1 - Ariadne #3
She recognizes it as one of the two witches who had been gossiping near the pianoforte.
“Last we saw, she was brooding over her music,” the other witch says.
“Euphemia sent me to find her,” Crescentia says with an air of self-importance. “If you see her, please inform me at once.”
“Good luck. She has likely disappeared again.”
“If she despises people so much, why does she bother attending parties?”
The two witches giggle amongst themselves and, to Ariadne’s further irritation, Crescentia laughs with them.
“Ignore them,” Rebekka murmurs, then licks up the column of her throat, making her suck in a shuddering breath.
“I cannot imagine what Euphemia sees in her.”
“She sees the heir apparent of the Zerynthos Coven.”
“Surely not,” Crescentia scoffs. “If she can hardly manage polite conversation at a ball, how could she possibly lead a coven?”
Ariadne’s skin burns with her indignation and lust. She tries to ignore them while Rebekka attempts to distract her with her mouth, but Crescentia’s words cut through her desire.
“One of her cousins could assume the role in her stead.”
“Not without the pendant. If Ariadne claims it…”
“She will still possess the same flaws,” Crescentia says callously. “Should such a volatile witch have that sort of power at her fingertips?”
“Her grandmother did.”
“Katrin Zerynthos was shrewd in her conquests,” Crescentia argues. “Who can say how Ariadne would fare in her place… She could shatter the mind of anyone who would dare oppose her, as she did to Vivien Nicolo.”
At that, Rebekka ceases her kisses to glance incredulously in the direction of the echoing voices.
“If that is how she treats her friends, imagine how she’d treat her enemies,” Crescentia says.
Ariadne presses both her palms against Rebekka’s shoulders until she steps away.
“Ariadne,” she whispers, taking another wary step backward.
Forcing her away around Rebekka, Ariadne storms out of the sitting room, and into the hall.
“You insidious hag!” she screeches as she turns the corner.
Crescentia’s eyebrows nearly disappear beneath the curls framing her face. The other two witches, whose names Ariadne cannot bother recollecting, are equally terrified to behold her fury.
“Ariadne, I did not…” Crescentia loses her words.
“How dare you whisper such insults! You insolent, worthless miscreant!” Ariadne yells, all of her pent-up anxiety from the night expelling from her with every syllable.
“Forgive me, I did not-”
“I should wring your neck!”
Rebekka puts a hand on Ariadne’s arm, but she wrenches it away and steps closer to Crescentia until their noses almost touch.
“You shall regret your slander.” Ariadne reaches for her wand.
“Ari!”
Her fingers wrap her wand, but she does not draw it, because Samaira approaches them with an air of practiced calm.
“Ari, come.” Samaira takes her arm and pulls her away.
“She should not have-”
“I know,” Samaira says. “Come.”
Ariadne lets out an angry grunt but allows Samaira to guide her to the other end of the corridor.
“Do you want your mother to hear of this?” she asks.
Her words immediately smother any aggression in Ariadne’s countenance and replace it with reluctant caution.
“You should not make a spectacle of yourself,” Samaira says.
“But did you not hear what she said?” Ariadne protests.
“No, tell me,” she says.
Muffled wails make them stop dead in their tracks to look back where they’d come. Sharing a confused glance, they run back to where the three witches are trying and failing to speak around their tongues, which have swollen up to three times their size.
Rebekka is doubled over in hysterical laughter, while Ksenia stands tall and stern, still pointing her white marble wand in the gossipers’ direction. She places it back into her skirt pocket, then approaches Crescentia, who chokes and sputters on her saliva.
“If I ever hear you speak of her in such a way again, I will make your entire body swell until you pop like the pustule you are,” Ksenia says, menace dripping from every word.
Crescentia tries to respond but cannot manage more than a pitiful, unintelligible moan.
The other two witches cover their mouths with their hands and flee, with Crescentia running close behind.
Without tongues to reverse the incantation, or the skill to reverse the hex with only their minds, they will need to beg for another witch to intervene.
The echo of laughter emanates from the ballroom and Ariadne bites back a smile.
Perhaps next time they will think twice before speaking ill of their betters.
Rebekka snorts and slaps Ksenia on the back before she approaches Ariadne and says, “Until next time, Ari.”
Rebekka kisses her softly on the cheek before taking her leave. She regrets that they could not finish what they’d started but knows she is far too incensed to enjoy herself now. There will surely be other parties.
“Was that entirely necessary?” Samaira asks, but even she struggles to maintain a straight face.
