“Gods,” Camilla said. “You surprise me every night with how much you have changed.”
“In a good way!” Revelie added, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “We have not seen this much fire in you since…well, since before Azriel stole you away!”
Getting the tale of her abduction off her chest had been like taking a breath of fresh air. Ariadne had long since forgiven Azriel for his part in it, and if she could still love him after such transgressions, she had hoped her friends could support her in it. That was not to say it had been an easy feat. The two had been shocked and furious at her husband for an entire night before finally acquiescing to her pleas for them to hear all he had done since to right his wrongs.
At the mention of her abduction, however, her shoulders tightened. Her most recent encounter with Ehrun had been…worse than her imprisonment in many ways. At least when she had been rescued from the dhemon keep, Ariadne had the chance to face her fears and grow.
Kall never had the chance.
And, gods, the pain of his death remained so fresh. She could still see the way Ehrun’s sanity had slipped away mere heartbeats before the blade sank into her friend’s chest. She could still hear her own screams as Kall turned to reach for her. She could still feel her nails tearing into Azriel’s arm as her husband hauled her back, away from the dhemon who had spent weeks building her up just for her to fail when she needed it most.
Another squeeze from Revelie, dragging her back to the present, where she whispered, “I am sorry for bringing it up.”
Camilla scoffed and whirled to stand before Ariadne, a kerchief in hand. “Do not ruin my work,” she said and dabbed at her eyes. “Farce or not, you will look stunning on your wedding night. Again.”
Choking back the tightness in her throat with a half-hearted laugh, Ariadne nodded.
By the time they reached the carriage out front, an escort of crimson-clad soldiers surrounding it, she knew one thing for certain: so long as she had her friends by her side, she could endure anything.
Azriel felt…nothing.
The world moved around him, time slogging by in thick waves of fog. Shapes drifted across his vision with nothing quite forming. Voices directed words at him that he couldn’t make out, as though he had cotton stuffed in his ears. Heavy limbs dragged through something damp and scratchy.
His tongue refused to obey as he grappled with syllables that did nothing more than make low groans.
A strange peace had descended on him. One that felt familiar and yet…horrible. One he knew he hated for reasons he could not place. Mere flashes of hot sand and sun blistering his skin had him reaching for something.
No.
Someone.
Deep misery raked its claws through his soul, drawing blood that streaked down his face. Wait…not blood. What warmth leaked from his eyes? Why? What could be making him feel so horrible when all he wanted was to return to that place of pure bliss?
Eyes, blue as the ocean, alight with laughter.
At first, his heart lurched. Warmth flooded his veins. A knot loosened in his gut.
Then those perfect, rosy lips curled in a luscious smile collided with those of another. Silver hair and a sharp, icy glare.
Rage bubbled up, replacing the sorrow and crushing the joy.
Azriel lurched, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest. Fingers closed around something and tightened, eliciting a shriek that bounced around in his mind for too long as someone else pried him off with a curse. He bared his fangs in response. How dare they stop him from killing thatwretch?
“Sabharni,Vhaltrin.” A voice he knew too well slipped through his mind, caressing his consciousness with tender affection. The words continued in that same, rough language, “You’re safe. She’s safe. She loves you.”
She.
Those eyes returned to the forefront, dazzling in the light. Azriel could drown in the depths of them, and he would die a happy man, burying himself inhersoul so they could never be parted again. Each beat of her heart would send him racing through the void of eternity, where he could relish the feeling of her forevermore.
Anguish returned. It seared through him, tightening his gut so horribly that he heaved at the pressure of it. Nothing escaped him, for there was nothing for him to eject from his stomach. He was empty. Hollow and alone.
“Rholki.” That voice scratched at a place in Azriel’s mind that felt familiar. Safe.
Images of a beach at sunrise were thrust into his thoughts unbidden, each one delivered with a soft rake of claws across his consciousness. Through the memories that could not be his own, Azriel flew beyond the shore, racing after the opalescent figure of a small, scaled beast. Below stood a dhemon with an ax in the sand, and behind him, two other figures waited for their moment to strike.
I’m sorry, Rholki.
The words from that morning returned along with the heart-stopping sound ofhervoice in his mind. Then the taste of strange blood.
