8 - Iona
I ona quickly stands and smooths out her skirts. “I was… I should rejoin the party. Ariadne will be wondering where I am.”
“She is not far,” Rebekka assures her. “Why did she leave you here alone?”
Iona looks away, failing to think of a suitable explanation, while Rebekka closes the door and steps closer.
“Crescentia is out there drinking her weight in wine. Samaira is barely speaking and looks to be on the verge of tears. Ariadne is sulking at the piano like she used to when we were children,” Rebekka counts on her fingers, “and now, you are upset as well.”
Iona grimaces. “I apologize for our conduct. We did not intend to cast a pall on your festivities.”
“I care little about that,” she says.
While she finds Rebekka’s concern endearing, she does not feel comfortable confiding in her when they’ve only just met. Instead, she puts on her best attempt at a smile and approaches the door.
“I should like to rejoin the others now. You can regale me with tales of your years of friendship with Ari,” she says.
Rebekka chuckles wryly. “Are you sure you’d like to hear of them?”
Iona hesitates. “Do I?”
She slowly shakes her head, the mirth in her gaze making Iona avert her eyes.
“Fair enough,” Iona says.
Rebekka shrugs off her blazer and sets it on the back of a chair, then unbuttons her cuff to fold her shirt sleeve up to her elbow.
“Did she ever mention me?” Rebekka asks, tilting her head slightly.
“Not by name,” Iona admits. “But she told me of a time when she indulged in revelry of this sort to distract from her discontentment.”
“Is that how she described it?” Rebekka raises her eyebrows.
“Well… not exactly,” Iona stutters. “She does not often speak of those days.”
Rebekka finishes folding her sleeves and Iona notices a geometric red mark on her forearm, just below the crease of her elbow.
“It is the Fehu rune, for Freya,” Rebekka explains, having noticed her stare.
“I see. What does it evoke?”
“Abundance, growth, and magic. It is also a warning against greed, one I often ignore, to my father’s great disappointment.” A crooked grin forms on Rebekka’s lips. “Ariadne once said that abundance suits me fine, seeing how I often delight in life’s pleasures.”
“Do you disagree?” Iona asks, returning her smile.
“I am a self-proclaimed libertine, it is true,” Rebekka jokes with a shrug.
“As was Ariadne, but I suppose for some those times must fade away. I am glad of any comfort our exploits may have given her. She is a tortured soul, indeed. Or at least, she once was. I find her to be much changed. Her anger… it is still present but does not seem to rule her any longer. I suppose we have you to thank for that.”
“I could not take credit for her healing,” Iona says. “Has word spread of Vivien’s recovery?”
“Indeed, it has.” Rebekka nods contemplatively. “In a thousand years, I never would have predicted such a redemptive turn of events.”
“I hope everyone hears of it,” Iona says, and when Rebekka gives her a questioning look, she says, “I wish for all to learn of Ariadne’s compassion so they may know her true nature.”
“You do love her,” Rebekka says softly.
“Yes, of course,” Iona says. “With all my heart.”
“Forgive my doubt. It is simply the swiftness of your courtship that made me wonder,” Rebekka says.
Iona flushes and fiddles with a gem embroidered into her skirt. “I cannot fault you for that. It has been a whirlwind.”
“I would expect nothing less from Ariadne. She is the most impulsive woman I have ever encountered,” Rebekka chuckles.
Iona tries not to take her words as an insult, but Rebekka must have seen the shift in her expression.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that one would need to be thoughtless to bond with you.” Rebekka’s smile turns carnal as her appreciative gaze drifts over Iona’s body. “It is no mystery why she became so hopelessly entranced. She is only fortunate to have gotten to you first.”
Iona blinks in surprise. It’s then she notices their proximity. Moments ago, their exchange had been entirely benign but following Rebekka’s comment, she feels the need to put distance between them. Then the door to the study opens, and Iona hastily steps away.
“Iona?” Ariadne says. “Why haven’t you-”
She stops short in the doorway, her posture rigid as her eyes flit between them.
“Ah, there you are,” Rebekka says.
“Here I am.” Ariadne’s smile is tight, her eyes betraying her displeasure.
Rebekka beckons her closer. “Won’t you join us? We were just discussing-”
Without another word, Ariadne simply leaves the room. Dumbstruck, Iona stares at the empty doorway, then runs after her.
“Please pardon us,” Iona calls over her shoulder.
“Not to worry. Enjoy the party,” Rebekka calls after her, an enduring levity in her tone.
Iona cannot leave the room fast enough, but even in her haste she struggles to keep up with Ariadne’s long strides.
It was nothing, Iona thinks.
I can read your mind, Ariadne says.
