For there was so much to tell Camilla that Emillie now had no chance to. So much she wished to know. All she ached to learn.
Camilla’s pyre was laden with a worn cloth beneath her snow-preserved body, shrouded in a thin, colorful linen donated by one of the dhemon women Emillie had worked alongside in Phulan’s medical tent. Haloing her face and gently tucked beneath her hands were wildflowers that Emillie, Revelie, and Ariadne had picked just after sunset in preparation and before anyone’s attention had been brought to the crimson-clad Nikolai.
Now she stood back to watch, her lungs burning with each shallow breath, as Felix Dodd crumpled over his daughter. He held her beautiful, shrouded face in his shaking hands and pressed his lips to Camilla’s forehead.
Though Emillie had never lost a child and prayed to Keon that such a devastation would never become her, she knew what it meant to see a future torn from someone too soon. She had seen it too many times. Witnessed the agony. Felt a similar shredding of her heart.
Just as the first tear slid down Emillie’s cheek, a hand slipped into hers and squeezed tight. Looking around, she found Ariadne to her left, the same silent tears rolling down her face. A beat later, her other hand filled with Revelie’s.
The three of them stood together in silence as the ground shook beneath her. On Ariadne’s far side, Azriel appeared in his vampire form, the tattoos down his neck standing out on his tan skin. He did not take his wife’s hand, but stood just behindher in silent solidarity. Jakhov took up a similar position behind Revelie, his sharp face expressionless and stern.
But it was the presence at her back that had Emillie turning her head. Luce stood between the two dhemons, her perfect face softer and more somber than Emillie had ever witnessed before. Her golden eyes tracked a tear down Emillie’s cheek, and she swallowed hard before refocusing on the pyre before them.
Only when Felix Dodd whispered his final goodbyes to his daughter and stepped back were the first pyres lit. Those on the outermost rows began to spark and smoke before the next torches were lowered. Again and again, vampires and dhemons moved forward to light the pyres until only the two at the center remained.
Nikolai’s pyre fluttered with flames delivered by a dhemon Emillie did not know, but who had carried him in and was the one to proclaim the Caersan’s feats before everyone. As the fire rose up, engulfing his silhouette, Ariadne’s hand clenched Emillie’s. What had happened between them in Laeton, she did not question. Something had brought Nikolai to her sister’s aid, and for that, she would always be grateful, even as his soul rose with the smoke to Empyrean.
Hands shaking, Lord Dodd took the torch offered by a dhemon and turned to his daughter. With his head held high, the flickering lights casting deep shadows on his tear-soaked face, he lowered the flames to the wood and put Camilla Dodd to rest.
Chapter 42
The month following the battle at the Hub passed in a whirlwind for Ariadne. Maintaining their hold on Central Province remained critical as units of Caersan and Rusan soldiers were called back from Waer and Notten, resulting in the eventual submission of the entire Valenul army. Some surrendered peacefully as they learned of King Loren Gard’s death, and at the insistence of Caersan Lords. Others, mostly those from Notten Province who stood so firmly with the Gard family, responded with skirmishes that required a quick, firm response led by the dragons. The choice was, ultimately, simple: disavow Valenul’s monarchy or die.
Most chose the former.
Nonetheless, more lives were lost on both sides, though Ariadne and Azriel initially conducted meetings and planned strategies from the Dodd Estate in Udlow. While the location was necessary with its defensible position and proximity to Laeton, Ariadne hated it. Being in her dead friend’s family homewithout her drove a knife in her heart each time she was forced to acknowledge it.
When they determined that their control over the provinces would no longer be challenged, however, Ariadne was quick to suggest that they move on from Lord Dodd’s generosity and take up residence in Laeton. The idea was met with understanding, though Azriel insisted they move back into the Caldwell Manor. Ariadne needed no persuasion. Returning to the bastardized Harlow Estate remained low on her list of desires, though she knew it would occur eventually.
