A Ride of Peril(54)

"Indeed." She smiled. "She's asked me to liaise with you about setting a date and time for the council to be greeted and escorted to their accommodations in the summer palace, your grace. Perhaps now would be a good time to discuss these details?"

He measured her from head to toe, a shadow passing over his face. There was lust in his eyes, and I couldn't blame him. She was superb, and her voice was sweet and mellow.

"Please, call me Azazel. I'm no king for you to call me Your Grace." He smirked, then looked over his shoulder.

Genevieve and Almus had disappeared somewhere beyond the tall rose bushes on the western edge of the garden. Azazel shifted his focus back to the Lamia.

"I wouldn't dare to call you Azazel, milord," she replied gently. "You are a leader, and I am but a young Druid with barely a couple of ranks. It would be highly disrespectful."


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I noticed the two slim circle tattoos on her right wrist and began to wonder how she'd been accepted as a Druid when everything about her screamed Lamia.

"You're too kind, young lady," he sighed. "What is your name?"

"Tamara, milord."

"Tell me, Tamara, why do you wear scales on your skin? Are you a Lamia, perhaps?"

Bingo!

She blushed as she looked away, visibly embarrassed. Her smile, however, had the power to tear down any man's defenses, including Azazel's. His gaze softened.

"I assure you I am but a young Druid, milord. I've simply decided to embrace my serpent nature and wear it with pride, even in my Druid form," she replied. "I have no taste for incubus flesh. I have passed all the tests that Lady Genevieve requested before I entered her service."

A moment passed before she spoke again. Azazel continued to gaze at her.

"I like plums, milord. And honey. And the northern breads of the seventh kingdom, where I hail from." She sighed, contemplating the garden.

"I believe you, Tamara."

Azazel was bewitched by this creature. This was all probably happening millennia after they'd already been banished but long before they found out that Lamias had infiltrated the Druid society. Bijarki had told me a little about the entire scandal, dating a few centuries back, when dozens of Lamias had been ousted from Eritopia's high society. Before it all went to hell, thanks to Azazel.

I stood there, watching as she spoke to him. He liked her a lot, and I couldn't help but wonder if his sudden attachment to her was related to Almus and Genevieve's developing relationship. Perhaps he needed someone to help him get over Draven's mother. Perhaps Tamara was the one who could take his mind off Genevieve.

Judging by how it all seemed to end, with Azazel as the self-proclaimed Prince of the Destroyers, I figured it didn't go too well between him and Tamara. But it was nevertheless interesting to discover that the "Prince" had once had a heart.



The third vision tore me away from those days long gone, bringing me closer to the present time disaster. I found myself on a black marble platform atop a castle. The wind whistled at that altitude, brushing against giant glass spheres suspended from standalone black marble arches.

Azazel slithered around one of those spheres, which was filled with water and held an Oracle captive, whom I didn't recognize. My stomach churned, and my heart twisted in my chest, as I realized where I was. This was Azazel's castle, at the very top where he kept his Oracles. Two more slept in their spheres, floating in what probably felt like an eternity.

The clouds gathered above in menacing charcoal rolls, ignited by lightning and the occasional bang of thunder nearby. 

"Where is she?" Azazel hissed at the Oracle.

He'd become a Destroyer, his thick black tail twitching as he moved around the Oracle, who cried inside the sphere, desperately trying to keep her head above the water.

"Oh, stop your whining. You're not going to drown. It's not really water!" he barked at her. "Tell me where she is!"

Her eyes were white and swollen from all the crying. She'd at least been spared the misery of seeing where she'd been brought, where she would eventually wither away and die.

I wanted to punch the monster, break his bones, and throw him off the platform. But I couldn't. I could only watch and listen and learn and use every bit of information I could gather against him.

"I don't know who she is," the Oracle sniffed between hiccups.

Azazel banged on the glass, startling her. He was raging, his eyes yellow, the snake medallion I'd seen on Lorenz now hung around his neck. I put two and two together and felt sorry for the old Druid, who was one of the many casualties of Azazel's ascension to power.