“Being reconnected to Keon has opened my mind to many things,” he said, “including the need for us to find peace with those we’ve fought for so long. I do not pretend to speak for the God of the Underworld, but I’ve come to understand far more of what he desires from us than I ever believed possible.
“Wemustwork together to eradicate one thing: the tyranny that runs rampant in Valenul.” Ehrun surveyed them. “In doing so, we may work together to lay the foundation for harmony as we have never known.”
From the center of the mob, a familiar voice called, “Will fighting for King Azriel the Crowe guarantee us a chance at the ritual to connect us to the Underworld?”
Ehrun’s hand dropped from Madan’s shoulder, and he stepped forward, brows drawn up. “Little bird?”
Pushing to the front, Sasja emerged from between a pair of brawny dhemons. She took them in, nodding solemnly to Madan and Whelan, then Brutis and Oria. Finally, her eyes landed on the Keon symbol tattooed on Ehrun’s cheek. She smiled sadly and brushed her thumb over it. “These bastards have a way of getting to us, don’t they?”
Then she turned to the crowd. “Azriel the Crowe is the only reason I’m alive today. The only reason I’m not fighting or dying in the Algorathian Pits.”
Another murmur went through the tense crowd. No one moved and no one spoke openly against her.
“The vampire Ariadne Harlow,” Sasja continued, “is his bonded wife and all that stands between him and exactly what all of you wish to happen.”
Madan whipped his attention to her, muttering, “That is not helpful right now.”
Sasja ignored him. “But it is she who fights the hardest for all of us.”
“I’ve seen it myself,” Ehrun added. “She allowed herself to be taken by Loren Gard, Valenul’s previous General and new King, all so she could uncover the ritual that connected me to the Underworld. It was the daughter of Rhana’s murderer who gave me back my wife.”
“I will fight for Azriel the Crowe,” Sasja said, holding her head a little higher. “And if any of you believe yourselves to truly desire the return to our homelands, you will follow him into battle as well.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Madan remembered one key fact: Sasja’s father had been another Dhemon King, killed by the Crowe. She held as much sway over many of these dhemons as Luce did over the lycans of L’Oden Forest—as much sway as Ehrun or Azriel or any other powerful clan leader. They looked up to her. It underscored the importance of her words in that moment.
The dhemons whispered amongst themselves, then one by one, they began stamping their feet on the rocky ground. The beat was not unlike the one that had echoed through the great hall ofAuhlawhen Azriel had been named King. It thrummed through Madan like a drum.
Yet only when the crowd had begun to disperse to pack up their camp and make for Central Province, where they would set up for battle against Loren, did Madan take his eyes off them to look to Sasja.
“What are you doing?” he asked, unable to shake the feeling of betrayal that she had told Ehrun their plans to find Anwenja, resulting in Kall’s death. “I though—”
“I’m sorry.” She did not look at him right away. When she did, her dark red eyes glittered in the moonlight. “I thought you’d go straight for the entry I pointed to on the map.”
Madan shook his head. “It was too close to Valenul for us to safely go.”
Beside them, Whelan and Ehrun watched. The former stood rigid, glaring at Sasja as though it’d been she who put the blade into their friend’s chest. The latter’s face blanched, knowing precisely where the conversation would turn at any moment.
“Did Kall not travel with you?” Sasja slid her attention between the three of them, her eyes catching on the collar around Ehrun’s neck.
Whelan cursed under his breath and directed his displeasure to the ground. Likewise, Madan looked up at Ehrun. This wasn’this question to answer—not when the reason for Kall’s absence stood amongst them.
“No, little bird.” Ehrun’s throat bobbed behind the band of metal. “He’s dead.”
Pain lanced through Madan as Sasja’s expression fell to silent horror. She sucked in a sharp breath and bit her lip, hand splaying across her stomach as though the news made her as physically ill as it’d made all of them for so long.
“How did it happen?” she asked quietly.
“You were there,” Whelan said, his voice suddenly no longer filled with hate, but laced with quiet apprehension.
Sasja looked up. “What?”
“It was me,” Ehrun said before anyone else could speak. He grimaced and stepped forward to cup her face. There was a relationship there, deeper than one Madan understood, that connected them. Nonetheless, Sasja pulled out of reach as Ehrun continued, “I killed him, little bird. I’m sorry.”
Her mouth formed a tight, thin line as she looked away and nodded. When she spoke next, her voice was hoarse. “Alright.”
What else was there to say? Madan’s heart cracked all over again as she wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away from them. Without another word, she followed in the wake of the rest of the crowd, leaving the three of them in a mournful silence they couldn’t escape.
It was not often that Loren took his meals anywhere other than the main dining hall. He preferred to eat amongst his Court—the debutantes and Lords or sons thereof who now resided within the halls of his castle. There, he could discuss societal matterswith those who held the most influence over the cities and towns of Valenul, Laeton included, and ensure his orders were being upheld by everyone.
