Page 164 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Catch your breath, Roque,” Azriel said and stood to steady the girl as she swayed. “Easy.”

Roque looked through her golden bangs with wide, hazel eyes. “The mage is almost here.”

Tension seeped from Azriel. He took hold of the girl’s shoulders and guided her back into the sitting room. A few low words were exchanged before Roque sat on the wing-back chair and rested her head.

The door opened to the suite, and Petre, Bella, and a human swept in. Before any greetings were exchanged, Petre turned to Bella and gestured to the cold fireplace with an urgent whisper. She nodded once and pulled wood from the nearby rack to stack neatly in the grate.

Then the flurry of movement began.

The mage, introduced as Izara, straightened her charcoal gray hijab and, gliding like a regal swan across water, passed Ariadne without a word. Her sharp, dark brown eyes assessed Madan in a single broad sweep. She passed a hand over his chest, and the bruise there almost entirely disappeared, but it was his ruined hand where she pulled up short.

“Aegrisolis.” She spoke to no one in particular in a lilting, accented voice and placed both hands on his arm, just above the tattered flesh. Her brows knitted together.

Azriel stepped forward. “Can you fix it?”

With a soft scoff, Izara shook her head, hands staying in place just below the elbow. “The hand is dead. I’m no necromancer.”

Ariadne shifted closer. “Can you stop the spread?”

“The poison moves slowly.” Izara closed her eyes to focus on the arm. “I can’t feel it above the elbow.”

“Take it off.” Azriel’s stared at his brother’s too-pale face with wide eyes. “Take off the arm.”

Izara’s dark eyes flew open. “He’ll die without feeding first.”

Ariadne pivoted and grabbed Petre’s arm. She pulled him from the room. “Find me a willing vampire with the purest blood. Anyone.”

Petre gaped at her as he thought, then nodded and left without a word.

In his wake, Bella approached, the fire now crackling behind her. “My father is Caersan.”

Ariadne blinked once, her sluggish mind not quite understanding what the woman had said. As the words clicked into place, she sucked in a breath. “I had no idea.”

Bella shrugged it off. “I prefer for not many to know. How can I help?”

“Madan is…” Ariadne glanced over her shoulder at the too-still body on the bed. “He might not survive without feeding. He drank some blood earlier, but then…”

Ehrun’s face in the carriage window flashed through her mind. His wicked grin as he had torn the door nearly off its hinges only grew when she screamed and dropped the dagger Azriel had given her. His had been the last face she had anticipated seeing.

She wheezed in a breath and refocused on Bella’s face. “He got hurt again.”

“I’ll feed him,” Bella called as she stepped past Ariadne.

Izara beckoned her closer and spoke in a low voice as Bella rolled up her sleeve. Then the mage looked at the supplies on the bed. “I need a strap of leather and as much liquor as possible.”

The credenza on the far side of the sitting room supported one need while Azriel rooted through Madan’s drawers for a clean leather belt. They placed both items on the bed as Petre returned with one of the stablehands, Oli.

“You are his brother?” Izara asked Azriel, her expression professionally neutral.

“Yes.”

She pointed to the door. “Then get out.”

He froze, hands balling into fists at his side. “Excuse me?”

Ariadne took hold of one of his hands. Harming the mage preparing to save Madan’s life would not be a wise decision.

“You’re too close to him.” Izara turned away as though the matter had been settled. She did not see the blaze in Azriel’s eyes. “He is too lucid now with the blood, and he will feel this.”

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