented from reaching the grounds thanks to the genocide that occurred there—thanks to the vampires murdering their last priestess of Keon amongst its limbs, destroying any hope of ever regaining their ancient ties with their patron god.
Amidst the crowd, a handful of dhemon women, all bearing the symbol of Keon on their left cheeks, stepped forward to stand with Phulan and Luce. They’d offered to learn the old ways and carry forth the ritual so that it would once again belong to the dhemons. By doing so, they would become the first of a new line of priestesses that would serve the God of the Underworld. Once they conquered the rest of Valenul, the libraries of all past Councilmen would be searched for any ancient rituals stolen from the dhemons and returned to them.
For now, each of them had one goal in mind: reconnect with Keon and gain a level of stability that they hadn’t seen in far too long.
Phulan’s voice rose up in the dhemon language, silencing the crowd. “Ilna will be leading tonight’s ritual.”
In sync with everyone else, Azriel swiveled his gaze to the dhemon woman who stood beside the mage, behind a table of ingredients needed for the tattoos. Her vibrant eyes seared through the darkness and scanned the waiting crowd. Of them all, only two stood out: Ariadne and Revelie. The first clung to Azriel’s hand, leaning into his shoulder for support. The latter, to his surprise, stood beside Jakhov.
So the Caersan seamstress and former Golden Rose was truly willing to explore this life with a dhemon she hardly knew. Adhemon who, until they met, wanted only one thing from any vampire: their blood on his sword.
