16 - Ariadne #2
“At my suggestion,” Cintia reminds her. “Though I care not how you clean up your messes. I raised you not to make them in the first place.”
“I can shield against maleficium,” Ariadne says. “No other witch alive can say as much.”
Cintia studies her with a shrewd gaze that never fails to make her feel entirely exposed, then conjures a new cigarette, bringing it to her lips and taking a long drag.
“Why did you not claim the pendant?” Cintia asks.
Ariadne sighs heavily. “I told you-”
“No.” Cintia narrows her eyes. “What is the true reason you relinquished it?”
Ariadne only stares at her in confusion.
“I wondered this, while I spent time in Thessaly to recollect myself after your lover shattered my ankle,” Cintia says with bitterness.
“Only after you attempted to smother me,” Ariadne says.
“You exaggerate.” Cintia rolls her eyes. “Why would you hold pure power in your hands and simply give it away? It is unfathomable.”
“To you, maybe,” Ariadne says.
“You claim that you ‘did not want it’ but have neglected to explain why,” Cintia presses.
“It was never meant for me,” Ariadne says.
“Nonsense. If that were true, Morgan wouldn’t have given you both the ability to take it,” Cintia says.
“Why then?” Ariadne asks. “What reason have you fabricated to comfort yourself in your failure to control me?”
Cintia’s smirk is dangerous as she takes a step closer, flicking her cigarette so the ashes fall at her feet.
“You did not want the bane that comes with it,” Cintia says.
“You saw the toll it took on your grandmother, even if you did not fully understand it, though soon enough you will. You knew well the obligations you’d inherit at rituals such as these, the endless expectations of the great covens, for the rest of your unnatural life.
You did not want the responsibility, so you gave it to Iona instead.
You sealed her fate or rather imposed yours onto her. ”
“That… That is not true,” Ariadne shakes her head.
“Do you realize the extent of the adversity you’ve inflicted upon her?” Cintia slowly circles her. “Do you love her at all?”
“Of course I do!” Ariadne exclaims.
“I was wrong in calling her your doll,” Cintia says, taking slow deliberate steps. “In truth, she is the surrogate for a burden you alone were meant to bear. You shirked your duty, passed it along to another who is hopelessly unprepared to handle it.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Ariadne flinches as her mother looms like a bird of prey spotting a mouse on the forest floor.
“Mere proximity to power could never satisfy me, but I suppose you are more like your father than I originally thought,” she says. “All too happy to watch on with dutiful subservience.”
Ariadne bristles at the comparison. Though she does love her father dearly, she would never wish to become like him, and her mother’s knowing smile reflects her perception of those fears.
“I gave Iona the pendant to protect her from Elise,” Ariadne insists. “She sought it of her own volition. I never imposed it on her!”
“She nearly died at Elise’s hand, even with the pendant at her disposal,” Cintia says. “It was not a lack of power that failed her. It was her inexperience, that which you certainly do not lack. Why could you not have claimed the pendant instead and used it to its full potential?”
Ariadne’s mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.
“A lifetime of instruction that I took great pains to provide you, all to be capable of wielding that specific artifact,” Cintia says. “There is no one alive who could do so better than you. And yet, I am meant to believe you gave it away because… of what exactly?”
“It was the right decision,” Ariadne’s voice wavers. “You are twisting the truth.”
“You ‘did not want it’,” Cintia scoffs with utter disdain. “How marvelous it must be to live life with such flagrant self-indulgence.”
“Why are you so convinced I would be better suited to it?” Ariadne asks. “You think less of me than anyone, except perhaps Grandmother. You cannot profess my inferiority while also complaining of my supposed waste of potential.”
“Your refusal to accept your fate is the source of my discontent.” Cintia gestures in the direction of the party. “That parade of introductions orchestrated by that charlatan of a witch, Clementia-”
“Crescentia,” Ariadne says.
“Whatever.” Cintia rolls her eyes. “It wouldn’t have been necessary for you. We ensured your place in high society was well established, with painstaking care, until you decided to besmirch your own reputation by bedding any fricatrice who would have you and-”
“None of them want me!” Ariadne yells. “They hate me! They always have, and the blame for that is yours as well as mine. Do you think the pendant would have erased their contempt for our family? For me?”
“Do you think those people ‘liked’ your grandmother?” Cintia laughs. “They needed her. They respected her. They tolerated her for their own gain, just as they will do for your vapid chit.”
“Do not call her that,” Ariadne snaps.
