12 - Iona
S he would have thought she’d be accustomed to sleeping in a strange bed by now, but no matter how hard she tries, she can only manage to drift off for short intermittent periods before waking again to the dark, unfamiliar room.
Her worries about the solstice, Ariadne’s family, Elise’s trial, all simmer within her until she cannot bear it a moment longer.
She flips onto her back and sighs in frustration, her eyes wandering about the darkness.
This room belonged to Ariadne during many a summer when her family took residence in Rome.
There are traces of her strewn about; a collection of plants by the window, a shelf full of grimoires against the wall, a collection of Sappho’s poetry left open on her bedside table, but it’s clear Ariadne hadn’t resided here long enough to truly make her mark on it.
Iona sits up in bed when she notices the space beside her is empty.
“Ariadne,” Iona whispers.
There is no answer.
Ariadne, Iona calls, and waits.
Yes? Ariadne asks.
Iona sighs with relief. Where did you go?
The solarium. I couldn’t sleep.
Iona yawns but knows that she doesn’t have much chance of sleep either. She crawls out of bed, cracks open the door, and peers out into the dark hallway. Conjuring a ball of light, she holds it out in front of her, then realizes she hasn’t a clue which way to go.
You should go back to bed, Ariadne says. Remember Aunt Xiomara’s advice.
I am just as restless as you, Iona admits. How do I get to the solarium from here?
Aster will show you.
A brush of fur against her leg makes her jump, and she presses a hand over her mouth to muffle her yelp.
“Aster.” Iona lets out a shaky laugh. “I did not see you.”
He sits in the middle of the hall and lets his tongue hang out, his mouth upturned as if he's laughing at her. Wisp rubs up against him and nips at his chin.
“Would you show me the way?” she asks.
Aster nods and canters away, undeterred by the veritable darkness of the winding halls. Wisp trots ahead with him and sniffs at every door, her black tail wagging as it often does when she’s allowed to explore.
Iona follows, but when she turns a corner, only the tails of the wolf and fox are visible to her. She moves as fast as she can without making noise enough to rouse the entire house, but the animals elude her more and more.
“Slow down!” Iona hisses.
She turns another corner and goes still. Before her is a hallway adorned with golden sconces, the white candles still lit and dripping wax onto the floor. At the other end is a wooden door painted deep purple with a golden doorknob that glitters in the flickering candlelight.
Blood rushes in her ears as she is overcome with an odd sense of foreboding, and yet she cannot help feeling drawn to whatever is on the other side of the door.
She takes a step forward, then another, and another, until she is nearly halfway down the hall.
Her heartbeat quickens as she hastens her steps.
With a violent lurch, she’s tugged backwards so roughly that she falls onto her back on the floor.
She looks around herself in a panic for whoever had done it, but no one is there.
Wisp barks from the other end of the hall, back where she’d come, but the fox does not seem to know what had accosted her either, which only fuels Iona’s dread.
She pushes herself onto her feet and runs away, uncaring of any noise she might make. As fast as her legs can carry her, she makes it all the way down the hall, which leads to another, and another, until she thinks she might be running in endless circles.
A growling bark startles her, and she lets loose a terrified scream as Aster jumps on her, scratching at her arms with his paws.
“Oh, Aster!” Iona exclaims. “Why did you leave me?”
He whines, then scratches at a nearby door that looks familiar. Iona wrenches it open and lets out a heavy sigh when she finally finds the solarium lit by a blazing fire in the hearth and a crowd of stars shining through the tall windows.
There at the other end of the room, Ariadne sits at the pianoforte in only her chemise, her feet bare and her dark curls loose and wild across her back. She is in the midst of a song when she hears Iona enter and stops to give her a dubious look.
“Did you run here?” Ariadne asks.
“I…” Iona tries to catch her breath. “I do not like this villa very much at all.”
Ariadne chuckles. “Neither do I.”
“I saw a purple door,” Iona says. “I… I fell.”
“A purple door?” Ariadne asks, then shakes her head. “There are no purple doors.”
“But…” Iona shakes her head. “Perhaps it was a trick of the light… Or I was still dreaming…”
Rubbing her forehead in confusion, she approaches the pianoforte and comes to sit on the bench beside Ariadne as she resumes her song. Iona recognizes it immediately, Les Barricades Mystérieuses . Ariadne had once played it in the student’s parlor at college.
“Why did you not wake me?” Iona asks.
