10 - Ariadne #2
“I propose a toast,” Aunt Xiomara says, raising her goblet. “To Iona and Ariadne. As you begin your lives together, we wish you every happiness. May your marriage be a blissful dream that never ends, from now and into eternity.”
“Marriage?” Ariadne nearly drops her goblet in surprise.
Aunt Xiomara reaches for Uncle Raul’s hand, her ruby ring glittering in the candlelight. He gazes at her with rapt admiration.
“I must admit, when I heard rumor of your bond, I was a tad disappointed at your choice to elope, but I remember all too well how passion can incite spontaneity,” Aunt Xiomara says. “The ring you chose is quite beautiful. Very unique.”
Iona places a hand over her amethyst ring to hide it from view. Wincing, Ariadne looks down at the bloodstone ring on her own hand. It is on the wrong finger, but she can see how her aunt may have gotten confused.
“No, no,” Ariadne laughs nervously. “We are not wed.”
“Not wed?” Aunt Zephyra asks, appalled.
“But you are bonded.” Marina’s brow furrows.
“Yes, we are,” Ariadne says.
“You will be together for all eternity,” Marina says, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
“Yes, but we are not wed,” Ariadne stresses, unable to look Iona in the eye.
“Engaged then?” Aunt Xiomara asks, and when Ariadne doesn’t respond, she frowns.
“We have not discussed it,” Iona says in a small voice.
“That is…” Ariadne sighs, hating to discuss such a private matter without speaking with Iona first. “I imagine we shall be someday, but we are in no particular hurry.”
“Oh… I see,” Aunt Xiomara says. “And the rings?”
“Communication rings,” Ariadne explains.
Moira laughs into her napkin and Ariadne glares at her, which only makes her laugh harder.
“A thousand apologies. I should not have assumed,” Aunt Xiomara says.
Iona reaches for her goblet and takes a long drink.
“But… you must marry before you bear children,” Aunt Zephyra says.
Iona nearly chokes on her wine, quickly setting her glass upon the table to keep from spilling it down her front.
“Zephyra…” Aunt Xiomara rubs her forehead in frustration.
“You do want children, don’t you?” Aunt Zephyra asks, ignoring her sister.
Iona coughs into her napkin, unable to respond.
“Yes, we do,” Ariadne replies for her. “But worry not. Our intimacies do not result in unintended offspring, no matter how hard we may try.”
“Ariadne!” Iona sputters, her face going bright red.
She grins at Iona’s embarrassment, deciding if they must endure this, she may as well join in the fun.
Aunt Zephyra bursts into raucous laughter, placing a hand over her chest and leaning back in her chair.
Moira and Marina let a few giggles slip but they attempt to compose themselves when their mother gives them a warning look. Even Sebastian cracks a smile.
“Wicked thing.” Aunt Zephyra points at Ariadne with her spoon.
“They needn’t marry in haste if they do not desire it,” Ariadne’s father says when the laughter dies down. “It would merely be a formality now, would you not say? After bonding as you have, there is nothing more committed than that.”
“Yes, I should say so,” Iona agrees, letting out a stress-filled breath.
“In any case, when you do decide to hold a ceremony, I should like to offer the villa as a possible venue,” Aunt Xiomara says to Ariadne. “Or your grandfather’s manor. Constantinople is a vision in springtime, and I know you favor natural blossoms.”
“Perhaps we should discuss it at a more appropriate time,” Ariadne says with a pleading look.
“Fair enough,” Aunt Xiomara chuckles. “All the same, I do wish you both every happiness.”
When they have finished their soup, there is a main course of roast lamb, fresh bread, roman cabbage, glazed mushrooms, artichokes, seasoned mussels, and Lucanian sausages. In time, the conversation turns light and easy, much to Iona’s evident relief.
Uncle Raul tells the story of when he was a teenager and accidentally turned himself into a mouse.
He was stuck in that state for more than a week and was nearly eaten alive by a stray cat before his mother found him in their garden.
Then Aunt Zephyra tells tales of her recent travels through Persia, Siam, and Morocco.
All the while, Aunt Xiomara watches on with a smile, her focus being primarily on Iona. It does not escape Ariadne’s notice.
The door to the dining room slams open, making everyone at the table flinch, and Ariadne squeezes her eyes shut.
The ever-recognizable sound of her mother’s footsteps against the stone makes her cringe.
A chair at the other end of the table scrapes backwards.
When Ariadne opens her eyes again, her mother stares back at her, goblet in hand.
“Cintia,” Aunt Xiomara says, her voice even. “How good of you to join us.”
Cintia peers at the food laid out on the table and scrunches her nose, then conjures a plate of greens and a small bowl of broth.
