2 - Iona
“A riadne,” Iona whispers.
She jerks, whatever reverie she’d been dwelling on receding in an instant. Iona lifts herself up on her elbow to better observe her deft attempt at nonchalance.
Sighing and rubbing at her eyes, Ariadne says, “You may sleep longer. The sun has only just risen.”
“My darling.” Iona coaxes her hands away so she might press soft kisses on her flushed cheeks, her forehead, and upon each eyelid, before ghosting her lips against Ariadne’s mouth. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” she says.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
“No, they’ve gone. All is well, I swear.”
Aster jumps onto the bed and plops atop her, making her grunt from the weight.
Ariadne scratches behind her familiar’s ears to placate him, but he still whines and licks at her chin, which only fuels Iona’s worries.
Ariadne wriggles away from the wolf’s kisses and climbs out of bed, combing her fingers through her unruly dark curls, wiping the sweat from her brow.
“Would you like to speak on it?” Iona asks, still unconvinced.
“No,” Ariadne says quickly. “No, I’m well. Truly.”
Iona sits up and hugs her knees to her chest as Ariadne crosses the room to fetch a cup from the cabinet in their small kitchen.
“Neró,” she incants, and the cup fills with fresh water.
There is a slight tremble of her hand when she brings the cup to her lips before quickly setting it down on the countertop.
“Your worry is giving me a headache,” she grumbles.
“Sorry,” Iona says softly.
Ariadne takes a deep breath, gulps down the rest of her water, then turns to address Iona with a tired smile, her emotions buried within herself as if they’d never existed.
“Perhaps you should wear the dream talisman again,” Iona suggests.
Ariadne’s smile fades and she averts her eyes.
“It worked before,” Iona says.
“I do not wish to burden your nights with my meaningless dreams. The nightmares are gone, so there is no need to wear it any longer,” Ariadne says in a dismissive tone.
“You could never burden me,” Iona reminds her.
They stare at each other for a moment, then Ariadne’s expression turns wistful. “There you are worrying again.”
“I cannot help it,” Iona mutters.
“Shall I distract you?” Ariadne offers, raising her ebony eyebrows suggestively.
Iona’s cheeks turn pink despite herself. “We cannot spare the time.”
“I can be quick,” Ariadne says as she bounds across the room and jumps onto the bed.
“You always make such claims and then we end up in bed for hours on end.” Iona giggles as Ariadne crawls on all fours towards her and straddles her hips.
“You say that as if it were a bad thing,” Ariadne says with a roguish grin.
“We must search more of the city today,” Iona insists.
Ariadne groans and lets her weight fall just as Aster had done to her moments ago. Iona tries to pull herself out from under Ariadne’s limp body, but she hasn’t the strength.
“Do you aim to smother me?” she asks.
“I am not that heavy,” Ariadne protests. “You are just frail.”
Iona shoves at her shoulder until she rolls over.
“Another day of fruitless searching,” Ariadne sighs.
“We shall find them today.” Iona rises from their bed and stretches her arms over her head. “We must.”
Approaching the standing mirror in the corner, she ponders a moment, then conjures a new chemise, cotton stays that lace snugly over her torso, and a simple linen dress with puffed sleeves and delicate white lace bordering the collar, which provides ample cover for her rather conspicuous pendant, a large opal stone bordered by two wings of onyx hung on a golden chain.
It is undoubtedly beautiful, worthy of the abundant magic locked within, but it tends to glow whenever Iona casts a spell.
At least while they coexist with humans, she finds it’s best to keep it hidden.
The sea foam green shade of her dress perfectly complements her amethyst ring, which she now wears indefinitely on her left middle finger.
Ariadne had conjured it for her based off the memory of her late father’s ring and imbued it with a powerful communication charm, so they needn’t bother with necklaces any longer and Iona can have a piece of her father with her every day.
Ariadne made a bloodstone ring for herself with the same charm.
She hasn’t quite learned English yet, her sixth language, but she studies it diligently, as is her nature.
Once satisfied with her apparel, Iona conjures a brown bristled hairbrush and hands it to Ariadne, who takes it and pats the space in front of her on the bed.
The act of care has become a sort of morning ritual that has a calming effect on them both.
The moment the bristles make their first pass through Iona’s long tresses; she closes her eyes and meditates on the day ahead.
