1 - Ariadne #4
“I care for your peace more than you do, that is for certain.” She rolls her eyes.
Waving goodbye, Ariadne steps through the portal to Thessaly and welcomes a respite from the frigid cold.
Towering monoliths of stone cast shadows on the vast forest of black pine trees.
Upon one of those mountains, her family’s manor is silhouetted in the faint starlight.
The windows remain dark, which gives her hope that she has not stayed away too long.
She withdraws her wand, intending to conjure wings to fly up to her balcony and slip into bed.
“You look beautiful, fiore.”
She chokes on her gasp and frantically searches the darkness until she spots a figure waiting within the trees. Her eyes adjust and she beholds the disapproving expression on her father’s face.
He emerges and regards his daughter with bemused disdain, wearing his usual black suit with an undying aconite flower pinned to his lapel.
“Do not tell Mother,” Ariadne implores in vain.
“You know I cannot keep anything from her,” her father says.
“Please, I shall never use the portal again. I swear it,” she lies.
He studies her, his umber eyes tired and resigned. Then he approaches the portal and peers inside but does not step through.
He rubs his forehead in frustration. “What a mess you have made.”
“Perhaps if you did not keep me here against my will, I would not need to steal away in the night,” she says. “I am nearly eight and ten. I’m not a child.”
“There is no age you could reach that would absolve you from obedience. You know there are rules, Ariadne,” he chastises. “They are put in place to protect you.”
“Protect me? Or hide me away?” she asks.
He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, his gaze drifting toward the manor, likely wondering what his wife would do if she were not away. Ariadne’s stomach twists with regret at realizing her mother will likely return from her travels early when she learns what has happened.
“You need not tell her,” Ariadne says. “You need not do everything she says.”
“She is my wife,” he says.
“If that is what it means to be wed, I hope such an affliction never befalls me,” she says, clenching her fists.
He scoffs and averts his eyes. She regrets her words, regrets any time she causes him pain, but she also hates how weak he is. A blindly acquiescent fool bonded eternally to a woman who only sees him as a mere extension of herself.
“You are very important,” he says softly. “You cannot simply come and go as you please without an escort.”
“I can take care of myself,” she retorts.
“We thought you could until…” he trails off.
She squeezes her eyes shut and turns away.
“Brace yourself,” he says.
It is the only warning she receives before a hand grips her hair and pulls her backwards so violently that her neck cracks. Ariadne cries out in pain and reaches up to try and pry her mother’s fingers from her hair.
“I hope it was worth it,” her mother growls in her ear.
She shoves Ariadne away so that she stumbles and falls into a pile of dead leaves. She quickly rights herself to face her mother’s wrath.
“It seems we may need to chain you to your bed at night,” she says.
Ariadne clenches her fists to keep her hands from trembling, the strain distracting from her dread.
She glimpses her father’s sympathetic expression, and it only serves to further infuriate her.
He never does anything to help her. Never says anything to stop her mother.
He only watches in disapproving silence.
“Did you or did you not engage in improper intimacies with Euphemia Drakenstrom?” her mother asks.
Ariadne’s blood turns to ice as she looks between her parents.
Her fears, it seems, were justified. She thought she’d have more time and silently curses whoever of Euphemia’s friends had been traitorous enough to betray them.
Euphemia will swiftly root them out, whoever they are, but it is too late.
“That is no concern of yours,” Ariadne says, with her best show of indignance.
“Perhaps a truth spell will loosen your lips,” her mother seethes, withdrawing her wand.
“No!” Ariadne screams, the force of her cry making her father flinch.
“Then speak,” her mother orders.
Ariadne’s breath quickens in her panic, but she sees no recourse. “I did, but-”
Her mother throws up her hands in frustration. “And you wonder why we do not allow you to run wild without supervision! I only hope your reputation is not ruined beyond repair or finding a suitable match for you will prove a harsher challenge than I’d anticipated.”
This takes Ariadne entirely off guard. Her mouth falls open as she stutters, “A match? But I have not… Is that entirely… I am still in my youth.”
“Oh, now you claim your youth when you find it convenient to do so?” her mother smirks. “Those days are nearly over. You’d best learn new excuses, though none will sway my judgement.”