“Good evening, child,” she says.
“Good evening, Mother,” Ariadne says with as much indifference as she can muster.
“That is the gown you chose?” Cintia asks with a look of distaste.
Ariadne glances down at herself. “What is wrong with my gown?”
Her mother huffs and takes a bite of her food, not caring to elaborate. Every eye at the table is drawn to Ariadne, making her shift uneasily in her chair. All her worrying over her dress was in vain it seems. She could have woven the fabric and sewn it by hand. It would make no difference.
Without thinking, Ariadne reaches for a serving fork to place another slice of lamb on her plate, but her mother makes an obnoxious noise from deep in her throat.
Ariadne pauses and makes the mistake of looking in her mother’s direction to behold her expression of judgement and utter disdain.
It is enough to make Ariadne pull her arm back and put both her hands in her lap, her appetite diminishing.
Ignore her, Iona encourages.
Ariadne glances at her, then away, reaching for her wine instead.
I’m fine, Ariadne assures her.
She blinks in surprise at finding the piece of lamb she’d wanted sitting on her plate, steaming as if plucked straight from a roasting spit, though it was not there before.
When she looks up again, the pendant still has a faint glow from the conjuration spell Iona cast. Their stare lingers a moment, the surrounding conversations fading into the background, and Iona’s gaze softens to reveal her concern.
Ariadne isn’t used to anyone watching her so closely, unless it is in an effort to surveil her, suppress her, control her, never out of love, but there’s no doubt of Iona’s motivation. It’s written all over her face, at the very forefront of her mind, entirely unmistakable.
So, Ariadne lifts her fork and knife, cuts a piece of lamb, and puts it in her mouth, only then remembering how famished she is. Her nerves had kept her from eating all day long, a horrid habit she’s not succumbed to in months. As she thinks of it now, she’s not done so since courting Iona.
Ariadne can feel her mother’s eyes boring into her, but before she can speak, Aunt Xiomara interjects. “How were your travels?”
“Fine,” Cintia says.
“Spain is quite lovely in summer, as I recall,” Aunt Xiomara says. “Though I imagine the covens did not give you much chance to enjoy it.”
“No, they did not,” Cintia snaps. “Which is why you sent me there in your stead, I assume. They are at each other’s throats.”
“I found it quite odd that you were sent at all,” Aunt Zephyra murmurs. “You aren’t known for your skills at diplomacy.”
Ariadne snorts before she can stop herself, and it makes a slight echo in the silence. She braces herself for her mother’s rage, but instead she turns on Iona.
“Have you met with the other great covens yet? Or are we the first?” Cintia asks.
Iona’s mouth is full, and she hastens to swallow her food down. “Yours is the first, but I imagine-”
“Have you been studying then? Which other colleges do you plan to attend?” Cintia asks.
“I haven’t… I…” Iona stutters.
“Surely you require additional schooling, without a mother or father to properly train you in magic,” Cintia says, glancing at Ariadne. “You once scorned me for my strict instruction but now do you see how incompetent you’d be if I’d not done so?”
“I am not incompetent,” Iona says, before Ariadne can say as much.
“Is that so?” Cintia raises an eyebrow. “Then do you hope to be of service now? There is the lycanthrope situation that has grown quite unmanageable. Have you yet been to Moldavia?”
“I’ve only just heard of-” Iona tries to say.
“What of the vampires in Romania? Or the growing hostilities in Spain?” Cintia asks, her voice increasingly sharp and impatient. “Or are we meant to deal with all these many disturbances alone?”
Iona goes silent and Ariadne admonishes herself for not preparing her for this sort of questioning.
“What exactly have you been doing all this time?” Cintia narrows her eyes. “Your ignorance is appalling. You must be aware of these matters as a supposed leader of your people. Or do you aim to waste your time on frivolity? Bedding my daughter in every country?”
Iona blushes furiously. “No, of course not! I’ve only just claimed the pendant-”
“Leave her be,” Ariadne snaps.
Do not let her provoke you, Iona cautions. It is alright.
“No, it is not. She cannot expect you to solve all the world’s problems in mere weeks!” Ariadne argues, realizing too late that she’s mistakenly responded aloud.
Her mother’s eyes flare, a humorless smile reaching her lips. “Ah, that’s right. You are of two minds of late. I suppose I should have expected my daughter’s laziness to be catching.”
“Must we have all this unpleasantness?” Aunt Xiomara tries to interject.
Cintia leans forward, staring daggers at Ariadne, and says, “I remember when you once told me you’d rather die a thousand deaths than bond yourself to another.”
Ariadne’s heart stutters in her chest as she shrinks beneath her mother’s glare, while her father clears his throat.