5 - Ariadne #3
“I’ve no desire to play foolish games with you,” Iona says. “Either speak plainly of your purpose here or leave us be.”
Entirely at a loss, Ariadne racks her brain for any explanation for Moira’s apparent obsession with Iona. Is it simply the pendant that interests her? That does not seem to be the entire truth. Ariadne observes Moira’s face and like a haze of smoke receding, a stark realization dawns on her.
“No…” Ariadne says, not meaning to speak aloud.
Moira narrows her eyes when she senses her air of mystery may be lost.
“You were sent here,” Ariadne says.
“I told you I-” Moira tries to speak, but Ariadne interrupts.
“We are leaving.” Ariadne motions for Iona to stand.
She blinks in surprise, “But-”
“Now, Iona,” Ariadne raises her voice.
Iona frowns and tries to search her mind.
No, Ariadne’s thought reverberates through both their minds, making Iona flinch and ask, “Why are you upset?”
“There’s no need for hysterics,” Moira says.
“Iona, please,” Ariadne says, taking her staff and creating a portal back to Crescentia’s home.
“Will someone please tell me what is wrong?” Iona asks, and when Ariadne does not answer, she looks to Moira.
“Regrettably, I am not permitted to explain. I wish I could,” Moira says. “Ariadne, however, is under no such restriction.”
Moira smiles with glee at Ariadne’s burgeoning panic. She trembles with fear that turns to anger, then to overwhelming dread. She is moments away from throwing Iona over her shoulder and fleeing the room, as undignified as that might be.
“Why couldn’t you… Why could you not just let me go? I failed! I am worthless to you without the pendant. My mother’s words exactly. And Iona is not a Zerynthos,” Ariadne argues.
“Isn’t she?” Moira asks. “She is bonded to you. Zerynthos blood runs through her veins.”
“But that doesn’t-” Ariadne stutters. “She cannot have her.”
Moira laughs, a full bellied, ominous cackle that raises the hair on the back of Ariadne’s neck.
“And you would presume to tell our Goddess who she can or cannot have?” Moira asks. “Impudent as ever.”
Iona’s jaw drops. “Hecate sent you?”
Moira sighs but does not appear all that put out.
“I still maintain that this was a social visit,” she says. “But can you blame the Goddess for her interest in you?”
Moira reaches out and lets her fingers drift just barely over the pendant’s opal. She recoils only slightly at the burning sensation of the magic locked within.
“The last woman who bore this was a reckoning upon this earth. She was Hecate’s chosen…” Moira trails off.
“Chosen what?” Iona asks.
“I regret I cannot say more. Only those within the coven may know its inner workings,” Moira says.
Iona frowns. “Then… Ariadne would know.”
Ariadne clings to her staff as the room begins to spin. She closes her eyes and wishes everything would just stop. She needs to think, needs to find a way to get Iona away from here, short of dragging her by her arm. She never meant for the truth to come out this way.
Then she notices that no one has spoken. She opens her eyes.
“She hasn’t told you?” Moira asks, unconvincingly.
She knew. She must have sensed it, the way she always does with her well-tuned clairvoyance.
That is doubtless why she was chosen to perform this disingenuous interrogation, though Ariadne still cannot fathom why Hecate would be concerned with the questions Moira had asked.
“Told me what?” Iona asks.
“Ariadne has yet to be inducted,” Moira says, with that infuriating glint in her eye.
“But I had always assumed…I thought you inherited a place in Hecate’s coven,” Iona says to Ariadne.
“That is not how it works,” Moira says.
“I can explain it,” Ariadne interrupts, and to her shock, Moira falls silent and lets her speak.
Iona shifts to face her, her expression wary but not angered.
“Only those chosen by Hecate may have a place in her coven. Once inducted, they become her devotee, vowing to practice magic in Hecate’s name so long as they may draw breath.
Theoretically, any witch or warlock could find a place at her side if she found them worthy of it, but for countless centuries, she has exclusively chosen those from within our bloodline,” Ariadne says, nervously smoothing out the skirt of her dress with her hand.
“Despite that, she has not seen fit to show me her favor. I am the first in generations of Zerynthos witches to be… excluded.”
