14 - Iona #3
I swear I didn’t , Ariadne insists.
I know , Iona says, but even knowing that she struggles to process what she’d seen. It is quite a shock to see Ariadne in that position with anyone other than her.
“Why did you leave so suddenly?” Crescentia approaches, then notices their discomfort. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing,” Iona says.
“Are you certain?” Crescentia asks.
“Everything is fine,” Ariadne says with a pointed look.
“I merely… required a moment,” Iona says.
Crescentia holds Ariadne’s gaze. “I see.”
Taking a steadying breath, Iona puts on her best smile.
“Please, do not fuss over me,” she says. “Who should I speak with next?”
“There’s no need to rush.” Crescentia places a comforting hand on her shoulder.
But in truth Iona would be most grateful for the distraction. She doesn’t need time to dwell on what she’d seen, not with a sea of witches and warlocks observing her every move.
The distress of the unwanted memory is still written all over Ariadne’s face, her remorse and embarrassment so stifling that Iona finds it difficult to concentrate.
“Are you two twittering silently amongst yourselves while I stand here in silence?” Crescentia asks.
“No. Or… not at the moment.” Iona glances sideways at Ariadne.
“It’s horrid being so constantly excluded from your conversations,” Crescentia grumbles.
“Less gossip for you to circulate.” Ariadne rolls her eyes, making an effort to appear unfazed.
While in search of some distraction, Iona notices Frankie passing by, nervously readjusting his green cravat, and when he meets her gaze, his eyebrows raise in silent question.
“In a rare turn of events, I find I have a bit of news to share with you,” Iona says, and Crescentia’s penchant for intrigue is reawakened.
“Do tell!” She smiles in anticipation.
Iona leans in close. “I have recently become acquainted with a handsome gentleman by the name of Frankie Mitriora. Do you know of him?”
Crescentia shakes her head, confused.
“He bears a wolf mark on his arm,” Iona says.
Crescentia’s amber eyes widen. “The man from the party? How did you…”
Then she looks to Ariadne with pure dread.
“You needn’t fear my wrath,” Ariadne jokes, an edge to her tone.
“But… I was so certain you would hate me again,” she says.
“I will if you dare to treat him poorly,” Ariadne warns.
“I would never,” Crescentia says, appalled at the suggestion. “I did not know of him. How is that possible? I learned the name and mark of every sempiterna witch and warlock the world over. Was he sequestered in his youth as you were?”
Ariadne frowns at that and looks away, so Iona whispers in Crescentia’s ear. Her mouth falls open in shock.
“Oh, my stars… ” Crescentia whispers. “I hadn’t heard…”
“Do you fancy him?” Iona asks, already knowing the answer.
“I… Or rather, I could hardly… He was so…” Crescentia stutters, her cheeks going red as she recalls that night.
Iona laughs. “My goodness, you cannot even speak!”
“He is certainly more of a gentleman than Erik ever was,” Crescentia grins, her blush deepening.
“Wild was the word he used to describe you,” Iona says conspiratorially. “Hopelessly enraptured, he was.”
“Admittedly, so was I.” Crescentia’s grins falters when she glances down at her laurel mark.
“None of that.” Iona takes her hand.
“Why would he risk-”
“Any who would be threatened by your power simply does not deserve you.”
“I do want children someday…”
“Then you shall have them, and they will only be stronger because of you. And anyhow, you’ve only just met him.
You should enjoy his company, and anything else can be discussed later,” Iona insists.
“Frankie asked if I might introduce you formally tonight, if you are amenable to it. Begged me to in fact. It was quite endearing.”
Crescentia’s grin is exultant. “Then I suppose I may end his suffering, if he were to call on me.”
“Why wait?” Iona asks, gesturing to where Frankie stands alone, looking rather dashing in his black suit, his dark curls slicked back and his umber eyes glimmering with hope, though he pointedly avoids looking their way.
Crescentia’s own eyes brighten at the sight of him, then she hesitates. “I shall find him later.”
Iona goes to protest, but Crescentia takes her arm and coaxes her along. “I must finish the introductions first.”
“Don’t wait on my account,” Iona says.
