It was why, by the time she and Azriel moved back into the fray, she bore more wounds than her husband. Nothing that did not heal quickly and certainly not what would kill her, but they hurt, and it grew more and more difficult to hide the injuries.
Despite everything—the soldiers fighting for Loren’s tyrannical rule and all the vampires had done to destroy the dhemon way of life—Ariadne struggled to think about what she was doing. Every single soldier who fell to her blades was one of her people. They were the ones she wanted to free from under Loren’s thumb. They were vampires who fought for what they weretoldwas right.
Fools. Her father would call them all fools for blindly accepting the orders. But he always enjoyed the fools he commanded as General, then Princeps. His soldiers were the perfect minions who never failed to execute his orders. No one questioned whether what they were doing was morally right, and those who did often did not last long in the military—or anywhere else, for that matter.
Now the weight of the war had passed from father to daughter, only this time, it had changed hands. Where he fought to eradicate what he considered to be a plague within the Valley, she fought for everyone to gain an equal space in an area that both races now believed to be their homeland.
After five thousand years, it was difficult to argue that the vampires no longerbelongedin the Keonis Valley. They had taken it through force and genocide, though, and needed to be reminded of their bloody past.
Ariadne’s blade would be that reminder.
Deeper into Monsumbra they moved, not quite yet at the town center. Despite her significant training with Kall, then Lhuka and Madan, Ariadne’s stamina flagged. Though her body renewed itself regularly, she also was not accustomed to the constant flow of adrenaline, never being able to rest or truly believe she could safely blink without being attacked from a side street or alley.
Dragging his sword out from a soldier’s gut, Azriel turned wide eyes to her as she stumbled after him. “Are you well?”
His distraction made her stomach churn. Never was his full attention on the enemies before them. Instead, he kept one eye on her, constantly turning his body while engaging with soldiers to face her direction. Turning his back on her had him tensing and searching for her long before she could reassure him that she had not, in fact, disappeared.
Why he had thought that before continued to baffle Ariadne. How had he not seen her? She had been killing a soldier who attempted to attack him from behind.
“I need you to focus,” she said, her chest heaving as she adjusted her grip. “I am fine, I promise.”
Spoken too soon.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a fresh horde of soldiers appeared, funnelling in from cross streets into the wide main road that led directly to the center of town. Crimson washed through like a wave of blood pouring from a fresh wound. More than Ariadne could count—more than Ariadne had yet seen at any turn.
Renewed cries of war rose up around them. Shouts and screams, commands and dying gasps. They crashed against her eardrums, drowning her in a din that raked against her soul like claws through flesh.
And before Ariadne knew what was happening, she was forced back, back, back—away from Azriel, away from safety, away from his ever-watching shadow.
“Azriel!” she screamed, suddenly overwhelmed by the number of soldiers that pushed them apart. Blade shrieked as she blocked attacks and returned each strike with as much force as she could muster.
Every swing of her sword had her shoulders and back screaming in protest. Sweat trickled down her face and neck, drenching her clothing beneath the armor that had long since begun pinching her uncomfortably at the clasps. Though she was thankful to not need to worry about a helmet, she knew with absolute certainty that she had quick-healing bruises and scratches from not properly blocking hits.
The thought brought Kall to the forefront—a bad place for him to be as she parried and retreated, crossing her feet in the panic. She could feel his fingers tapping her jaw as he declared her unconscious from her slow reactions.
No. No…
She could not think of Kall now. Not while she was trying to find her own balance and force her enemy back again. Somewhere beyond the wall of soldiers, she heard her name being roared through the cacophony, yet there was no sign of her husband above the heads of the Rusan vampires.
How long had they been fighting now? The sun beat down from high above, signalling about midday. Hours. They had taken several long, agonizing hours to work their way deeper into Monsumbra, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake—still-living bodies that shehopedwere being dragged back to Phulan for medical attention.
There were too many Rusans. They had anticipated this, what with the Valenul army being comprised primarily of those who were considered to be the low-blood vampires. What they had not thought would happen was that the officers in charge would flood the city so quickly with them.
After all, they had mages on their side. Mages who had trained for the Pits and were now adept at both hand-to-hand combat, swordplay,andin magical skills. A single mage was worth two dozen soldiers and could devastate entire companies of vampire soldiers.
As though summoned by her thoughts, darkness washed over the wide road. Shadows curled between fighters, creating a thick curtain that nearly destroyed all field of vision. Anyone without acute eyesight or another way to see through darkness would be almost completely blind.
Anyone like Azriel.
Cursing under her breath, Ariadne thanked her Caersan eyes for keeping the vampires between her and her husband crisp enough to see. Most of the Rusans, however, slowed as their vision floundered. Red eyes shone bright as the dhemons in their ranks shifted their own eyes from what they used during the day to the thermal vision that allowed them to see the heat signatures—a concept that Ariadne could not even wrap her mind around, particularly when Azriel struggled to utilize that dhemon gift.
In the wake of the darkness, the screams renewed in tandem with the racing of Ariadne’s heart. Though this was a benefit for her and many of their people, the cover of darkness could spell disaster for many others.
All around her, the Valenul army began to panic. Rusans shouted at one another torunandretreatso that they could getout of the swell of darkness. Bodies shoved against her in the rush to escape the blanket of shadows, knocking her back and forth. No one seemed to even realize she stood there, one of their enemies. Instead, they focused on one thing alone: the need to not be butchered by the thermal-vision dhemons who now ruled the streets.
Ariadne tried to haul her sword up and take advantage of what she should see as a gift, but no sooner did she level it before a large, hard body slammed against her hand and knocked her grip loose. The sword fell, the sound of the blade clattering on the ground disappearing amidst the chaos.
If there was one thing she understood, it was not to go after her fallen weapon in a crazed crowd such as this. Even bending over could cause her to be lost and forgotten.