There is a tense, brooding silence. When Ariadne peeks into Iona’s mind, she finds a barrage of questions scattered across the recesses of her consciousness.
Most prominent of all, why Ariadne chose not to confide in her, even after all they’ve endured.
Ariadne grimaces and leaves her mind in peace.
“And you, my dear, are the first witch outside of the Zerynthos line who has interested her,” Moira says to Iona. “It is quite an honor.”
“But, what of Ariadne?” Iona asks.
Moira shrugs, “I cannot say. She was not strong enough before but perhaps now she may be worthy of my Goddess’ favor.”
At the mention of newfound strength, Ariadne glances at her staff, but Moira shakes her head.
“You weren’t strong enough in here.” Moira lightly taps her forehead with her index finger. “Not after your little spat with Vivien Nicolo.”
Ariadne’s rage turns into a chilling calm. “Then I’d say she greatly underestimated me. Just as you all have.”
“Perhaps.” Moira’s expression betrays nothing.
“That is for the Goddess to decide, but I regret it is not all that important now. You’ve made it quite clear in your rebellion, your petulance, your…
disobedience, that you are not the sort of witch best suited for a coven.
It’s best you are left alone to your own devices, beholden to no one and responsible for nothing. That is what you wanted, is it not?”
Ariadne blinks and looks away, altogether unsure of how to respond to such an accusation when indeed she did defy the coven. She’d chosen Iona over them, and she’d been very sure of that choice until now.
She looks to Iona, who watches her with cautious eyes, and Ariadne is taken aback by a swell of unexpected and unwelcome envy at knowing Hecate would prevail upon Iona instead of her, after years of fervent prayer met with perfunctory silence.
“Why the need for all this secrecy?” Iona finally asks.
“It is not our place to question divinity,” Moira says with a sharpness to her voice that makes Iona frown.
“Cryptic remarks will not convince me of anything,” Iona says. “You may ask all the questions you wish, but I have yet to decide if your Goddess is worth following, especially if she failed to recognize Ariadne’s value. Now I must bid you goodnight.”
Moira grasps Iona’s wrist. “Take care in how you speak.”
“Or what? You will smite me?” Iona asks sardonically, trying to pull her wrist free.
“Not I,” Moira says.
Ariadne shivers when a chill goes down Iona’s spine the moment she comprehends what Moira implies. It’s why Ariadne is so unwilling to have this conversation at all. A Goddess like Hecate could be anywhere, unseen and undetectable, and the Gods are not known for their equanimity.
Moira stands and takes a step closer until her face is far too close to Iona’s. Ariadne’s grip on the staff tightens, but Moira merely releases Iona’s wrist and smiles down at her.
“There’s so much you do not yet know,” Moira says, running the back of her knuckle against Iona’s cheek until she flinches and takes a step back. “I only hope I’m there to see the look on that pretty face of yours when you learn the truth.”
“What truth?” Iona asks, her exasperation only making Moira’s smile grow wider.
“Thank you for a most diverting evening. I’m sure I shall see you both very, very soon,” Moira says as she saunters away.
She does not even glance at Ariadne or Marcel, who has been silently watching their confrontation from behind the bar. The moment Moira is gone, Iona goes to apologize, but Marcel puts up a hand to stop her.
“Do not spare a single worry on me, chère,” Marcel says.
Taking a moment, Iona sucks in a few deep breaths before standing to approach him. She extends her hand, which he gladly takes and presses a kiss to her knuckles.
“Please, sir, I beseech you to attend the solstice ritual,” Iona says. “Promise me that you will at least consider it.”
Conflicted feelings war in Marcel’s kind eyes, but he nods. “I shall consider it and spread the word of your invitation.”
Iona gives him a grateful nod and barely glances at Ariadne when she says, “Let’s go.”
She takes Wisp into her arms, holding her close for comfort, and steps through the shimmering portal to Crescentia’s home. Ariadne follows with Aster pushing his nose against her hand. She pets him thoughtlessly, her focus remaining on Iona’s back as they silently enter the house.
