“Hold on. I am not certain I agree with this,” Ariadne said.
Madan snorted. “Loren Gard had no issue with poisoning me. I say we do it.”
At that, Ariadne sighed. She bit her lip and looked up at Azriel, sending a surge of uncertainty through him. This was her way of seeking support, but he was in no position to give it—not if it meant they had a mere papercut’s chance of killing that bastard.
“If it keeps you safe,” Azriel whispered to her, “then we must look at every possibility. You wanted him here for his strategy and this is it. I don’t disagree with him.”
Silence stretched through the tent, tense and cold. Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest as Ariadne stared at Ehrun for a long moment. The dhemon at the sharp end of her glare didn’t flinch or even look away. He stared back and damn him if hedidn’t look like Kall in that instant, pushing his will upon them from the Underworld.
“So be it,” Ariadne said. “Have the blades prepared as soon as possible.”
Ehrun tilted his horns at her in a silent apology before murmuring his gratitude. “Lhienska lhon,Yvhaltrinja.”
Veron Knoll held up a hand as Azriel looked around the tent to move forward. “Fire spice and sun oil? Those are the ingredients for liquid sunshine?”
Raising her brows in interest, Phulan turned to the Lord. “A couple of main ingredients, yes. There are magical components as well, to my knowledge, that make it more effective. Why does this interest you?”
Umber face paling a shade, he blinked at a spot on the table before him in astonishment. “Put together, could those two items create a sort of poison to vampires?”
“Of what importance is this?” Azriel asked, an uneasy feeling gripping his chest.
“To answer your question,” Phulan said, “I believe you are correct. Combined, fire spice and sun oil would likely cause severe illness if not death, if consumed too often over time. We are not attempting to kill Loren over a meal, however.”
A long silence stretched between them before Knoll turned his horrified gaze to Azriel and Madan. “I gifted Garth Caldwell Algorathian wine with fire spice and sun oil, which he claimed to love despite his wife’s distaste for it.”
“Veron,” Oren whispered in shock, his long fangs on display in disbelief.
Azriel stared at him, unable to summon the words to express his confusion and bewilderment. It’d been months since he thought of his grandfather and the suspicious circumstances of his death. The illness had come on quickly and taken Garth tothe next life within weeks. Could it have been due to his own folly?
To Azriel’s ever-growing gratefulness, Madan turned to Veron and shook his head. “You did not know, and now is not the time for this conversation. Whatever caused our grandfather’s death is not your fault.”
Gripping Azriel’s hand hard, Ariadne added, “We need to focus on the present.”
Lord Knoll nodded, but stood nonetheless. “If you will excuse me, I need a moment to compose myself.”
With that, the Caersan Lord exited the tent. A heavy silence remained in his wake as those who knew Garth grappled with the latest in his death. Azriel had never been saddened by his grandfather’s end, aside from the lost opportunity for him to continue fighting for peace with the dhemons. For his friend to have potentially been the cause? He could not fathom the depths of Veron’s newfound grief.
“An unfortunate turn of events,” Lord Theobald whispered, peeling his eyes from where his friend had disappeared. He cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. Jaw set with determination, he asked, “What are we to do with the prisoners during this time? We have dragged along with us Caersan officers, soldiers, and even Lord Governor Felix Dodd and his wife—”
“Lord Dodd is with us?” Ariadne asked, shifting forward in her seat. The shift in her demeanor was so sudden, he feared whiplash. “Why was I not informed?”
Azriel cocked his head at the Caersan Lord. “I also was unaware of his official arrest. This should have been reported back to me immediately.”
“It was done during the ritual,” Oren explained, “and everyone involved was a bit preoccupied. After that, with our move to Central Province, we did not have the opportunity.”
Before Azriel could inquire further, Ariadne stood. “I wish to speak with him immediately. I believe he would be a valuable ally in the coming battle.”
Madan frowned. “I am not certain—”
“His only child is being held prisoner by a madman,” Ariadne snapped. “If there is anything I know of Lord Dodd, it is that he loves Camilla more than anything in this world and he would do anything to keep her safe.”
“Why, then, would he leave her to govern Eastwood?”
Ariadne fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “That is something I wish to understand. I believe Revelie and I should speak with him together.”
Standing beside his wife, Azriel scanned each face at the table. “I believe we have a plan of action.” He looked to his brother. “Decide how we will proceed to the Hub for the attack and report back to me. I will be accompanying my wife. Good evening, everyone.”
With that, Azriel held out his arm to Ariadne and guided her from the tent. They walked through the bustling camp saying nothing until they came to the section of large tents delegated to prisoners of war. Rusans who’d joined them to fight back against oppression stood outside as armed guards, most of whom were farmers and who Caersans would consider to be low merchants. They bowed as Azriel walked by with Ariadne until they reached the entrance to the smallest in which the few high-ranking vampires would be held.
