“You’re correct,” Madan said. “None of us do. But we’re not here to rule over them—we’re here to help them set up something new.”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, Ariadne curled her shaking fingers into the sage skirt of her dress. “They will not take kindly to us taking Eastwood and Waer.”
Madan’s mouth curled into a wicked smirk. “Then they can take that up with the Lycan Queen and Razer.”
Despite herself, Ariadne snorted a laugh. Well, her brother had done what he set out to do by distracting her from her own twisted thoughts, though the new images of vampires being burnt to ash by the dragons were just as dark.
“You’re not alone.” Almandine’s calm presence soothed the tumultuous part of Ariadne.
Watching her bondheart grow over the weeks following the last battle had been, in its own way, a healing experience. While the losses had been numerous and coping with them had been difficult, there was plenty of love and hope left. There would be time to grieve, but this moment was to build a future for which Camilla would have been excited.
Madan held out his amputated arm. “Shall we?”
With a sigh, Ariadne took it and followed him into the room. She smiled and greeted those she remembered from their multitude of dinners before finding herself directed to sit at a table near the hearth.
“This is where our father sat,” Madan said as he pulled out a chair. “It belongs to a Harlow.”
Ariadne huffed. “You are as much a Harlow as I am.”
The words were met with a scrunched nose as he said, “No.” Then he lifted his eyes to Azriel as he entered before shifting to Whelan, speaking to a very reserved Lord Edley Praad nearby. “I am a son of Azazel the Crowe.”
A smile curled the corners of her lips. Ariadne pecked a kiss on her brother’s cheek before sitting and sliding her hands along the polished wood armrests that her father had once felt. “Look at us, growing into who we are meant to be.”
Madan laughed. “We are young, yet,Yvhaltrinja. Let’s just get through the night.”
Before long, those present found their chairs with Azriel hauling a spindly seat from outside the room to the space beside her at the large desk. Only, as they began their proceedings, the doors opened once more to reveal the stalky and boisterous Trev Wintre, the man Loren had named his successor as General of Valenul.
Ariadne stiffened at the sight of him, then leaned closer to Azriel. “What is he doing here? I thought he was imprisoned.”
But her husband closed his fingers around hers and addressed the Caersan. “Welcome, Wintre. Take a seat.”
A murmur went up amongst the vampires present as he did as he was bid. Several cast Azriel quizzical looks, including Lords Knoll and Theobald. To her surprise, Madan did not appear taken aback by the sudden addition to their strange council. In fact, he gave Ariadne a reassuring smile.
What secrets did they keep from her?
“Brutis, Razer, and Anthoria will tell me nothing,” Almandine confirmed. “Though not before I overheard them discussing something about the interrogations.I think they uncovered something.”
Plucking through the web of connected consciousness, Ariadne grumbled when she found her way blocked to Azriel’s mind. After they had promised to not keep secrets from one another, they had been quite good at upholding their word. At least for the most part. Shielding her from whatever was happening now was not like him.
“You have all been invited here to form the foundations of Valenul’s future,” Azriel said, raising his voice so it carried around the room with ease. “But before we begin, I believe it is necessary to understand why I have invited the man appointed to such a powerful position by the previous King.”
All eyes shifted to Trev, who paled a shade before sitting up a little more in his seat. Ariadne studied him, remembering just how bawdy he could be at balls. Between that and his being one of Loren’s personal friends, she did not appreciate his presence, though she trusted her own husband’s judgment of the situation more than anything.
“When I was named General,” Wintre said, “I believed what Loren Gard was doing was correct. I carried out orders, as any good soldier, and did not think twice about them.”
Ariadne glared openly at him.
“I admit it was not until Nikolai Jensen approached me that I even realized the damage I was doing to the kingdom I love so much.” Wintre swallowed hard, but held his head high nonetheless. The mention of Nikolai, however, piqued Ariadne’s interest. “It was he who began a quiet dissent amongst the soldiers in my ranks. I looked to stifle them at first, then made to expose Nikolai for his treason.”
Weeks of wondering. Weeks of knowing that somehow, some way, Nikolai was an innocent who died in the attempt to quell Loren’s hatred. Still, hearing it now made Ariadne’s arms prick with goosebumps.
“When he finally spoke to me directly,” Wintre continued, “I could not ignore the signs of madness in Loren. I had turned a blind eye to what was right in front of me. Only then—and I fear it was far too late—did I understand what Nikolai attempted: to eradicate Loren’s hold on the military long enough to put an end to his reign.”
“And how did you do that?” Ariadne asked before she could stop herself.
Wintre found her gaze and held it. “I stopped following orders. Do you believe it was luck that no reinforcements from Waer or Notten arrived at the Hub?”
The implication stayed Ariadne’s tongue. While the number of soldiers they faced at the Hub had been vast, she knew as well as anyone that they never once faced the true might of the Valenul army. Had others arrived, they very well would have witnessed far more destruction. As it were, the casualties on both sides were oddly minimal, and the speed at which Valenul soldiers surrendered was questionable.
