5 - Ariadne #2
Crescentia scowls but nods her assent, and Erik is visibly relieved when Moira takes her turn.
“Are you willing to kill to protect the innocent?” Moira asks Iona.
Ariadne’s mouth falls open in horror. “I will not sit here and bear witness to this vindictive interrogation!”
“You may leave if you wish,” Moira says with nary a glance in her direction.
Ariadne slams her hand against the table, forcibly drawing Moira’s attention to her. “Do not presume to tell me what I may or may not do.”
“Or what? You’ll transport me across town?” Moira chuckles.
Ariadne flushes with indignation. “I am capable of more than that even without the staff.”
Moira shrugs. “And so am I. What is your point, whelp?”
When Ariadne has no answer, Moira’s smile returns, gleaming and self-satisfied. She raises her eyebrows at Iona, still expecting an answer.
“I…” Iona is beside herself with ambivalent distress, “I do not know.”
“You do not know?” Moira asks incredulously.
“I could not advocate for violence in a supposed effort to prevent harm,” Iona says.
“I see,” Moira says.
“I believe life is precious and should be preserved,” Iona says.
“Even Elise’s?” Moira asks.
“Yes,” Iona says, with reluctance.
“She must not have afflicted you that terribly if you are so quick to forgive her,” Moira says callously.
“I have not forgiven her. I shall hate her until my dying breath,” Iona says, her words like aberrant venom spewing from her lips. “She will pay dearly for what she did. For what she attempted to do. Life can be its own punishment if it is lived in suffering.”
The ghost of a smile reaches Moira’s lips. “In that, we can agree.”
Ariadne is so stunned by Iona’s answer that she nearly forgets to ask her own question.
“What do you possibly hope to gain from these inane questions?” Ariadne asks, unable to think of a better question.
“Insight,” Moira says.
Ariadne waits for more, but Moira does not continue.
“Is that all you will say?” Ariadne asks.
“Yes,” Moira smiles.
Ariadne slumps back in her chair. We should have left.
Patience, Iona implores her.
Do you know me at all? Ariadne asks.
A giggle slips past Iona’s lips, and she puts her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Moira looks between them with an inquisitive stare.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘Look how it’s affected you?’” Crescentia asks Erik, her frown deepening when she observes his rigid posture.
Erik takes a drink rather than answering, setting the glass down against the table with a grimace.
“Ah,” Moira says. “A coward’s move.”
Erik glares at her and does not speak. If he tries, the spell might compel his true feelings to burst forth. He clutches the arms of his chair as he fights against the spell. Another question would release him from its compulsion, but Moira is uninterested in relieving his discomfort.
“Do you intend to continue your education in magic?” Moira asks Iona.
Ariadne’s jaw tightens, despising Moira’s enduring interest in only Iona. The others may as well not be here. She senses Iona’s nerves at Moira’s intense, probing stare.
“Perhaps someday, but I have no immediate plans to enroll in other colleges,” Iona says. “Why do you ask?”
“When I heard the story of Elise’s defeat, I must admit I was shocked by your inability to properly engage in battle,” Moira says. “Ariadne did most of the fighting for you. Is that not so?”
“Yes, she is a natural warrior,” Iona says.
“No, she isn’t,” Moira laughs. “Or at least, she was not always. She had years of training.”
“Are you implying that I should train as well?” Iona asks.
“Perhaps you could do with a lesson or two in combative magic, unless you are content in your helplessness,” Moira says.
Iona flushes. “I am not helpless. I am simply not a violent person.”
“Why would you claim an instrument of war if you have no intention of using it?” Moira asks.
“It is not only useful in war,” Iona argues. “It grants me power, which I shall use as I see fit.”
“That pendant may as well be ornamental without the proper skill to wield it.” Moira points to the staff where it rests against Ariadne’s chair.
“If that long lost artifact had not appeared when it did, you would be a wraith. Ariadne would be an eternal slave of Elise, doomed to forever adore and service her. All would have been lost. You do understand that don’t you? ”
Clenching her fists, Ariadne tries and fails to push away the memory of Elise’s unhinged smile as she’d described what she planned to do to her.
Iona’s face creases with shame in reaction to Ariadne’s thoughts, and she regrets the recollection immediately, choosing to stifle it deep down inside herself again.
“I am not so willing to leave such things to chance. Are you?” Moira asks.
“No,” Iona whispers.
“I should hope not,” Moira says.
“Why do you suddenly care what happens to me?” Ariadne asks.
“I have always cared what happens to you,” Moira says.
“That’s a lie,” Ariadne snaps.
