“It’s never words.” Ehrun frowned in concentration. “More like a sensation. A feeling. A…subconscious thought. But she’s there, and I can communicate with her. She keeps my mind from splintering again—it’s full clarity like I’ve never known it before.”
Swallowing hard, Azriel looked at his own hands. It was everything he wanted. Everything heneeded. Even in the short span of time from when he walked away from Ariadne, he could feel his mind doing just as Ehrun said: it splintered.
“Can you…feel others who’ve died and gone to the Underworld?” The question was so quiet and raspy, he wasn’t certain Ehrun had heard him at first.
But the dhemon sighed and shook his head. “I can’t feel Kall the same way.”
Fuck.
Pain ricocheted through Azriel’s chest again, the familiarity of it nearly choking him. All he wanted was to know his friend wasalright. That Kall thrived in the afterlife, waiting for them to one day join.
“But…” Ehrun drew out the word, making Azriel look up at him as his heart jolted into his throat. “What I can feel from Rhana…she’s told me he’s there. He’s alright. He’s watching over you all—he’s keeping Ariadne safe.”
Lungs burning like fire, Azriel sucked in a breath and pressed his fists into his eyes as though the pressure alone would keep the tears at bay. When he pulled them away, his knuckles were damp. So much for that.
“How?” Azriel had the strangest urge to hug Ehrun—to thank the man he hated for so long for giving him such hope. “How can he do that?”
At that, Ehrun shook his head. “She doesn’t use words, only sensations. There’s something we still don’t understand about this ritual—about everything. But somehow Kall is with her, and Bindhe is with Almandine. They’re connected, and I don’t know how to explain it.”
The front doors of the keep opened and from them poured four figures. Whelan led the way, his consciousness brushing Azriel’s as he reached out to Oria. Ariadne followed not far behind, her oceanic eyes snapping to Azriel’s face and taking in the tears that smeared his cheeks. Then Madan trailed behind, Margot at his side as she scolded him for not dressing warmer with another cloak draped over her arm.
“I amfine, Grandmother,” Madan insisted, purposefully ignoring the prick of cold as a gust of wind swept by, brought upon them by Brutis’s wings as the great gray dragon landed on the lawn.
“Fineis not good enough.” Margot shoved the cloak into his hands. “Put it on, or so help me, I will find myself a dragon and hunt you down.”
“She’s spending too much time with Phulan,” Madan grumbled through the vinculum. “Her threats are getting better.”
“Perhaps you should consider listening to her,” Whelan replied before turning to Margot and plucking the cloak from between them. Aloud, he said, “I will personally ensure he wears this.” Then he wrapped the extra layer around Madan’s shoulders.
Margot huffed, but reached up and patted Whelan’s cheek. “You are the grandson I never had.”
Madan’s dramatic gasp even had Azriel cracking a smile. “Take that back.”
“No.” Margot glared at him. “At least Whelan listens to me. I did not survive in this world for five thousand years on ignorance, boy.”
A smirk stretched across Whelan’s face. “Of course not, Grandmother. Your wisdom is more than we could ever hope for.”
Her milky eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You will do well to remember that. Now make sure to come back alive.”
With an aghast face, Madan said, “As opposed to…”
“As opposed to a pile of ashes,” Margot snapped, bringing them all back to reality with seven sharp words. “I do not need to lose any more of you.”
Madan leaned down and kissed her cheek. “We will be safe.”
Before she could scold them any more, Madan hurried to Brutis and dragged himself up one-handed onto the dragon’s back. Whelan placed a hand on Oria’s neck, communicating with her silently before striding over to where his partner sat and pulling himself up behind Madan. The green dragon turned her attention, then, to Ehrun.
“May I?” Ehrun asked her. Oria huffed smoke in his direction, but turned her shoulder to him in a silent acquiescence. He pulled himself onto her back with a quiet thanks.
Ariadne’s consciousness slid past Azriel’s as she asked, “Why is Ehrun riding Oria alone?”
It was Whelan who responded. “Doyouwant to ride on a dragon with him?”
Answer enough, yet still Ariadne pressed on. “Is that not dangerous for Oria?”
The green dragon huffed a laugh before stretching out her wings and shoving off from the ground. “He can’t hear my thoughts.I could just…drop him if he annoys me too much.”
Amusement washed through Azriel from his wife at that. She tucked her hand into his and waved to Madan and Whelan as Brutis pushed off after Oria. The massive silhouettes disappeared into the darkness, leaving Azriel silently praying to Keon that this wasn’t the last time he’d see his brother.