Ariadne looks to her father who smiles encouragingly at her, and it turns her stomach. “I shan’t do it.”
Her mother sighs with exasperation.
“I shall not be bonded to a stranger,” Ariadne insists.
“Bonded?” her mother asks. “I never mentioned blood bonds. You needn’t concern yourself with that.”
Though she is relieved to hear it, Ariadne’s confusion persists. “Then what exactly are you proposing?”
“You shall enter into a strategic alliance, as is proper for a witch of your breeding, to ensure your virtue is not stained further,” her mother says.
“My virtue?” Ariadne scoffs, “I do not need-”
“We shan’t allow you to leave home again without iron clad assurances that you won’t ruin your own reputation or that of the family,” her mother says. “Your name may compensate for many of your flaws, but a whore by any name is still a disgrace.”
The insult makes its mark, but Ariadne fights to hide her mortification, though her furious blush gives her away.
“You shall accept the match we choose without complaint. I’d been vetting men, but I suppose a woman will do just as well,” her mother says, with a slight wrinkle of her nose. “They will accompany you to afternoon teas, parties, all social engagements of any kind without exception.”
“A lurker to spy for you,” Ariadne says bitterly.
“A chaperone,” her father says. “One who you may yet come to love, with time and-”
“Not likely,” Ariadne mutters, just as her mother says, “Let us not concern ourselves with such trivialities.”
He purses his lips and goes silent again.
“Eventually you will be expected to make appearances in society or there will be talk,” her mother says.
“There is talk already,” Ariadne says.
Her mother’s eyes narrow, “Of what sort?”
Ariadne hesitates, then says, “There were witches who commented that…”
“Spit it out,” her mother snaps.
“They said… if I am incapable of making conversation at a ball, how could I be expected to lead our coven someday,” Ariadne says, unable to mask her shame at the insult.
Her parents exchange a worried glance as words pass between them through their bond. The seconds tick by agonizingly.
“It seems my concern was not unwarranted,” her father says aloud.
“Yes… yes,” her mother murmurs, then looks to Ariadne and says, “We shall ensure no one voices such indignities again.”
“That shall take much convincing,” Ariadne says.
“Do not worry your little head about it,” her mother says. “Simply do as you’re told, for once.”
Her mother studies her, then reaches for her. Ariadne flinches out of habit, but her mother only takes a small dead leaf stuck in her curls and tosses it away. Flushing, Ariadne lowers her gaze.
“Now, if you are so full of excess energy to be out at all hours of the night, I’d say your schedule has been far too… lenient,” her mother says. “Your studies shall commence at five in the morning from now on.”
“What?” Ariadne’s stomach sinks.
“On nights when you are not otherwise engaged, lessons shall extend to eight in the evening,” her mother decides. “You could do with the extra practice.”
“You cannot do that!” Ariadne shakes her head in dismay.
Her precious time alone, any moments she has to find joy in her music and books, would all be taken from her.
“Perhaps then you will finally be prepared to attend Lysander College in two years,” her mother says.
“I am due to attend in one year,” Ariadne corrects her.
“No, you will attend the following year,” her mother says.
“You’ve sealed that fate tonight with your abhorrent behavior.
Not only is your magic not nearly disciplined enough, but you evidently are not to be trusted alone.
Another year and you might be capable of succeeding in Morgan’s trials, and you will learn your place. ”
“But you said…” Her shock turns to misery.
“I am always capable of changing my mind when it proves necessary,” her mother interrupts.
“Wait, no, I apologize,” she relents. “I shan’t disobey you again.”
“No, you won’t,” her mother says, the ghost of a smile reaching her lips. “I’m glad we are agreed.”
Ariadne glares at her, tears pooling in her eyes at the thought of enduring this drudgery for yet another year. She is just as skilled in magic as her cousins’ had been at her age, if not more so. This is a punishment, pure and simple.
“We shall discuss it further in the morning,” her mother says, then extends her hand.
Ariadne looks down at it, then up into her mother’s expectant red eyes. Reluctantly, she reaches into her pocket, retrieves her wand, and places the thin piece of obsidian into her mother’s outstretched hand.
