“You are,” said the mage above.
“Then I insist you let me in.” With that, Phulan focused her attention ahead and waited for the gates to open. The massive wooden gates peeled back, allowing them through without another word from the guards.
Phulan did not hesitate to charge through the opening and turn off the main road as soon as she was able. Emillie hurried to follow, Luce remaining close by, and when she glanced back, she found Lhuka on her heels with Jakhov taking a shock-frozen Revelie by the arm and hauling her forward.
To Emillie’s relief, however, it did not take long for them to reach Phulan’s red adobe home. The high ceiling stretched out above her as they entered the main room, where collections of stones lined the walls. A massive slab of amethyst served as the table where Phulan led them and commanded them all tosit.
Like the obedient strangers to this city that they were, those of them still in a humanoid form took up residence in the chairs. Luce plopped herself beside the table as a wolf and looked on expectantly.
“I can’t quite express how grateful I am to be home.” Phulan whipped open the doors to her garden and looked out, the joy slipping from her expression the longer she stared at the emptiness beyond.
Emillie had an aching feeling she knew just what plagued the mage. Beside her, Revelie bit her lip and glanced at the dhemons across from them. Lhuka’s face paled as understanding hit, but Jakhov did not take his gaze from the seamstress.
“I’ll make us some tea,” Phulan finally said, her voice quieter as she retreated from the patio. “Something to calm the nerves.”
No one spoke. Phulan swept into the kitchen, lighting the blue flames in the hearth with a casual flick of her wrist. Before long, the kettle steamed and she poured the boiling water over ground spices.
The scent was at once familiar and foreign to Emillie. Over their time in the dhemon keep, she had grown accustomed to some of the flavors provided by the herbs Phulan had snuck from Algorath. Yet they had been so frugal with them, not knowing when they would return to the city, that it did not pique her usual taste buds as she sipped. Smooth vanilla notes mixed with a heated spike of spice had her humming and going back for another gentle slurp immediately.
Revelie, about as familiar with the flavors as she, choked on her first sip. With a shriek of the chair sliding across the stone floor, Jakhov shot to his feet and yanked the cup from her grasp, spilling the contents across the amethyst. His red eyes blazed in the low light. Then, as he swiveled his attention around the room, he mumbled an accented apology in common and tilted his horns at Revelie, who leaned back from the gesture.
“Sabharni,” Phulan said as she rounded the corner from the kitchen with fresh-baked flatbread. How she managed to cook something so quickly made Emillie’s head spin. Magic confounded her.
Lhuka took Jakhov’s arm and spoke low in their language. Deep color flushed across the half-eared dhemon’s cheeks. He hissed a reply, attention flickering to Revelie again, before pushing the chair back to the table and disappearing outside. With a quick apology, Lhuka followed his friend.
“By the gods,” Revelie breathed, watching them go. “What was that?”
Glancing at Luce, Emillie studied the lycan’s golden eyes. The wolf nodded once in encouragement. Then she turned to the mage who knew the dhemons better than she ever could. Phulan sighed and shrugged before vanishing the mess on the table as she sat.
“I have a theory.” Emillie gave Revelie a tight smile. “But I am not certain if it is true.”
At that, Revelie sat up a little straighter. “I am a Caersan who left the Society and now committed treason against my own kingdom. Whatever you have to say, I am certain I can handle it.”
At the head of the table, Phulan snorted. “And do you think you can handle a dhemon?”
“What?” Confusion had Revelie gaping between them.
Luce made a small huff and stared at Emillie expectantly.
“I think Jakhov has bonded to you.” Emillie bit her lip.
At first, Revelie laughed. When no one laughed with her at the joke, her smile faded and her eyes widened. This time when she spoke, her voice took on a pitch Emillie had never heard from her. “What?”
“I do not know for certain!” Emillie hurried to say.
But Phulan chuckled. “Speak your truth, girl.”
After shooting the mage a withering look, Emillie looked back to Revelie. “The behavior looks familiar, is all. I have seen it twice before now.”
At the end of the table, Luce huffed, but remained in her lycan form. That she avoided adding anything to the conversation entirely was a sign unto itself just how different fae bonds could appear. Yet Azriel had done the same thing to Ariadne by pretending to have no connection to her for as long as he did.
Now it seemed as though Jakhov was doing his best to hold back whatever bond he felt while simultaneously basking in Revelie’s presence. The way he watched her with nothing but pure possession and the brash acts to keep her safe—even from steaming cups of spiced tea—were all too similar to how Luce and Azriel both acted. How they bothcontinuedto act in the presence of Emillie and Ariadne.
“Why would a dhemon bond tome?” Revelie asked, turning in her seat to look out the open doors. “I am avampire. We do not bond!”
Emillie was spared from attempting to explain her theories by a sudden shout outside. Dhemon voices rose up, angry and demanding. The next moment, a grunt of pain and the heavy drop of a body followed.
Launching to her feet, Phulan charged outside. “Emry, save me. What is going on out here?”
