6 - Iona
C rescentia doesn’t return home until the early hours of the morning, walking straight past the sitting room where they were awaiting her return.
In a fit of inconsolable tears, she calls off her birthday celebration before locking herself away in her room and refusing to open her door for anyone.
By the afternoon, when they still find themselves without anything to do, Ariadne suggests they practice combative magic and Iona reluctantly agrees.
Using one of her portals, Ariadne takes them to a wide-open field of green grass within a sun-drenched valley of purple mountains.
Wisp and Aster gallop at full speed across the lush meadow to chase the dragonflies that flit across the tall grass.
Iona is tempted to call Wisp back to her so she might hold her close to quell her disquietude.
“Don’t fret,” Ariadne says. “This is only our first lesson.”
“I know,” Iona says quickly.
Ariadne casts a spell on the earth to level a rectangular piece of land for their use.
Iona worries at her bottom lip and considers her options, then wonders if she might be able to convince Ariadne to postpone.
Deciding it can’t hurt to miss just one day of practice, Iona approaches and embraces her.
Ariadne is perplexed at first, having kept her distance since their argument the night before, but eventually she holds her and presses a kiss on the crown of her head.
Though it is unseasonably warm, Iona luxuriates in the heat radiating off her, breathing in her intoxicating scent of gardenias and cloves.
She dares to rise up onto her tip toes and press a sensual kiss to the hollow of Ariadne’s throat.
She inhales sharply then twines fingers in Iona’s hair to pull her head back.
Iona closes her eyes when their lips meet, and the world around them blurs into utter insignificance.
She drags her tongue along Ariadne’s bottom lip, delving inside her mouth and stroking her tongue just as she would between her legs.
Ariadne lets slip a soft moan, then she pulls back and shakes her head to clear it.
“Iona, we cannot,” Ariadne says.
“Why?” Iona pouts.
“We must practice for an hour at least.” Ariadne takes a few more unsteady steps away.
“But could we not enjoy ourselves for only a moment?” Iona asks.
“You are trouble.” Ariadne chuckles darkly, studying her expression.
Then she uses her staff to conjure a pair of tan trousers, a white shirt, and black boots for the both of them. A pair of stays encapsulate Iona’s chest enough to support, but not so tight that she loses mobility.
“Trousers?” Iona raises an eyebrow.
“You cannot fight in a dress. Not easily, anyhow,” Ariadne says.
Iona frowns and looks away.
“I knew it. You were stalling,” Ariadne accuses, leaning on her staff and putting a hand on her hip.
“I am not thrilled by the prospect of fighting you,” Iona admits. “What if I hurt you?”
Ariadne smirks, all arrogance and self-assured dominance. “You couldn’t hurt anyone, nymph. That is the point.”
“I can,” Iona argues, gesturing to the pendant.
“You possess a great deal of power, but none of the necessary skill or motivation to cut down enemies,” Ariadne says. “It is a matter of will, not might.”
“I could…” Iona looks around and points, “reduce that mountain to rubble and bury you alive.”
She grimaces at the prospect and Ariadne laughs. “I’m trembling with fear.”
“I could put you to sleep,” Iona says. “Or restrain you and take away your staff.”
Ariadne’s eyes flare at the threat, her fingers clenching only slightly around her staff.
Iona chastens. “In practice, I mean. I would never dream of-”
“There may be hope for you yet,” Ariadne grins. “Regardless, you may be called upon to fight the new malefician, should they reappear. You must prepare yourself for that eventuality.”
The mention of maleficians is sobering, but even so she shakes her head. “I refuse to fight you even in practice.”
Ariadne sighs dramatically, then agrees, “Illusions then. No one can be hurt that way.”
Partially appeased, Iona’s apprehension remains despite her best efforts. Ariadne comes to stand in front of her and leans forward so they are eye to eye.
“You mustn’t hesitate in the face of danger, Iona. Never again,” Ariadne says solemnly. “I will protect you to my dying breath if it comes to that, but what will you do if you’re ever alone? You cannot rely on others to fight every battle you face.”
“I know… I do not want to be helpless,” Iona says, her jaw clenching at the memory of Moira’s insults. “What do you suggest?”
“We practice until you exhibit control over your new power,” Ariadne says. “I’ll teach you all I know.”
She conjures a red ball and tosses it to Aster, who catches it between his sharp teeth and runs across the field with Wisp on his heels, a streak of orange and black fur.
“No looking through the bond. That would defeat the purpose of training,” she says.