“It was the highlight of my entire evening,” Ksenia shrugs.
She meets Ariadne’s gaze and something passes between them, a newfound respect they did not previously share.
“It is nearly two in the morning, Ari,” Samaira says, pulling at her arm again. “I shall accompany you.”
“Fine,” Ariadne sighs, then looks to Ksenia again. “Thank you.”
She bows her head before walking down the corridor that leads to the ballroom, and calling over her shoulder, “I shall relay your farewells to Euphemia.”
Ariadne burrows in closer to Samaira as she shivers in the cutting wind.
They traverse the dark garden just outside Euphemia’s manor and enter the forest beyond it.
Samaira conjures a piece of light and holds it up for them both to see, casting shifting shadows of tree limbs across the barren earth.
“I hate them all!”
“No, you do not.”
“They all hate me…”
“No, you exaggerate.”
Huffing with frustration, Ariadne flinches when a powerful gust of wind cuts straight through her gown and makes her black cloak billow around her.
“They do not know you. I’d hoped these visits would remedy that and I still believe it to be possible,” Samaira says.
Ariadne looks up at the sky and is disappointed to find that the moon is not there.
“You will need to collaborate with them all someday,” Samaira says. “You must make friends.”
“I have friends,” Ariadne mumbles.
“Euphemia, Rebekka, and I,” Samaira says, counting on her fingers for emphasis. “Let us try for one more.”
Ariadne grimaces, then recollects her exchange with Ksenia Ulanova after her unexpected hex on Crescentia.
She could be a valuable ally, and one that Ariadne’s mother would approve of for once.
She is admittedly impressed by Ksenia’s cool, calculated demeanor, everything she certainly is not.
Perhaps by association, she can learn how to command respect with effortless grace, when so often she’s only capable of cowering or exploding.
“I hope you enjoyed the rest of the party, at least,” Samaira says.
“Tatiana saw me,” Ariadne says.
Samaira tenses. “She is here? Did you speak with her?”
“No, of course not,” Ariadne scoffs. “What would I possibly say?”
Samaira’s silence speaks volumes.
“I doubt she wishes to speak with me anyhow,” Ariadne mutters bitterly.
Samaira squeezes her arm, “You were only a child.”
“So was she,” Ariadne says, Vivien’s screams echoing in her mind.
They reach a small meadow with an iced over pond.
There, between two birch trees, is a portal back to Thessaly.
Ariadne had happened upon the other entrance two years ago whilst on a clandestine stroll.
It was a rare discovery and she’d prayed to Hecate in thanks for the tiny piece of freedom she’d been given. As usual, there was no answer.
When she had first stepped through, she’d crossed paths with a blonde girl in a pink nightgown on a midnight stroll in her family’s woods. Euphemia managed to steal Ariadne’s wand and capture her in a glass cage, demanding she confess her identity.
Ariadne had thrown every bit of venom in her arsenal to try to coerce her captor into freeing her, but Euphemia had seen straight through her vitriol, treating her like a stray animal caught in a trap, so accustomed to fighting for survival.
It was Euphemia’s kindness that convinced Ariadne to speak the truth, and after learning the extent of her confinement, Euphemia had decided to make it her mission to provide a safe haven on the rare occasion that Ariadne could sneak away.
Slowly, inevitably, they became devoted friends.
Euphemia has taken to throwing these parties with an exclusive, handpicked guest list and employs her considerable influence to keep Ariadne’s visits a well-guarded secret.
None would dare to cross her, or Ariadne for that matter, as none would be so foolish as to betray the heir apparent of the Zerynthos coven.
Though discretion remains a concern, it is a risk Ariadne has been willing to take, deciding to trust in Euphemia’s ability to keep her safe, though considering the gossip Ariadne overheard today, and Lucas’ insolence earlier, she does not know how much longer the ruse can continue.
“Shall I come and visit you on Saturday?” Samaira asks.
“Perhaps, if my father will allow it,” Ariadne says. “I shall endeavor to keep him in good spirits.”
“Do not trouble yourself. I shall see you when fate allows.”
When Samaira embraces her, a sense of calm befalls her for the first time that night.
While Euphemia tends to be Ariadne’s abettor in mischief, the one to encourage her impulsive nature and enable her independent spirit, Samaira is her solace.
She cannot imagine anyone who could make her feel safe as Samaira does.
Such companionship is as rare as diamonds.
“Now go before you’re caught,” Samaira says as she pulls away from the embrace.
“You worry far too much,” Ariadne grins for her benefit.