“There is always the reception. This night is of paramount importance, and I shan’t leave you,” Crescentia says. “If he adores me as you claim, an hour or two of waiting will only make him all the more desperate for my attentions.”
“Ever the wise strategist,” Iona grins.
“However will he break your code?” Ariadne rolls her eyes.
“Perhaps I should dye his skin red instead,” Crescentia retorts. “Or paralyze him with poison. Is that not how you prefer to make your attraction known?”
Ariadne flushes with indignation. “That is entirely-”
“No quarreling!” Iona exclaims, standing between them. “Honestly, the both of you.”
Ariadne scowls and walks away in the direction of Frankie.
“Oh…” Crescentia says, dejected. “You do not think she will speak ill of me, do you?”
“She’d better not,” Iona says sternly. Or you will not be permitted to touch me for a month.
Do you think so little of me? Ariadne glances back at her. And do not make such unrealistic threats. You would not last a week.
Shall we test that theory? Iona asks.
Ariadne only smirks, and when she reaches Frankie, she whispers in his ear, and his immediate smile is all they need to know that all is well. He fusses with his clothes, until Ariadne seems to quell his nerves with a comforting speech.
Amidst it all, the other covens whisper amongst themselves and glance at the members of the Zerynthos coven with trepidation.
It is not exactly fear that populates the many expressions of the crowd, but rather a deeply rooted respect.
Ariadne’s family appears unaffected by the scrutiny, but not unaware of it.
Xiomara and Raul only have eyes for each other, and Moira seems to thrive off the attention and stares provokingly at anyone who looks at her too long. Marina is, as always, gazing up at the sky, and Sebastian is nowhere to be found, likely too bored to stay for any length of time.
Zephyra speaks with Petro, pontificating with wild gestures while he listens with a genteel smile that betrays his disinterest. Upon further observance, Iona finds that Ariadne’s physical features favor her mother almost entirely, but her mannerisms are very much like her father’s.
She vaguely recalls Ariadne mentioning, with the brevity in which she often speaks of her childhood, that her mother had occasionally taken extended journeys with no word as to where she was going.
Consequently, Ariadne spent considerably more time with her father, whenever she wasn’t otherwise occupied by her vigorous studies, which would explain how very much like her father she was, seeming to have only inherited a fraction of her mother’s effortless fury.
It’s then Iona notices Cintia’s absence and wonders idly whether she’s taken her leave early and hopes it is so.
“Do not ask me,” Crescentia says, having noticed the subjects of Iona’s stares.
She opens her mouth to speak, but Crescentia puts up a finger.
“Ariadne will strangle me for gossiping,” she says, with slight sincerity. “Or tell Frankie I have syphilis or some awful thing.”
“No, I would never allow it,” Iona says, chuckling at the thought, then whispers. “Why do they all stare?”
Crescentia sighs heavily and relents to the temptation. “Katrin’s legacy is a lasting one. Every coven was once affected by her conquest, and they haven’t forgotten it.”
“Katrin stole from them?” Iona asks.
“Not exactly,” Crescentia hedges. “The covens have always ruled over territories, each with their own treasures. The river in Brazil you told me of is a fine example. Places like that, rich with magic, are coveted and must be guarded, or others will try to seize control of them, like the Evoras attempted to do. At present there are not very many conflicts, apart from one in Spain, a dispute over caves in Majorca, but when Katrin died…”
“They fought over what she left behind,” Iona guesses.
“It was a bloodbath,” Crescentia says under her breath.
“Katrin had a presence in nearly every country, even held control of Lysander Forest for a time, and as the head of the council, she alone determined who could harvest magic and who could not. The covens swarmed when she was gone… You are fortunate to have been hidden away during that time of unrest.”
Iona frowns. The irony of Silvano Evora’s accusations is laughable after having learned this. He did not have any moral ground to stand on, accusing her of controlling fortunes like Katrin while trying to steal land away in the same breath. It is staggeringly hypocritical.
“Has the Zerynthos coven attempted any conquests since Katrin’s death?” she asks.