Moira raises an eyebrow and Ariadne’s anger shifts to doubt.
“You never showed your care to me before,” she says, crossing her arms.
“I may have the chance to remedy that soon,” Moira says.
Ariadne is about to ask what she means but Moira puts up a finger and gestures to Crescentia. Then Ariadne remembers Erik, who is still fighting the truth spell and seems close to losing. His face is nearly purple from his exertion.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘Look how it’s affected you?’” Crescentia asks again, emphasizing every syllable.
Erik sighs and finally says, “Do you know how many years of harvesting it took for my family to earn our marks? Generations of rituals, too many to count. To simply give the marks away… it removes any value they possess.”
“I did break my spine for it. Is that not price enough?” she snaps.
He flinches. “Of course, that was a terrible plight that you should have been spared from.”
“And yet you still somehow believe I do not deserve my mark?” Crescentia asks incredulously. “What did you do to earn yours? Simply be descended from a ‘highborn’ family?”
“Yes,” he says.
“That is a requirement of an entirely arbitrary nature,” she argues.
“It is not,” he protests with a petulant frown.
“I know how to properly conduct myself in high society. You brandish your mark to everyone you meet! Your family uses you to climb above their station in life. It is most untoward. Those of higher birth are better suited to the regality of such a distinction.”
Ariadne shifts impatiently in her chair. Crescentia’s drama is not enough to distract from Moira’s scheming.
“She is just as deserving as anyone!” Iona cries. “Can you not see that of your own beloved?”
“She is not my beloved,” Erik says, then grimaces.
“What?” Crescentia asks.
“There it is,” Moira says.
“Be quiet!” Crescentia yells, and Moira chuckles, putting up her hands in a gesture of deference.
“This farce is at its end,” Erik stammers as he reaches for his wand within his suit jacket. However, he seems unable to locate it. He searches every pocket to no avail.
“You told me you loved me,” Crescentia says with a trembling voice. “Was it a lie?”
“No, not then,” Erik says, then groans with frustration.
He jumps out of his chair and rips his jacket from his shoulders, frantically looking in every pocket but still unable to locate his wand. Out of the corner of her eye, Ariadne catches Moira putting a hand over her mouth to hide her smile.
“You do not love me anymore?” Crescentia asks as she stands and approaches him.
Erik ignores her as best he can, but she snatches the suit jacket away and holds it out of his reach.
“Answer me!” Crescentia screams.
“I cannot wed you now!” Erik bellows. “There is no precedent for your situation. Would our children be born with your mark or mine? My family’s legacy shall not be forgotten in favor of a nameless, insignificant bloodline. If I had known you would bear a mark of your own, I never would have…”
His shoulders slump as his innermost thoughts are brought to light irreparably. Crescentia lets his suit jacket fall to the floor, and only then does his elusive wand slip out of its pocket and roll across the stone floor. He quickly takes it and recants the truth spell.
“Crescentia…” Erik says. “I…”
Her lip trembles but she stands tall. “Go. I never wish to see you again.”
He hesitates, then accepts that there is no taking back what he’d said. Angrily, he wrenches his suit jacket on and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
“Crescentia,” Iona says, attempting to stand and go to her.
“No,” she sniffles. “I should… I should like to be alone.”
She practically runs out onto the street with tears streaming down her face.
“You knew that would happen,” Ariadne accuses Moira.
“No, I did not know precisely what transpired between them,” Moira says. “However, I can smell a lie from leagues away. I need no truth spell for that.”
Ariadne frowns. It is a maddeningly inconvenient trait that Moira shares with Ksenia. Perhaps all the most wretched people possess such a skill.
“I suppose it is my turn,” Moira says.
“This ‘game’ is over,” Iona says, her voice hard.
Her pendant glows and Ariadne breathes a sigh of relief when the binding grip of the truth spell slips away.
“So be it.” Moira shrugs and takes a drink.
“That was a horrid thing you did to Crescentia,” Iona says.
“I did nothing to her,” Moira shrugs. “She deserves the truth as much as anyone.”
“If you believe truth is deserved, then you should follow your own advice,” Iona says.
“Not one single lie has left my lips this night,” Moira says in utter exasperation. “I must say, you both struggle with the concept of a truth spell.”
“You have not been forthcoming of your intentions,” Iona clarifies. “And so, this is an entirely futile, one-sided exchange.”
“I concur,” Ariadne says, relieved that she is finally seeing reason.
“I must see to my friend,” Iona says.
“She expressed her wish to be alone,” Moira says. “Best not to ignore her.”