“He doesn’t want to give Azriel another potion.” Phulan looked up at the cloudy sky, her sharp amethyst eyes seeing something there that made no sense to Emillie. Tension crept onto her beautiful face. “He wants the Dhemon King to be the one to get Ariadne to safety.”
At that, Whelan looked contemplative. “Would it not be ideal to have Azriel face off with Loren now and be done with this war?”
Phulan’s brows shot high. “You were not in Algorath with us and didn’t see the repercussions of the potions.”
“Is he not regaining himself now?” Luce asked, sitting a little straighter to look over Emillie’s head from where the soft melody drifted.
“It will be some time before he’s ready to fight anyone,” Phulan said, “let alone the King of Valenul with an army at his beck and call.”
Emillie chewed the inside of her cheek a moment before saying, “He defeated Loren in a duel without any preparation and in his vampire form.”
“And he nearly had his head removed by a high fae while coming down from an illusory potion.” Phulan turned her attention to Emillie as though to drive home her point. “The only thing that saved him was Ariadne’s presence.”
“She’ll be there,” Whelan pointed out, still not giving them his full attention.
A deafening silence followed the statement. No one moved. No one so much as looked at one another. The unspoken words buried into Emillie’s heart and had her muscles tensing unconsciously. She did not need to ask why everyone turned their eyes to the fire and lost themselves amongst the dancing flames.
Ariadne will be there…assuming Loren did not kill her first for her betrayal.
And if Ariadne died, there would be no saving Azriel, no matter if they managed to get the ritual’s details or not. He would rain hell down upon Valenul and leave this world in ashes.
“She’ll be fine,” Edira said after a moment, catching sight of Emillie. “Your sister will be alright.”
What the high fae saw in her expression, she did not know, nor did she want to.
Phulan’s mouth curled into a small smile, and she nodded in confirmation. “She has to be.”
There were many things Emillie did not know about the mage—about any of the newcomers. The joining dhemons had taken her off guard, and the addition of dragons had been difficult enough to overcome. While Lhuka and Gavrhil made an effort to keep to themselves, spending most of their time in the skies to patrol the area, Phulan had remained with them.
In their short time together, Emillie gathered two main things about the mage. The first was that Phulan’s appearance did not match the wisdom she possessed. Though her dark hair bore grey streaks in the front and her face held the wrinkles of age, she spoke of things as though she had seen many centuries and commanded an area with the air of authority. How she had accomplished this was a mystery that Emillie wished to untangle. The second was that Phulan was far more powerful than she led on. Though introduced as a healer, Emillie had caught sight of her wielding her magic with a dark green dragon the others called Oria. The dragon spat fire—fire that Emillie had been told was unstoppable—and watched as Phulan tamed the flames into submission and forced them to burn out.
Someone who had dhemons following her instructions with nothing more than ayes, ma’amand had the power to stifle dragonfire was not a person Emillie wished to cross.
As such, Emillie did not question the mage’s words. Ariadnehadto be fine. Phulan demanded it.
From outside the circle of light, a muffled sound came from the dhemon that had been tied up and discarded like refuse. Ehrun’s red eyes glittered when they turned to him.
“He may need to relieve himself,” Edira suggested.
Emillie opened her mouth to say something rather unlady-like when Phulan beat her to it: “Let him soil himself.”
But Whelan stood nonetheless and crouched before their bound prisoner, where he removed the gag without a word. They waited expectantly to hear what he had to say.
What happened next moved in what felt like half-speed. Emillie craned her head to one side to listen to the false Dhemon King, and at the same moment, Luce’s hand gripped her leg hard. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she turned to ask what was wrong when Ehrun shouted, “Kill him! Rip out his throat!”
The color drained from Whelan’s face as he turned, following Ehrun’s line of sight to where Azriel bent over Madan, his hand pinning her half-brother to the ground by the neck and fangs bared as though prepared to follow Ehrun’s goading.
“Tohs!” Whelan cried and tripped over his own feet to cover the distance between him and his partner.
Before anyone could reach them, however, the massive shadow behind her brothers shifted. In a flash of teeth and claws, Azriel was thrown back and nearly crushed into the dirt by the dragon’s foreclaw.
Emillie covered her mouth to stifle the horrified squeal of surprise. She stood and took a step towards Madan before a huge brown wolf stood in her path. Luce pierced her with those twin sun eyes and placed herself between Emillie and the chaos caused by Azriel.
Without a word, Haen stepped over to the cackling Ehrun and shoved the gag back into his mouth, nearly getting bitten by the dhemon’s sharp teeth in the process. They muttered something in the high fae language before summoning fire to their palm to light the scene before them all a little better.
Whelan had pulled Madan hard against his chest, his face twisted with a hate she had yet to see from him in the few days they had been together. Of the dhemons she had met, he appeared to be the most collected. Until, it seemed, Madan’s life was threatened. Then the monster from her day terrors was released.
In that instant, Emillie did not need Luce’s warning growl to keep her from continuing forward. It took all her self-control to merely not show her fear. All she could do was stand in shock and pray to Keon that Ariadne was safe, as Phulan demanded she be.