“Her egregious impropriety will disgrace her in due course,” Cintia says.
“The rabble she invited to tonight’s ritual will surely tell everyone they know of her thoughtless charity, until we are overrun.
Do you truly believe the sempiterna families will stand for such flagrant disregard of our traditions? ”
“They haven’t a choice,” Ariadne says. “And I do not agree with your assumptions. I am not Grandmother, nor will I ever be. The covens would never have treated me as they did her.”
“Your staggering insecurity aside,” she shakes her head incredulously. “To sacrifice your place in our Goddess’ coven, to relinquish any claim you had to your birthright… That is what I shall never comprehend.”
“If Hecate wanted my loyalty, she should have answered my prayers.” Ariadne spits the words out. “She had many an opportunity to do so, and yet she never did.”
“Vengeance then,” Cintia muses. “I suppose in your mind, that would seem logical.”
“What use does a Goddess have with a pendant, anyhow?” Ariadne asks. “If she wanted it so badly, she should have expressed that to Morgan. Or explained it to me herself.”
She is treading on dangerous ground now, criticizing Hecate’s choices, but she cannot stay silent in the face of these accusations.
“I’ve never seen the Goddess with my own eyes,” Ariadne continues. “I’ve only your word that your description of her desires is true.”
Cintia conjures a glass of wine and takes a long sip, her gaze never leaving Ariadne.
“Regardless of what Morgan may have hoped for, that pendant is a weapon,” she finally says. “Has Iona begun training in combative magic yet, as Moira suggested? How is she faring thus far?”
Ariadne only glares at her.
“Not well, I gather?” Cintia asks with a smirk.
“She needn’t be some hardened warrior.” Ariadne looks away to hide her doubts. “She is… a benevolent healer who aims to rid the world of corruption.”
“Is that what the world needs in times of imminent war? A prim, irenic saint incapable of protecting them?” Cintia asks.
“Morgan thought so,” Ariadne says, starting to doubt it herself. “I will not let her come to harm.”
“So that is your chosen profession then? A glorified watchdog?” Cintia asks. “I suppose with you defending her from every enemy she garners, she needn’t ever raise her voice or cast a single spell. I merely thought your ambitions were far greater than that of a guardian.”
“I did not ask for your opinion on the matter,” Ariadne says as she turns and hastens toward the front door.
“Does she know of the illusions you gave Vivien?” Cintia asks.
Ariadne stops dead in her tracks and squeezes her eyes shut.
“No? How curious. Moira informed me of Iona’s shock when she learned of your failure to earn Hecate’s favor. It seems you could not even trust her with that. I am no longer surprised that she accepts you, when she hardly knows you at all,” Cintia says.
“She knows me better than anyone,” Ariadne says, her voice breaking.
“What else have you concealed within the deepest recesses of your mind?” Cintia asks.
“You can hide away your worst qualities for a time, but not forever. Blood bonds have a way of bringing them to light. Ironic, considering it was your desperate attempt at ensuring she can never leave you. You know as well as I that you will never deserve her. Better to trap her so she has no choice but to stay.”
“Stop,” Ariadne begs, her throat growing so thick, it hurts to speak.
“Am I wrong?” Cintia asks. “For your sake and hers, I truly hope so. To break a blood bond is to rip two souls apart and risk fracturing them in the process. Some never fully heal, never find companionship again for the rest of their miserable lives.”
“We’ve no reason to break the bond. I have nothing to hide.” Ariadne crosses her arms to hide her trembling hands. “She knows of my imperfections.”
“She certainly will,” Cintia says. “I pity the poor creature, to be bound to you for all eternity. I can think of nothing worse.”
“She loves me.” It is all Ariadne can think to say.
“For now.” Her mother waves her off. “Run along. Enjoy defending your beloved from the peril you’ve subjected her to.”
Then her mother laughs, as if it is the finest joke she’s ever heard. Ariadne wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind her, but her mother’s cackle still echoes in her mind. She drops her staff and puts hands over her ears, but it does nothing to block out the taunting, mocking sound.
Putting as much distance between her and the insidious woman outside, Ariadne trips on her feet, nearly falling onto the checkered tile, and collides directly into Euphemia in her haste.
“Ari!” Euphemia grasps her arms to steady her, then frowns. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ariadne says, unconvincingly.
“Why are you weeping?” Euphemia reaches to wipe away the tears, but Ariadne cringes away.
“I’m not,” she says firmly, swiping her hands across her cheeks with unnecessary force.