A reassurance that neither Kall nor Dahlia had before never sitting amongst them again.
Heart aching at the thought of having already lost two members of their council—one to a man they just invited to join them—Azriel swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. The wood creaked beneath his dhemon weight. “I have no intention of keeping you here any longer than is necessary. We all need our rest before marching out tomorrow.”
The murmur of agreement from everyone only weighed heavier on Azriel’s shoulders. None of them wanted to be there, yet there they all were from vastly different walks of life to fight to free Valenul from tyranny and take back what was stolen.
“Monsumbra’s victory came at some heavy costs that I wish to avoid,” he continued when the focus returned to him. “The separate attacks during the day and night were…a problem. Our forces were cut in half and anyone who chose to fight in the second wave were exhausted, leading to more casualties and injuries than was necessary.”
Pressure on his fingers told him without looking down that Ariadne had grabbed his hand and given it a squeeze. There was never any hiding from her.
“Choosing to move forward with that plan is on no one but me.” Guilt sank low in his gut, hollowing him out like a crater. “After reflecting on this, I propose a singular attack at night.”
Thanks to Madan’s return and his casual translation for the dhemons at the table, it was H’axinhum who sat forward and asked, “Why do we not attack in the daylight and drag the Caersans outside?”
Ehrun shook his head, his voice quiet as Azriel now expected it to be. “They will anticipate such actions and prepare for it.”
Madan nodded his agreement and added, “The Hub is a fortress unto itself. Getting inside will not be simple and reaching the Caersan soldiers locked down for the day will be impossible. By attacking at night, we draw out their strongest soldiers right away.”
Leaning forward onto his elbows, Lord Theobald addressed the dhemon woman. “Loren Gard is nothing if not arrogant. He will believe with all certainty that he will win by striking us hard.”
Back straight and chin high, Knoll nodded his agreement. “With their Caersans occupied, we can use the dawn to finish them.”
At that, Liulund asked, “Aegrisolis doesn’t work that quickly, though, correct?”
Ariadne shook her head. “It is a slow process. We do not, as some are taught to believe, burst into flame. It is a disease.”
“But,” Azriel added, “the threat of it will cause the Caersans to panic, making them easy targets once the sun begins to rise.”
Down the table, Kholp grinned wickedly, leaned into H’axinhum, and whispered something in her ear that made her scoff and punch him in the arm before laughing. Whatever theexchange, Azriel didn’t think he wanted to know. As much as the dhemons who fought with them wanted the war to end, their deep-rooted and understandable hate for vampires would be far more difficult to compete against.
Still, across the table, Ehrun glared at them openly. Schooling his features, he turned his attention back to Azriel. “I was told the Caersans in Monsumbra were using salted blades to prevent healing.”
The image of Ariadne taking a sword through the gut returned to him. He watched with glaring clarity the look of shock on her face and the same dump of adrenaline from that moment returned.
This is what you deserve.
“That is correct,” Phulan verified and Azriel shot her a grateful look. The very thought of confirming Ehrun’s statement had his stomach churning. If it were not for the mage, his wife would be dead and it’d be all his fault.
Ehrun shifted, his red eyes flickering from the Caersan Lords, to Madan, then landing heavily on Ariadne. “With your permission, I believe I can help you return the favor.”
“Speak plainly,” Ariadne snapped as she gave Azriel’s hand a set of three squeezes of reassurance.I am here.I am safe.I am yours.
“As you know,” the dhemon explained, “I sent Sasja to Algorath for one reason: to get her hands on liquid sunshine.”
Azriel grumbled under his breath, “And you left her there to rot.”
“Sabharni,Rholki,” Madan whispered, his marbled eyes shining with piqued interest. He laid his hand over the end of his amputated arm and pressed his fingers into his skin. “Let him speak.”
“Asyouboth know,” Ehrun continued, nodding to Madan and Whelan, “she did not obtain the potion, but shedidobtain therecipe and the name of a mage willing to make it. A mage who has experience making it.”
Azriel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does this have to do with the battle?”
“The goal is to kill Loren Gard, correct?” Ehrun looked around the table to where everyone nodded in agreement. “Then every single soldier we have should have a dagger poisoned by liquid sunshine, to be used only if they get close enough to cut him.”
It was Madan who cocked his head and asked, “Have you contacted this mage?”
“Contacted?” Phulan cut in. “She’s in our camp as we speak with the liquid sunshine already made.” At the ripple of shock that went through the tent, she glowered at them and added, “Did you truly believe that Paerish and I chose those particular prisoners at random? I made certain to grab the ingredients while in Algorath.”
Ehrun nodded his thanks to the mage. “I have additional fire spice and sun oil, if more is needed.”