“You looked so tranquil. I did not wish to disturb you,” Ariadne says.
Iona puts her hand in Ariadne’s lap and rests her head against her shoulder.
“Are you alright?” Iona risks asking.
“Yes,” Ariadne says.
Iona hesitates, then says, “I have so many doubts of late. I resent all this uncertainty… All these secrets...”
“As do I,” Ariadne says.
Iona looks up at her and places a hand against her cheek.
“You need only say the word and we shall leave this place and never return,” Iona says.
Ariadne stops playing to regard her with a vulnerable expression. “You are asking me to make that choice for you?”
“No, I only meant… if being here causes you pain, then it’s not worth the trouble. No one should treat you as your mother and Moira do, as if you are beneath them. I despise it.”
The rising vitriol in Iona’s tone makes Ariadne’s eyes go wide, until she hides her vulnerability away again, and lets her fingers rest lightly over the keys.
“I’m accustomed to it by now,” Ariadne says. “It matters little to me.”
She begins a new song with a slower tempo. Iona watches her face, and senses Ariadne’s tempestuous emotions ranging from outrage to humiliation to melancholy.
“It matters very much to me,” Iona says.
“I’m not so fragile, Iona,” Ariadne says. “Do not worry over me, please.”
Sighing, she decides to let the matter rest for now. “Very well.”
She watches Ariadne in silence, admiring the way her slender fingers slide over the ivory. No matter how many times she may witness it, she finds Ariadne’s musicality remarkable and unspeakably attractive.
She glances at the sheet music and reads that it is a piano sonata called Parthia. It has a rather cheerful melody that contrasts greatly with Ariadne’s brooding expression.
“How do you read this?” Iona asks, squinting at the black dots and lines scattered across the sheet music, then leans back when the page flips on its own.
“It is quite easy with practice,” Ariadne shrugs. “You should see the new Beethoven piece I’m learning. There are twice as many notes in half as many pages.”
“But you’re not even looking,” Iona notices.
“I memorized this sonata years ago. The sheets are there in case I forget a note or two.”
“But how long is it?”
“Approximately five and twenty minutes.”
Iona scrutinizes the pages again. “You know all of those notes by heart?”
“You do not believe me?” Ariadne asks.
Iona smirks and places a hand over her eyes. “Prove it.”
“You are still unconvinced of the boundless potential of my superior brain?” Ariadne asks slyly.
“I am more than convinced of your arrogance,” Iona retorts.
Ariadne’s fingers do not miss a beat as she continues playing.
In truth, Iona cannot tell if the sonata is performed correctly or not.
She’s never heard it before and cannot read the music to confirm accuracy.
However, the smile threatening to form on Ariadne’s lips is motivation enough to continue teasing her.
“You are peeking,” Iona says.
“My eyes are closed,” Ariadne mutters, deep in concentration.
Iona conjures a strip of silken black cloth and ties it over Ariadne’s eyes, making a bow at the back of her head. Her hands continue to roam over the keys unhindered.
“You are using magic somehow,” Iona accuses.
“Where is my staff, nymph?” Ariadne asks with exasperation.
Iona glances at the staff where it rests against the pianoforte. Then an idea emerges, and her grin widens.
“I remain highly skeptical.” She lifts the hem of her skirt up to her thighs to throw her leg over Ariadne’s lap. She sucks in a breath and pulls back her hands to let Iona straddle her.
“What are you doing?” Ariadne asks, her voice dropping an octave.
“Keep playing,” Iona commands, guiding Ariadne’s hands around her torso.
Her fingers find the keys and after a moment’s hesitation, she continues the song.
Iona leans in and peppers soft kisses upon her long neck, then licks a path up to her ear.
Ariadne shivers and accidentally plays a discordant note, only to continue in ignited defiance of Iona’s distractions, just as she’d predicted.
Ariadne’s vanity would never allow her to turn down a challenge.
“Am I meant to lose this game?” Ariadne asks, feigning indifference.
Iona slowly, tantalizingly tugs at the drawstring of Ariadne’s chemise until the bow comes undone and the white cotton fabric falls open, exposing her olive skin to Iona’s appreciative gaze.
She slips a hand inside to cup Ariadne’s breast in her palm, squeezing gently, and running a thumb over her peaked nipple.
Ariadne inhales sharply and plays another foul note despite her best efforts.
“Was it not you who told me that you always win?” Iona asks innocently.