“Did his feelings on the matter not change when the others’ did?” Emillie looked around her. How many more dhemons in their company wished them dead? If someone who bonded to a vampire could still harbor such ill will towards their kind, surely those with no connection could as well.
“It appears not.” Revelie found the dragon’s silhouette again with ease. “I have not yet uncovered what happened to make him so…”
“Angry?”
Scoffing, Revelie glowered at her. “He is not angry. He is…struggling.”
A low, warning rumble from Luce had Emillie raising a hand in surrender. “Alright. I apologize. That was insensitive.”
But Revelie shook her head and took a deep breath. “No. I apologize. It is an odd thing to feel so defensive of someone I hardly know.”
“It is the bond,” Emillie offered, then glanced at Luce. “And it is something I hope to understand better one day.”
They continued their slow trudge for some time after that with Revelie excusing herself before long after watching Jakhov descend from the sky. Emillie watched from afar as she trotted away from the procession to where the dhemon dismounted his dragon, just to pull himself up onto the horse behind Revelie and wrap an arm around her waist. The Caersan woman leaned into the man, her eyes shining an odd white in the darkness—a lasting effect of the ritual, she was told, when their magic was ignited. All mated pairs had the same: one who bore a set of black eyes, and one with a set of white.
Murmurs rose around Emillie at the sight of them together, bringing an acute awareness to the greatest change that had occurred over the last several nights: the addition of Rusan vampires to their ranks. While she had been busy in the medic tent, keeping people such as her own sister alive alongside Phulan, Revelie, and Margot, Lords Knoll and Theobald had gone off to where the Rusans of Monsumbra hid from the battle. Much to her surprise—and that of the dhemons, most of the vampires had agreed to fight alongside them against Loren.
It would seem he had angered enough vampires by cutting off all of Valenul’s trade that they were willing to start a civil war against him. After all he had done, Emillie could not have planned it better herself.
Nonetheless, the sudden appearance of so many vampires was almost unnerving. After so long amongst the fae and running from anyone from her kingdom, Emillie had not expected to be traveling alongside Rusans anytime soon. Her conversations with other common-tongue speakers had become much less private in a very short amount of time.
On the other hand, it was a bit of a relief to have others around with whom she could speak. Others who, despite their very different upbringings, had a similar background to her.
This, however, did not seem to please Luce. When they came to a halt for the morning, her partner transformed back into her fae form and, after a near-silent dinner, broached a topic that Emillie had not anticipated.
“You like being with the new vampires.” It was not a question and Luce leveled her golden gaze on Emillie as they prepared for bed.
With a frown, Emillie tilted her head. “In a way.”
“Because you have someone to speak to?” Luce did not look away.
The question made Emillie laugh. She closed the distance between her and Luce and wrapped her arms around the lycan’s waist. The woman tensed at first, then softened as Emillie said, “Not as much as I enjoy speaking to you.”
Luce let out a low, wolfish huff. “Pol will not like hearing that.”
“Pol would be devastated to know my questions have found someone new to annoy,” Emillie agreed before stretching her neck up and brushing her lips over Luce’s.
Finally, a smile stretched across Luce’s face, and she wrapped her arms around Emillie as well. “We should sleep. I suspect they will have us marching again at dusk.”
“What if we—”
“Lie down, Em,” Luce commanded, moving away. “And sleep.”
The final excursion to collect the rest of Ehrun’s army had Madan and Brutis flying to the southernmost reaches of the Keonis Valley in the middle of a snowstorm. Had the winds decided to pick up their pace anymore, they would have been forced to land in the middle of nowhere and wait it out. As it were, the dragons could see just fine. Whelan rode with Madan on Brutis while Ehrun and Sehrox led the way and Sasja flew atop Oria after some minor instruction on how to keep her seat while soaring through the sky.
Snow billowed past Brutis’s head as they wove through the dark ravines at a slower pace than was typical. Madan leaned against Whelan’s chest, soaking in the warmth provided by his dhemon blood and not at all looking forward to the moment they would be forced to dismount and address the last of the army. More than his reservation around meeting the dhemons, Madan wanted out of the sky before the storm turned into a blizzard.
“This is miserable,” he said, tucking the shared cloak around his chest a little more.
Brutis sent back nothing but pure annoyance. After all, it was he who was diving head-first into the snow.
“Not much longer,” Ehrun promised. “I left them close to the southern river.”
At that, Sehrox swung a little farther west in search of the river. There were few things that Madan found quite as fascinating as dragons’ memories. They always remembered where to go, even when their riders failed to do so, and had the uncanny ability to recall specific moments with the most keen detail—Razer most of all. How often he was able to taunt Azrielwith horrific or embarrassing moments from his past was truly noteworthy.
“How many dragons should we expect there?” Whelan asked. While they’d been keeping track of whom they’d collected and killed in their battle weeks ago, there was always room for uncertainty when it came with Ehrun.
“Just one.” Ehrun sent an image of a large silver dragon with emerald eyes. “Unless Fasj or Rekses…”