She once again reminds herself that they are on holiday.
It would be a crime not to enjoy themselves, and they can always return to Brazil sometime after their travels through Europe, perhaps in Autumn.
However, she has a strong, persistent feeling that she should find her elusive family now, not later.
“We can always send a letter to postpone our trip to France,” Ariadne suggests in answer to Iona’s thoughts.
“Crescentia would be devastated if we miss her birthday next week,” Iona reminds her.
Ariadne scoffs lightly. “I never understood the preoccupation with such things. It seems rather egotistical to make such a fuss over one’s birth.”
“It’s important to her that we attend.” Iona’s brow furrows, but her eyes remain closed.
“It’s far more important for you to meet your mother’s family,” Ariadne argues. “Once we’ve found them, it would be rude to leave in haste, would you not agree?”
“Wait.” Iona’s frown deepens. “When is your birthday?”
The brush goes still in her hair, and she can feel Ariadne’s grimace through their bond even before she whirls around to pin her with an accusatory look.
“The 21st of… March.” Ariadne braces herself.
Iona’s mouth falls open in dismay. “Why did you not say anything? I should have asked…”
She faintly remembers Ariadne mentioning her zodiac was Aries during an evening class under the stars, but it had slipped her mind entirely. To be fair, she had been quite distracted by Morgan’s trials and the malefician’s relentless attacks.
“We were preoccupied with other matters at the time,” Ariadne echoes Iona’s thoughts. “You needn’t fret over it. It means nothing to me.”
“But…” Iona sighs with disappointment. “We should have celebrated. Even if it was only a small affair.”
“We did, in a way,” Ariadne says, unable to meet her gaze. “It can at times fall on the Spring equinox. We spent a lovely afternoon together, and apart from my mother’s impromptu visit-”
“But I would have done so much more if I’d known.” Iona sighs with frustration. “I should have thought to ask Samaira. You never tell me anything of your own volition.”
Ariadne shrugs, fidgeting with the hairbrush in her lap. “If it pleases you, we can throw an extravagant party next year.”
“It is not the same,” Iona insists.
“Then do your praephora trick and remedy it!” Ariadne throws up her hands in frustration. “Otherwise, I do not know what you want me to say.”
Iona glares at her, and Ariadne pretends not to notice as she climbs out of bed and takes her staff where it rests against the wall.
She is well aware that Iona knows practically nothing about her ability to travel into her own past, a rarity amongst witches.
She’s only experienced it once entirely by accident, and she has avoided moonstone since that day in class until she is of the mind to experiment with the mysterious skill.
Ariadne dons an ivory silk dress decorated with frills on the hem and sleeves, then pins a conjured flower into her dark hair, being careful of its delicate petals.
She tends to wear a different bloom each day depending on her mood.
Iona glimpses into her mind to learn that today’s flower is a cattleya orchid, representing beauty and strength.
“Then we shan’t celebrate my birthday this year either,” Iona decides.
This has the desired effect. Ariadne’s face falls and she is about to protest, but Iona puts up her finger.
“It is only fair,” she says.
“You don’t have the same aversion that I do,” Ariadne protests.
“Neither am I egotistical. I can survive one year without celebrating.” Iona shrugs, smirking with glee at her petty victory.
Ariadne makes an annoyed grunting sound, turns on her heels, and walks out the front door with Aster close behind with his nose turned upwards.
“What shall I do with her?” Iona asks Wisp where she sits curled up at the foot of the bed. The gentle fox lifts her head to peer up at her with intelligent orange eyes.
Gathering her hair to weave it into a braid, her mind returns to their vain attempts at locating the Evora family.
Her mother’s painting, which she’d found during her final visit to the cottage where she’d been raised, had proved misleading in the end.
They’d arrived on a beach depicted in the painting, but it was far from the heart of the city, taking them nearly a full day's flight to reach it, which had cost them precious time. Having little knowledge of Brazil or her family’s history there, the search is proving much more difficult to conduct than she’d anticipated.
She’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that her newly attuned clairvoyance would lead her in the right direction.
They’ve limited their use of magic in an effort to maintain discretion until they know what covens might reign in the area, but have quickly learned they needn’t have worried, as they haven’t encountered a single witch or warlock thus far.
It is not entirely surprising, magic folk are not as populous as humans, but Iona would have thought to have encountered at least one.