Heart lurching, he frowned. “Is he—”
“No.” Ariadne’s mouth turned with distaste. “He got away, the snake.”
“And how did we escape?”
At that, Ariadne’s brows lifted. She propped herself up on her elbow and stroked back stray hairs from his forehead as though contemplating what to say. When she paused, however, her face fell as though she could not summon a better combination of words to elicit the events. Instead, she spoke a single word. A single name. “Ehrun.”
Azriel gaped at her. “Excuse me?”
“As Madan explained later,” she said, “the ritual Em had discovered, and I was able to locate… It worked. He’s been reconnected to Keon—to the Underworld.”
The highs and lows of Azriel’s emotions in the last several minutes could only be described as akin to the rapid ascents of dragon flight and the weightlessness of freefall. One moment, hewas tumbling through a void with no hope of safety. Then next, he was swept into the angelic arms of euphoria.
“It worked,” he repeated, staring at her wide-eyed. If it worked for Ehrun, then there was hope. More hope than he could have ever dreamed of. “That means—”
“We did it,” Ariadne whispered, resting her palm on his cheek. Her thumb stroked the tear that slid free before it could roll across his face. “The dhemons inAuhlahave been lining up for the ritual, and all who have undergone it can attest to its effectiveness.”
Azriel sucked in a sharp breath, the air burning his throat. He slid his hand to the back of her head and pulled her in, kissing her hard. It’d happened. Finally…they would be free.
Emillie stared after Ariadne as she sprinted from the great hall to see to her reawakened husband. The past two nights with her sister had been the most cathartic she had ever experienced. After sending Ariadne to Algorath in search of Azriel, a part of Emillie had never expected to see her again. That part only intensified after Alek’s death and her abduction by Caeles and his band of fae mercenaries. Still, another part of her, if not a smaller one, held onto hope that one day they would be reunited.
With them once more together after Ariadne’s ploy against Loren, Emillie had everything she needed. Well…almost everything.
Across from her, Revelie leaned in to pick up her conversation with Luce regarding the state of lycans within L’Oden Forest. The two had become fast friends—something that surprisedEmillie after how long it had taken her to break through Luce’s defensive shell.
No, Emillie had not yet regained everything. Not so long as Camilla was still trapped in Laeton with Loren Gard.
“And they do not recognize the lycan royal line?” Revelie asked before sipping her tea from a mug much too large for such a drink.
No Caersan-worthy tea sets could be found in all of the mountainside dhemon keep, and there had been something freeing about the lack of porcelain. It had been weeks since Emillie had used such fine dishes, but she had worried for Revelie. To her amusement, the Golden Rose-turned-seamstress found so few reminders of Valenul to be a relief.
“Not since the rebellion,” Luce confirmed, adjusting her seat on the bench so her leg rested flush against Emillie’s. “My great-grandmother traded her life to protect the remaining lycans, including her daughter and heir. All titles were stripped, and we became second-class citizens without even a place amongst the politicians.”
Revelie cursed under her breath. “And here I thought the fae were well and beyond such barbarics.”
“No kingdom is free of its pitfalls, it seems,” Emillie said. She could feel Luce’s gaze resting on her, the mere presence a weight that had her breathing a little more shallow.
“Definitely not.” Luce turned back to Revelie. “So you were a Golden Rose and gave up all the prestige to slum it with the Rusans as a seamstress?”
The responding laugh turned heads. Revelie nodded. “You could say that. As Ariadne could attest, the title of the Golden Rose is suffocating. After my father died and passed his estate on to my mother and me, we parted ways. She thrives in the Society. I put as much distance between it and myself as I could manage, using my inheritance as a means to launch my business.”
“I respect that.” Luce nodded. “You have experienced all Valenul has to offer, then.”
“I would not put it that way.” Revelie swirled her mug of tea absently. “Though I have made friends with Caersans and Rusans alike, my family name has done more for me than most would admit. I have never struggled as some vampires have under the thumb of the Council.”
Another nod of acceptance from the lycan. “It’s a strange juxtaposition to be in the middle, is it not?”
“Most certainly.”
Emillie opened her mouth to add her thoughts to the conversation, but a hush fell over the great hall. In unison, the three of them turned toward the source of the silence. Her heart skipped a beat.
Ehrun stood at the entrance to the hall, his massive form obscuring the dhemons lingering behind him—the dhemons assigned as his shadows to ensure no relapses. To ensure the ritual held firm and he remained connected to Keon.
At first, the imposing dhemon looked prepared to turn and make a swift exit. His brows pinched, not with anger or hurt, but grim understanding. He set his mouth into a thin line and cast his glowing red gaze to the floor in defeat. Emillie had not seen him since their arrival atAuhla, and she suspected this was his first true venture through the keep.
“Ehrun!” A familiar voice rose above the low murmurs. The hall went still, then everyone turned to see who spoke, including Ehrun. The dhemon’s eyes widened as they landed on Madan, standing beside his partner. “Come. Sit.”
A collective exhale ran through the onlookers. Tension flexed through Ehrun’s features before he turned and did as he was bid, exposing the dhemon guards behind him.
