Page 12 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Emillie jumped at Ariadne’s voice. It was an observation, not a question. She turned and nodded, her heart sinking at the sight of her sister in a diaphanous white robe that enhanced her frail, ghost-like figure. Had she eaten at all last night? Emillie could not recall.

The night Madan brought Ariadne home, she had been a wreck in more ways than one. Thin, in desperate need of a meal and Caersan blood, and wholly untrusting of anyone. She cowered from them all like a wounded animal, refusing food and making almost no sound at all.

Emillie had been heartbroken and confused. Madan reminded her, though, that Ariadne did not, in fact, hate her. She was scared and hurt and needed love more than ever.

Looking at Ariadne’s ghostly face in that hallway now took Emillie right back to that night. Dark circles rimmed her sister’s eyes, a clear indication she had not slept throughout the day. Ariadne had never regained the elegant curves she once flaunted, so her hollowed cheeks stood out more than usual in the low candlelight. A ghost of her former self. No less beautiful, but far from who she had been.

“I did not want to see the ballroom,” Emillie said and held out a hand.

Ariadne took it. “I understand.”

Indeed, her sister had moved rooms upon her return, unable to stomach the sight of the suite she had once considered a safe haven.

“How do you fare?” Emillie squeezed her sister’s hand lightly. A silent I see you, I love you, I am here.

The response was slow to come, and Emillie did not push it. She walked alongside Ariadne in quiet companionship as her sister sorted out her thoughts and feelings. Despite her patience, Emillie wished she would truly speak to her—stop filtering her words and give her the raw truth of her thoughts.

“Not well,” Ariadne admitted when they turned into the empty breakfast den where the evening’s meal sat waiting for them.

The table, much smaller than that of the formal dining room with only six chairs, sat before a bay of windows overlooking the lower gardens. Neither of them spent time looking out at the walking paths and flowering bushes. In fact, they both chose chairs facing away from the distant forest looming at the edge of the estate property.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Emillie pulled the serving bowl of yogurt to her and spooned some into her bowl before passing it over.

Ariadne copied the motion and said, “Yes.”

The granola scattered onto Emillie’s lap as she tried to add it to her bowl. Her heart stumbled. It was a rare occurrence for Ariadne to wish to speak about what had happened to her.

“I am listening,” she said, sweeping the spilled grains into a napkin and setting it aside.

Another lull in the conversation. She filled it by topping off her bowl with strawberries. Though the yogurt and grains were easily accessible in Valenul, the fruit was a special treat even for Caersan. By the end of winter, they relied solely on trade with the southern half of the continent—with what remained of the mages across the Leus Plains where Caersans had first been created. If it had been a poor harvest, such as the last year, supplies ran low quickly. Emillie loved fruit too much to let it go, though, even in the winter.

“That was my first time seeing them since coming back.” Ariadne’s eyes focused on something much farther away than the spoon she stared at. “I thought they had returned to take me again.”

Emillie bit her lip without speaking.

“I just sat there.” Her voice was small and pained. “The guard kept telling me to run. I kept telling myself to run. But I just sat there.”

“It was terribly frightening.”

Ariadne’s ocean eyes, brimmed with silver like waves on a beach, turned to her. “I tried to run once.”

Breath hitching, Emillie could not look away. Shadows crept into her sister’s gaze, and for a long moment, it was as though she could see straight into Emillie’s soul. She opened her mouth, uncertain what to say.

“I learned very quickly not to run.”

“Then you did what you knew was best.” Emillie laid her hand out on the table, palm up. The first rule of her sister: never touch her without permission.

But Ariadne slipped her fingers into Emillie’s hand nonetheless. “I never wanted you to see them.”

Emillie nodded. She had seen dhemons before, of course. Terrible and monstrous though they were, they were still fae who communed with their patron god, Keon. That meant they could be found all along the Keonis Mountains, and traveling with their father required them to enter the ranges. She had seen them in passing and nothing more. Never like what she had witnessed last night.

“Did you recognize any of them?” The question left Emillie before she weighed it properly. She sucked in a breath and added, “Sorry. You do not have to answer that.”

Ariadne, however, did not flinch. “A couple, yes.”

Feeling braver now, Emillie pressed on. “Were any of them the ones who hurt you?”

“No.” Ariadne picked up her spoon and pushed her granola into the yogurt. “They watched, though, and did not stop him.”

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