Page 147 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Ariadne watched him with a wary gaze, uncertain what to say or do next. Likewise, he did not look up from his hands.

“You didn’t tell them.” His voice cracked. Had he expected to be arrested upon his arrival?

“Has Madan returned?” she asked quietly, ignoring his words and twisting her fingers into the skirt of her gown.

Azriel shook his head. “No.”

At once, the news did not surprise nor comfort her. Madan continued to be a victim in all of this, same as her.

“You called him my half-brother,” she said after a moment, shuffling through all he had said the night before. It had all been such a blur, and she could not recall most of it after the transformation. “Explain.”

He looked up, then, with wide eyes. “You want to talk about it?”

She lifted her chin. “I ask the questions. You answer honestly.”

“As you wish.” Azriel surveyed her for a long moment, then blew out a long breath. “Your father’s first wife was Mariana Caldwell. The only daughter of Lord Governor Garth Caldwell.”

Ariadne raised a hand to stop him. “Why does no one seem to remember his first family?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Because he hid us away—never brought us to Laeton and spoke of us to no one.”

“Why?” She paused, studied his choice of words again, and said, “Wait… us?”

“Shame. Embarrassment. I don’t know.” Azriel glared out the window for a long moment, then continued, “Mariana was my mother. Madan’s mother.”

Ariadne mapped out the family tree in her mind, complete with two separate wives for her father and the children he sired. But Azriel did not belong on it. Not really.

“Your father is the Crowe?”

“Was,” he corrected. “My father died protecting me from Ehrun. My father died to ensure your escape.”

For a moment, her mind went blank. She blinked a couple times before shaking her head. “We will come back to that. Tell me about your family. How does my father not recognize you?”

“I was born Isaiah Harlow.” Azriel grimaced. “Madan was Mattias Harlow.”

“So you changed your names.” She frowned at him. “Still, I would not think your faces are so unrecognizable.”

Azriel tilted his head. “It’s been almost five centuries since he’s seen us and, if I’m not mistaken, he burned every family portrait he had of us. He assumed us dead.”

“Why?”

“Because he assumes all dhemons are monsters.” Azriel looked at his hands again with another bitter laugh. “Perhaps he’s right.”

She almost grabbed his hand then to reassure him he was wrong. The twitch in his direction did not go unnoticed. His gaze latched onto her hands before closing his eyes hard.

“He always knew I wasn’t his child.” Azriel looked up again and gestured to his face. “I may look enough like my mother to pass as a Caldwell, but I hold none of his features. My mother’s family married her off to him when they discovered her pregnancy. They kept it a secret and played it off that I was a Harlow.”

Ariadne gaped at him. “Your mother was pregnant before her wedding?”

“She loved my father, and he doted on her.” A shadow of a smile flitted across his face. Whatever memory he conjured had been a good one. Then his brows creased, and the light disappeared from his eyes. “The Crowe bonded to her, and when Markus left her in Eastwood, she visited him often.”

“But Madan is not a dhemon?”

He shook his head. “No. When Madan was born, my oddities stood out even more.”

“But my father,” she said slowly, “still did not accept him?”

“He had his reservations.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “For good reason, I suppose.”

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