The closer they moved to Laeton, the more Ariadne struggled to maintain her regal disposition. Despite herself, she repeatedly fell into the same mannerisms and constricting expectations of the Society—the very same group of people that turned its nose up at her trauma, crushed her spirit, and made her believe that the best she could get out of life as a woman was a wedding with a high-ranking Caersan man. Too often, she found herself keeping her thoughts private, folding into a curtsy, or drifting into the background as they met with Lords and Rusans alike.
“Are you well?” Azriel asked at one such meeting where low-ranking merchants sat beside farmers and rich landowners for dinner at the Caldwell Manor. The morning had been tense already, but her lack of involvement in the conversation was easily noted.
Ariadne gave him a tight smile and nodded. “Of course.”
His peridot eyes narrowed a fraction in disbelief. “Switch me seats.”
At the suggestion, Ariadne froze. He sat at the head of the table, as was expected, with her to his left and Madan to the right, alongside Whelan in his wheelchair. The idea of sitting where she was not meant to be, in front of the men and women of Valenul, had her stomach churning.
Yet after giving an almost imperceptible shake of her head, Azriel stood and held out his hand to her. Everyone’s eyes turned in their direction to watch as she slid her fingers into his grasp and moved to his chair. The eyes of the vampire women widened while the mouths of the men turned down at the corners. Even the Rusans, so desperate for a taste of Caersan life, appeared less than pleased with the sudden shift in dynamics.
The precedent, however, was set, and moving forward, Ariadne took the seat at the head of the table for each dinner they hosted—one after the other until they met with every Lord, most merchants, and a good number of common Rusan workers from around the capital city. They listened to their hopes and dreams, wants and needs, pasts and future plans.
Even as Ariadne grew more comfortable in a position of power within her home city, it did not change the discomfort that gripped her when she stood inside the Court House, staring at the council room before her. Though she had heard her father mention the sort of things that were discussed within that room, she had never once been invited within. In fact, no woman had. Not a Lord’s wife or a Rusan servant to deliver refreshments. Not one of them had ever even glimpsed it.
The massive doors, etched with the history of vampires beginning with the Great War all the way to the first squabbles with dhemons, sat open to the room beyond. Large desks once held for High Councilmen faced off against one another—one for each province, with smaller versions behind them for the Lower Council. A great hearth, crackling with a vibrant fire, sat at the far end, warding off the winter chill. Inside, men and women, including Lords Knoll and Theobald, Revelie and Luce, and the red-headed Rusan, Kyra, drifted in small packs between one another, introducing themselves and claiming chairs at which they would sit.
This was one thing Ariadne had not prepared to face. Kall ensured she could grapple with any enemy with understanding and skill. Whelan had her flying atop a dragon without fear. Madan and Lhuka made strides to make sure she could face a vampire with a blade. Azriel gave her the strength to fight the terrors of her own mind. Phulan taught her to face her past and heal for her future. Revelie kept her heart light even when darkness crept in. Emillie reminded her of the importance of family, both given and found.
But not one of them sat her down and told her how to handle being a Queen. No one illuminated the path that brought her to that moment where she would stand before others and declare laws that would impact thousands. It was a journey Ariadne had to make all on her own, and as she faced the very real moment that she needed to utilize the skills she had developed over her short time as Dhemon Queen, she felt wholly inadequate.
“It’s time to get started.” The words jolted her from the sudden spiral of despair that gripped her breath. Madan stepped into view beside her as Whelan rolled his chair over the threshold, into the room of vampires that always went quiet in his presence.
Ariadne swallowed hard and looked to him for…for what? Last-minute reassurance? She did not know what she needed, but anything would help at that moment. Finally, the only words she could summon in a whisper were, “Is this a mistake?”
Brows pinched, Madan tilted his head at her. “Iswhata mistake?”
“We just removed a King,” she said, heart thundering hard against her ribs. “A tyrant. How will these people see us as anything different? We do not rule them.”