She hasn’t time even to flinch when her mother’s other hand strikes her across the cheek so hard, she stumbles away, cowering for fear of another blow, but it doesn’t come.
“As you find your way back, I hope you shall take the opportunity to meditate on your place in this world.” Her mother says calmly as she conjures herself a pair of black wings without the need of a wand.
Ariadne observes the feat with envy. “You are the cause of your own suffering. If you would simply behave, your troubles would cease. I do not see why you cannot understand that.”
She extends a hand toward the portal and whispers an incantation. With visible effort on her part, the doorway shrinks smaller and smaller until it disappears. The glimpse of Sweden fades away until it is but a memory.
And with that, her mother propels herself into the air and glides with effortless grace towards her manor. Then her father conjures his own set of silver wings, still refusing to look at her.
“How can you let her treat me so?” She asks, her tears flowing freely now, the stinging pain of her cheek lingering, making her wince.
He glances at her for only a moment, then turns his back.
“You shall not endure this forever,” he says softly, then flies away behind his wife, leaving Ariadne to navigate the dark wilderness alone.
Her dancing shoes are not crafted to handle the uneven ground of the forest, causing her to trip and fall often. Soon the silk and gauze of her once beautiful red gown are tattered and torn beyond recognition.
She is nearly halfway home when the sun begins to rise.
She will be expected to practice her enchantments the moment she returns, so she is in no particular hurry.
It’s doubtful whether her mother will permit her to brew a potion to renew her energy, despite the dangers of practicing magic without proper sleep.
Her feet drag through the dirt as fatigue takes hold.
She crosses a meadow filled with purple aster flowers, persistent blooms surviving in defiance of Autumn’s chill, where a break in the trees reveals a rocky cliff.
From there, the Pineiós river is a distant blue serpent cutting through the landscape, the same river where Vivien had attacked years ago.
She immediately averts her eyes, until she finds herself looking out and admiring the view despite the bleak emotions the sight evokes.
As the first rays of sunlight touch the edge of the cliff face, she has a fleeting thought.
The sort she normally ignores and buries deep inside herself.
A dangerous, terrible, all-consuming thought that compels her feet to move, bringing her closer to the precipice to peer over the edge and judge the distance to the ground.
She screams when the fabric of her gown’s tattered train is ripped backwards, jerking her farther and farther away from the cliff’s edge until she falls onto her back in the dirt amid the purple flowers. A massive gray wolf prowls around her, snarling angrily with trenchant white fangs.
Frozen in place, she is entirely unsure of what to do when faced with a wolf in the wild. Should she run? Or would that only entice the animal to chase her down? The wolf comes to stand between her and the precipice, and lets loose a thunderous roar, his bright yellow eyes flaring.
Then the wolf’s demeanor abruptly shifts. He sits back on his hind legs and looks down at her with his head tilted to one side, panting with his tongue hanging out and his lips slightly upturned in a sort of smile.
She stares at the beast and waits, unwilling to move just yet, so he stands and approaches her instead.
She flinches away as he closes the distance between them and sniffs at her cheek, then plops himself on top of her legs and rests his head in her lap.
She still does not move or make a sound, until the wolf looks up at her and whines.
Hesitantly, she reaches out and runs her hand over the wolf’s head and finds his fur to be much softer than she anticipated as she scratches behind his ears. He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. It’s then she feels their connection, as if he is a part of her that she never noticed was missing.
“Where have you been?” Ariadne sniffles. “You should have found me sooner.”
Her wolf stands and licks the tears away.
She pets him with trembling hands, then buries her face into her familiar’s fur as her body is wracked with violent sobs.
She prays for an end to her torment, that there be more to her life than this endless disappointment and judgement and cruelty.
It is her final prayer to a Goddess that has never once deigned to respond and for the very first time, the silence emboldens her.
In that moment, she decides that her mother shall not break her. No matter what she must do, or who she may hurt, she will prevail. She will become the most powerful, formidable witch this world has yet seen. She will earn Morgan Le Fay’s pendant and make herself impossible to tame.