After hauling Whelan back from pulverizing Ehrun’s face with a blade, Madan had to step aside to collect himself. They’d been through too much in the last week for him to feel any amount of peace. Between Kall’s death, Ariadne’s self-sacrifice, and Azriel’s plummet into madness, he and Whelan were the only two remaining of their original group who departed fromAuhla.
“We’re almost done,” Brutis said, his deep voice rumbling through Madan’s mind as he sat on a boulder away from the camp and stared out between the tree branches to where Lake Cypher sparkled in the moonlight. “Just a few more hours.”
Madan’s heart throbbed, and he hung his head. “We’re far from done.”
“Ariadne is on her way to the Temple,” said a smaller voice that Madan had come to recognize as Almandine.
The two of them were out there somewhere, getting as close to Laeton as they could manage without drawing attention. Brutis had been quick to volunteer after Razer’s blatant refusal to do so following their inaugural flight to connect the bondhearts on the night they captured Azriel.
“I want nothing to do with her,” Razer had said after ensuring her safe return to their camp. “I don’t have the time to look after her right now.”
After the initial shock of his words cleared, the meaning behind them made sense. He would not act as a guardian to a young dragonling that needed too much guidance in this new world, despite her advanced mental capacity. As such, he’deffectively cut himself off from her entirely and refused to stay in close proximity.
“Did I do something to upset him?” Almandine had asked when he left her behind the first time.
It was one of the many moments over the past week that Madan had wished Bindhe were still around. She was the most heartfelt of the dragons and would have known precisely how to assuage the small dragon, but Anthoria did her best and said, “No,little one.He needs space right now.We will take care of you.”
Her confusion on the matter only underscored the importance of Razer staying away. Though dragons lived extensive lives—or so they assumed due to their slow aging over the last century—she was entirely too naive to the workings of the world outside her shell. As mature as she was despite her small stature, teaching her how to survive was a huge task. Particularly when keeping her alive was paramount to Ariadne’s own survival.
Dragging himself back from the strange string of thoughts, Madan refocused on the task at hand and asked the newest member of their cavalry, “Are you resting?”
In response, Almandine sent an image from her vantage point on Brutis’s back. They soared over the lake, the lights of Laeton in the distance. Her control over the mental communications was getting better and better each time she practiced. Perhaps she would be able to withhold sharing unpleasant images from Ariadne’s perspective in the future.
“Good.” Madan turned his attention to his bondheart’s consciousness. “How are you?”
“I’ve flown longer durations than this,” he said, and the sensation of him banking to the right had Madan’s stomach doing a flip despite being on solid ground. “We’ll keep you updated if we hear anything from Ariadne.”
Madan sent back his gratitude before his bondheart’s presence cut away.
A crunch of underbrush had him turning towards Whelan as his mate approached. He carried two bowls of stew and held one out to Madan, which he accepted with a grunt of thanks, before settling onto the ground beside him. Whelan’s shoulder leaned against Madan’s knee, the gentle pressure a soothing reminder of his presence.
“N’vha bahn,alhija,” Whelan said quietly after a long moment of quiet between them.
Heart crunching, Madan set his spoon into the bowl on his lap and looked at his partner. Of them all, Whelan was typically the most steadfast. The one who brought light to dark conversations. The one who kept them all from taking life too seriously. It wasn’t often that it was he who caused trouble.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Madan responded in the dhemon language. He took hold of Whelan’s horn and tugged, encouraging the dhemon to look up at him.
At first, Whelan did nothing of the sort. He stared at his bowl, mouth drawn into a tight line. When he finally turned to search Madan’s face, he did so with watery eyes. “I miss him.”
Him—Kall.
Fuck.
“I do, too.” Madan swallowed back the lump forming in his throat.
There was no reason to say anything else. Madan knew why Whelan reacted the way he did with Ehrun, nor did he blame him. Had that comment been directed at him, he likely would have reacted in a similar fashion. And didn’t that just make everything worse?
No matter what they did, Ehrun had the upper hand. He knew exactly what to do and say to get under their skin—to elicit that exact reaction from them.
“If all goes to plan,” Madan said, turning his attention back to the stew to keep from crying, “the real Ehrun will be back soon.”
“I don’t wanthimback.” Whelan’s brows furrowed, and he turned away again as well. “I want Kall back.”
Madan couldn’t argue with that. Unfortunately, no matter how much they desired the return of their friend, they would never get that opportunity. Their best chance at winning the looming war against Loren was to do what the Crowe never could and ensure Ehrun’s mind was repaired so he could gather his forces to fight alongside Azriel.
Assuming, of course, his brother made it through this with his own mind intact.
“We have everything we need for the ritual.” Madan took a bite of the stew, relishing the flavors that were so vastly different from the ones Kall would use. If it had been a classic dhemon dish, he might not have been able to stomach it.