“No,” Crescentia says. “It was curious… Everyone thought they would try to keep hold of their empire, but when Xiomara became the new leader of the coven, she simply stepped aside. She’s only maintained her mother’s seat as the head of the council. All else was left for others to apportion.”
“Really?” Iona eyes Xiomara, who now converses with Nonna, their laughter traveling to them on the air.
“I’ve heard it was Cintia who resisted and wished to fight to maintain their supremacy, even without the pendant to safeguard their interests, but Xiomara wouldn’t allow it. There is a permanent rift between them as a result,” Crescentia whispers.
Iona had seen it at dinner, the unspoken animosity between the two sisters. It is immensely fortunate that Xiomara happens to be the older of the two, or who could say what state the world would be in.
“Come.” Crescentia beckons her to follow. “There is someone special I’d like you to meet.”
Ariadne rejoins them, and they traverse the multitude of people towards a short, voluptuous woman with long dark hair and grey eyes. The woman’s gaze rests on Iona, and she smiles.
“May I present Lady Monton,” Crescentia says, with a curtsy.
Iona recognizes her name immediately. “You are an advisor to King George III.”
“Yes, Ms. Lysander,” Lady Monton says. “At least, I aim to be. The man is quite obstinate.”
“Iona was raised in Cornwall, not far from Tintagel,” Crescentia says.
“I’d heard. Lovely scenery in those parts,” Lady Monton says. “I live in London myself, but I summer in Brighton.”
“Oh, I adore Brighton! My mother and I traveled there on rare occasions when we sold pearls to a merchant in town,” Iona says. “But it proved too far a distance to visit often.”
Lady Monton grins and holds out her wrist. There lies a bracelet of perfect pearls on a golden chain.
“I never knew they were of your making,” she says. “Only that they were surely conjured with magic, so perfectly round and lustrous. I saw this in the window one morning and knew I must have it. Imagine my surprise when I heard the story of your trade.”
Iona gently takes her hand to examine the pearls more closely. “Goodness…”
“They are all the more precious to me now, knowing you and your mother crafted them,” Lady Monton says.
“Were you acquainted with her?” Iona asks when she marks the familiarity in Monton’s tone.
“Not closely, but her skill in conjuration was a credit to her. I saw her briefly at one of the Lysanders’ balls.
What a pretty thing she was. You’re her spitting image.
” Lady Monton leans in. “And if I may be so bold, I did notice her sneaking off with your father at the end of the night, a triumphant smile on his face.” Lady Monton giggles, until her expression turns wistful. “They deserved better.”
Iona’s smile falters. “Yes, they did.”
Crescentia steers the conversation to other topics, much to Iona’s gratitude. Lady Monton tells of the ordeal with the Americans and how she’d tried to convince the King of his shortsightedness in allowing the situation to escalate into war.
“Phoebe claims that it was inevitable. The Americans would have rebelled eventually,” Crescentia says.
“Any witch can tell you the value of that land,” Lady Monton sighs. “Anyhow, it’s over with. I am far more concerned with his declining mental state.”
“It is not just rumor?” Iona asks.
“I’m afraid not,” Lady Monton says. “The stars warn of a war looming. If Napoleon continues with his interference in the West, and they fail to agree on the fate of Malta, they will inevitably clash again. It was always a precarious peace.”
“Is it wise, allowing a madman to rule during a time of war?” Ariadne asks. “There have also been rumors of an impending regency. Perhaps that would be best.”
“Sane, mad, what difference does it make?” Lady Monton asks with exasperation.
“Men long for war. They think it makes them strong. Peace is much more difficult to maintain. I do what I can to preserve harmony and rebuild trust between us and the humans. We mustn’t ever return to the darker days of witch trials. ” She shivers at the thought.
“That is why I thought to introduce you two,” Crescentia says. “Iona would be very successful as a diplomat.”
Taken aback, Iona shakes her head. “I do not know if I am prepared for such an immense responsibility.”
“Not now, maybe, but in time you will,” Crescentia says with absolute confidence.
“I would be delighted to discuss it with you. The world has no shortage of peacemakers,” Lady Monton says.
Iona looks between them, unsure of what to say. Then a hand brushes lightly against her spine, gentle and nearly imperceptible. She turns to see who it is.