For a moment she fears an awkward encounter with Erik, who may have returned to the house to retrieve his belongings, or Crescentia wailing over her loss, but the candles are all snuffed out and the house is silent as the grave.
It isn’t until they are safely inside the spare room that Iona pins her with an accusatory look.
“I meant to tell you eventually,” Ariadne says. “I just…”
“Why would you keep something like that from me?” Iona asks. “I rely on you for more than just protection. You are also my guide in this confusing world. These covens and rules and histories are foreign to me. I do not ever wish to be so unprepared again.”
Ariadne’s ears burn at the reprimand, but she knows Iona is right. She finds herself at a loss for words.
“How have I not seen this in your thoughts?” Iona murmurs, more to herself than to Ariadne.
“I do not often ruminate on it,” she says, wringing her hands. “I… was not ready for you to know. Please forgive me.”
Iona fiddles with her pendant, lost in thought. “If Hecate offered you a place in her coven, would you accept?”
Averting her gaze, Ariadne considers how best to answer such an impossible question. If Moira is wandering about France, Hecate could be near as well. She could be in this very room with them right now. A paralyzing thought.
“Have you not read stories of the Greek pantheon? To deny a Goddess’ decree would be a very poor decision,” Ariadne says, and while under Iona’s penetrating gaze, she finds herself rambling.
“Hecate is one of the most powerful sorceresses of all with dominion over every witch since the beginning of time. Her magic is beyond what any of us could comprehend and my family’s affinity to her is what has separated us from all the others-”
“But then… you would follow her for the rest of your life?” Iona asks. “What precisely does that entail?”
Ariadne shrugs. “I know not. I’ve tried convincing my cousins to tell me, but they are sworn to secrecy, as you’ve just seen.”
She hangs her head as treacherous emotion fills her despite her best efforts.
“And this is why you were so determined to claim the pendant,” Iona murmurs. “It was not only to appease your family’s ambitions. Or rather… this was your family’s ambition for you all along.”
“Yes. In the end, I decided that if Hecate wanted me, she would have summoned me by now. I thought it was over. Done with,” Ariadne says, unable to hide how much the Goddess’ indifference pains her.
“I prayed to her, but she has never once responded. Since I was a girl, I dreamt of meeting her when I came of age, learning from her, discovering my true strength, but it seems I am not worthy in her eyes.”
Iona frowns. “She is a fool to-”
“Don’t.” Ariadne speaks louder than she intended, startling Iona into silence. “Please just… don’t. I’ve accepted my fate. I should like to put it behind me.”
Iona looks down at her pendant and surmises what Ariadne will not say. If she had claimed it, then perhaps Hecate may have welcomed her with open arms. She would have been the leader of her coven, as had always been expected of her.
“You sacrificed more than I initially thought when you gave this to me,” Iona says, running her thumb over the pendant’s stone.
“It was no sacrifice,” Ariadne insists. “I did not want it. You needed it. That is all.”
Iona stares at her for a moment, the slightest trace of suspicion in her eyes, and Ariadne’s heart beats loudly in her ears as her anxiety flares within her.
“It seems she cares more for the artifact itself than the person who bears it, if what Moira says is true,” Iona muses. “Has anyone ever dared refuse Hecate’s invitation?”
Ariadne shakes her head no. Iona sits on the bed and holds Wisp closer, scratching behind her ears.
“Perhaps she will not want you,” Ariadne says in an effort to comfort her.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Iona asks, a trace of hurt in her voice.
“Consider what Moira asked of you. You are far too… honorable to hold her interest, or that of my family,” Ariadne says.
“You are not like them either,” Iona says.
Ariadne does not know if that’s entirely true.
If Moira had asked her the same questions, without any context given to sway her answers, she would have responded differently than Iona.
She does not believe all life is inherently precious.
If Elise is judged and sentenced to death for her crimes, Ariadne will not mourn her.
Iona’s eyes soften when she senses Ariadne’s heightened nerves. She sets Wisp on the bed and Ariadne nearly bursts into tears when Iona pulls her into an embrace.
“We are safe,” Iona says softly. “No one may harm us.”
Ariadne sinks into her warmth and tries to shake the unnerving feeling of being watched.