She reaches behind Iona’s neck and unclasps the pendant.
She clutches the opal in her fist. “What are you doing?”
“You should practice with your wand for the time being,” Ariadne says.
“But why would I not use the pendant? Is that not the point of these lessons?” Iona asks.
“You should learn to walk before you run, do you not agree?” Ariadne asks.
She doesn’t agree at all, but Ariadne’s mind is made up. She reluctantly tosses her pendant in the grass and withdraws her oak wand from her trousers pocket.
“Ready?” Ariadne asks.
Iona nods, then blinks and suddenly there are three identical tall, muscular men standing in a line before her. Their expressions are blank, their features generic, and each of them holds a wooden wand in their dominant hand. She takes an involuntary step back.
“Wrong way,” Ariadne says.
Flushing with embarrassment, Iona stands her ground with her wand raised.
“Could I not start with someone smaller?” she asks.
“Their size intimidates you?” Ariadne asks. “You are a witch, not a boxer. Overpower them like you would any other.”
Iona huffs, then yelps when one of the men runs directly at her.
“Halat!” Iona yells.
Ropes materialize around the man’s wrists and ankles, forcing him to drop his wand and fall to his knees.
“Good!” Ariadne says.
The second man draws his wand and incants a spell in a language Iona does not recognize and she attempts to block it but isn’t fast enough.
The spell lifts her off the ground and she floats away into the sky, screeching as her limbs flail about.
The momentum causes her to spin uncontrollably, and she almost drops her wand in her confusion.
“Don’t panic!” Ariadne yells. “Think!”
But she is far too distracted by the ground getting farther and farther away. All she wants is to stop floating upwards.
“Kuelea,” Iona casts on herself to stop her ascent.
She screams as she plummets back to the earth from far too high.
“Iona…” Ariadne throws up her hands in exasperation.
“Sciatháin!” Iona screams.
A pair of white wings burst from her back, ripping through the fabric of her shirt, and just as they are fully formed, she unfurls them.
The force of the air strains against her shoulders but she manages to slow her descent moments before she hits the ground, her knees buckling as she collapses into the dirt.
Ariadne sprints over to her and frantically checks for any injuries.
Only when she is confident that Iona is unharmed does she scowl.
“Next time, you should cast those spells in reverse order,” Ariadne says with abounding judgement in her narrowed eyes.
“You would have just let me fall?” Iona asks, silently admonishing her lapse in judgement.
“Perhaps that is what you need,” Ariadne says. “That was pathetic.”
Iona shrinks at the menace in her tone. Ariadne never speaks to her that way anymore. Not since Samhain.
“I do not respond to insults,” Iona says. “If this is how I can expect these lessons to be, then perhaps I should train with someone else.”
Ariadne’s scorn turns to remorse, though her frustration remains.
Iona wonders then if this was how she had been taught, every failure paid with mockery and derision.
She dares to peer at Ariadne’s foremost thoughts and just as she’d suspected, there are glimpses of her time learning magic in Thessaly, of her mother looming over her and scrutinizing her every move.
Ariadne flinches only slightly and Iona leaves her mind, neither of them acknowledging what they’d both seen. Regardless of how Ariadne had learned, Iona will not stand for this sort of treatment in her own lessons. Her confidence is feeble enough without such ridicule.
Ariadne stands and holds out her hand. “Let’s try again.”
Iona takes her hand and hauls her down onto the ground beside her.
Ariadne falls hard on her back with a startled yelp and while she’s stunned, Iona climbs on top of her and pins her hands above her head.
Then she fans out her wings like a feathered canopy, ensuring that Ariadne has nowhere to look but at her.
“Be nice,” Iona says, glaring down at her.
She glares back and shakes her head. “No.”
Iona sulks as she sits back on her heels, and Ariadne props herself up against her elbows.
“No, Iona, if I am meant to keep you alive, then I cannot be nice. I will be discerning, and I will expect improvement.”
“Fine, but if you cannot be nice… please do not be cruel. I am trying, truly I am,” Iona says.
Ariadne’s expression softens and she reaches up to cup her cheek. “I know you are. I…”
“Swear it,” Iona says. “Or we shall not continue.”
“I promise to be… fair and even tempered.”
“Even tempered?” Iona cannot repress her skepticism.
Ariadne sighs, her frustration creeping back. “What should I promise then?”
Iona considers it, then says, “To teach me as you wish you’d been taught.”
Ariadne’s eyes widen slightly at that, and she goes silent for a moment. Then she nods. “Alright. I promise.”