Iona’s brow furrows. Yes, I know.
Ariadne whips around and Iona nearly collides into her. You are attracted to her. I see your lust clear as day.
Iona’s cheeks burn with mortified indignation as she grasps Ariadne’s arm and drags her into a nearby bedroom. Relieved to find it unoccupied, Iona waves her hand to light the fireplace, then stands in front of the door with her arms crossed.
“You lust after her,” Ariadne says again, in an infuriatingly accusatory tone. “Do not insult me by denying it.”
Iona’s flush deepens. “I cannot regulate my every thought or… involuntary reaction.”
“Do not deny you wouldn’t-”
“Your hypocrisy is staggering,” Iona says, and when Ariadne stares at her in confusion, she continues, “Do not pretend to be unaffected by her. I can’t recall ever seeing you quite so… meek and bashful.”
“I was not,” Ariadne fumes, but cannot hide her embarrassment at the accusation. “Nor was I alone in a room with her.”
“If my thoughts prove indecipherable to you, then I should hope you at least know my heart by now,” Iona says.
“Mere… attraction is nothing. I find women in paintings attractive. I found Professor Salvador attractive.” At that Ariadne glowers, and it only angers Iona more.
“That does not signify a real intention of pursuing those desires. Look through the bond and see for yourself.”
Worrying at her bottom lip, Ariadne eventually nods as she enters Iona’s mind to behold the full account of her conversation with Rebekka. A moment later, Ariadne’s expression betrays her regret.
“It was one comment. That is all,” Iona says, stepping closer to her. “She flirts with any woman in her path, it seems.”
“I just… I know how convincing Rebekka can be when she sets her sights on someone,” Ariadne says.
“Yes, I’m sure you are quite familiar with her techniques,” Iona says sardonically.
Ariadne crimsons. “Don’t jest.”
“I wasn’t,” Iona stares her down, taking unexpected pleasure in how flustered she has become.
“Then why did you withdraw from my touch in the ballroom?” Ariadne asks. “You pulled away from me when… It will only encourage her if you imply a distance between us that-”
Iona clasps her fingers around Ariadne’s wrist. The very moment their skin touches, Ariadne goes rigid, inhaling sharply, her eyes squeezing shut.
Iona centers all their energy, all the frisson of their magnetism, until Ariadne sinks to her knees before her, the pretty moan escaping her lips nearly enough to break Iona’s resolve.
“I pulled away because you were accosting me with our magic until I could hardly think straight!” Iona cries. “You’re such a jealous fool, you did not even notice!”
She leans in closer, so their noses nearly touch and watches Ariadne as she gasps for air.
“Now tell me, why would I want her, or anyone else, when I can do this to you?” Iona asks, her voice mockingly sweet.
“Iona,” Ariadne whimpers.
“Why? When I have already given you my heart, soul, and body?” Iona asks. “What more must I do to prove my undying devotion?”
Ariadne trembles as need courses through her, nearly unbearable for them both, but Iona’s obstinance keeps her mind clear.
“Apologize for dishonoring me with your baseless insinuations,” Iona demands.
“I apologize,” Ariadne’s voice cracks.
“Do you mean it?” Iona asks.
Ariadne can only nod, but when she tries to pull her in for a desperate kiss, Iona releases her wrist and steps away. Ariadne’s hands smack against the stone floor, her chest heaving.
“I suppose I can forgive your impudence,” Iona says.
Ariadne looks up at her with such a vulnerable, incredulous expression, that Iona cannot help the haughty chuckle that slips past her lips. Then Ariadne uses her staff to push herself up on shaky legs.
“Now, with that settled, shall we return to the party, darling?” Iona asks.
Before she can reach the door, Ariadne captures her lips in a possessive, all-consuming kiss, coaxing her mouth open to slip her tongue inside and draw out a moan.
Before she can give into the temptation, Iona laces her fingers in Ariadne’s curls and tugs just enough for her to pull away.
Iona peeks into her mind and shivers at what she finds there.
“Control yourself,” she whispers. “What do you mean to do? Pin me down and ravage me, make me scream loud enough for Rebekka to hear and know who I belong to?”
Ariadne groans low in her throat. That is precisely what she wants, the image of it at the very forefront of her salacious thoughts.
“How positively primeval,” Iona rasps. “Perhaps if you had not made such hurtful assumptions, I might have indulged you. But now? I think not.”
A thrill goes through her at knowing the power she holds, that they both hold over each other.
“I cannot go back out there,” Ariadne says, and it is simultaneously a wanton plea and a doleful one.
Iona searches her gaze, then backs her against the closest wall, pressing up against her to keep her in place, leaning in to kiss her neck until Ariadne sighs contentedly.