16 - Ariadne #3
Euphemia gives her a once over. “Should I find Iona?”
“No,” Ariadne says quickly, then feigns nonchalance, “All is well. I must go.”
“No, you should stay and keep me company instead,” Euphemia says, grasping her wrist.
Ariadne’s anger flares as she tries to wrench herself free. “Why do you always order me about? Am I some pet to you, too?”
“No,” Euphemia says calmly.
“Just because I once thought you beautiful does not mean I am ever at your command,” Ariadne says petulantly, “Your beauty could never compare to Iona’s anyhow.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Euphemia agrees, her voice maddeningly even.
“And I did not need you asking after me last summer as if I were some errant child,” Ariadne rambles. “Ksenia told me of your constant inquiries.”
“I am sure she did,” Euphemia says.
“I never asked for your meddlesome interference in my life,” Ariadne rambles on. “I never needed you.”
“I’ve gathered that,” Euphemia says.
“Then please, just… return to the party and leave me be,” Ariadne says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Oh, if I am not permitted to order you about, then likewise you have no power over me.” Euphemia lifts her chin. “This is my house, and I shall do as I wish.”
“Fine, then I shall go,” Ariadne huffs and tries to leave, but Euphemia keeps hold of her arm.
“I must insist you stay with me a while,” she says.
“Why? Why won’t you just leave me be?” Ariadne asks, refusing to succumb to her emotions.
“You are in a right state… I couldn’t very well unleash you on the covens and expect anything less than catastrophe.
You will only regret your actions later.
Nor should you isolate yourself to fixate on whatever is tormenting you,” Euphemia says.
“And lastly, despite your best efforts, I am quite fond of you, you foolish thing. I’ve not seen you in months and would very much enjoy your company. “
Ariadne’s shoulders slump with exhaustion and she rubs her face so hard it hurts.
Her mother’s words, her threats, her cruel precognitions are like haunting vermin buzzing in her ears, making her skin crawl.
Euphemia takes a cautious, quiet step towards her, then carefully embraces her, whispering soothing words.
“Forgive me,” Ariadne sniffles. “I did not mean what I said, I…”
Euphemia holds her until she weeps openly, unable to hold back her tears anymore, however embarrassed by her emotions she might be. She does not know how long they stand there before Ariadne finally pulls away, refusing to meet Euphemia’s gaze.
“Who has made you so wretched?” she asks, appalled.
“I…” Ariadne hesitates.
“Tell me, Ariadne,” Euphemia orders.
“It was only my mother,” she says, in a pitiful attempt at nonchalance. “She intercepted me on the steps and-”
Euphemia scowls as she storms to the door and wrenches it open without a second thought.
“No, don’t!” Ariadne cries, but to her great relief, her mother is not standing between the pillars, cigarette in hand, as she’d been moments ago. She must have wandered back to the party or returned home to Thessaly in her carriage.
Euphemia huffs with disappointment. “I certainly did not invite that harpy to my home. She had best avoid crossing my path, for I have many a word to-”
“Stay away from her,” Ariadne says, perhaps too forcefully, because Euphemia’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I do not want you near her.”
“Alright,” Euphemia says softly, shepherding her back inside.
“Promise me,” Ariadne insists.
“I promise,” Euphemia says, then adds, “but I shan’t promise to stand idle if I see you mistreated.”
Ariadne tries to protest, but Euphemia puts up a finger to silence her.
“I knew it the moment I found you in my woods that day,” she says. “That portal was meant to bring you to my doorstep. We were destined to be friends, and so we shall always be.”
Ariadne’s tormenting thoughts abate for a moment as she remembers that day when Euphemia had found her, shivering and feral, and snuck her into the nearby dining room to conjure her a feast of fish, fresh berries, soups, meat pies, cakes, more food than Ariadne could ever hope to eat.
They’d gorged themselves until the sun rose and Ariadne resigned herself to leave, though she’d wished she could stay forever.
“I shall not suffer any harm committed to my friends,” Euphemia says with fierce determination. “We are children no longer. Any affront to you shall be met in kind.”
“You mustn’t concern yourself,” Ariadne says softly.
“Oh, but I shall,” Euphemia says, without a trace of doubt. “Samaira and I may duel over who is your very best friend, but I shall leave that for another, less sacred day.”
Ariadne grins despite herself. “And I’ve no say in the matter?”
“None whatsoever,” Euphemia smiles back, and her eyes betray her relief. “Now come to the sitting room and gossip with me.”
Ariadne scoffs with mock contempt. “You are worse than Crescentia.”
“Perhaps, but I am the very best at gathering secrets.” Euphemia waggles her eyebrows. “Crescentia only totes yesterday’s news, most of which she gets from me.”
“Amaze me then,” she acquiesces, letting Euphemia pull her along. “What has everyone been up to while I’ve been away?”
They enter the sitting room, with a marble fireplace, Turkish rugs, decadent furniture, but there, by the bay windows, is a pianoforte painted carmine red.
“Play for me while I tell you?” Euphemia asks.
“Surely you didn’t…” Ariadne looks to her, but she only smiles encouragingly and gestures for her to take a seat.
She does so, bewildered, unsure if she should thank Euphemia, or perhaps she shouldn’t assume it’s for her.
She knows Euphemia doesn’t know how to play, but perhaps Leonid does, and he also happens to favor red.
But when she looks up at Euphemia, leaning with her head against her hand on the piano’s lid, she knows without a doubt that the instrument is meant for her.
“Will you play the sonata I sent you?” Euphemia asks.
Ariadne pales. “Oh… Um… No, I…”
She giggles, “I shan’t force you, silly. I only asked because I’ve heard it’s quite beautiful.”
“I require more time to practice,” Ariadne says.
“Fair enough,” Euphemia says, unbothered, just as Frida soars into the room and lands upon her shoulder.
Settling on Mozart’s seventeenth piano sonata, Ariadne plays the joyful song while Euphemia prattles on about births, deaths, and scandals of all varieties. It’s a familiar soliloquy that fills Ariadne with a rush of nostalgia for somewhat simpler times.
In those days, she and Euphemia would sit by the hearth in her parents’ ballroom, lounging on chaises and drowning themselves in expensive champagne, laughing at whatever drama their peers were embroiled in that particular week.
“Someone stole clippings of Vadoma’s datura,” Euphemia says conspiratorially. “She sent letters far and wide warning us against it, and she may very well hex the leaves next time, so take care which plants you cut clippings from.”
“If she insists on cultivating her plants in forests rather than greenhouses, how can she possibly expect to maintain ownership?” Ariadne asks. “I’ve told her countless times, unless she deigns to raise up signs, or some such thing, no one would know they are property. They will think it wild.”
“She claims greenhouses stunt the growth,” Euphemia shrugs.
“Control the growth,” Ariadne corrects her. “It could be deer eating the datura for all we know.”
“Should we see any deer flying about, the mystery shall be solved.” Euphemia giggles and Ariadne joins in.
When their laughter subsides, there is nothing but the song to fill the silence between them.
“I’ve missed our talks,” Euphemia says softly.
Ariadne plays a false note, grimacing in annoyance, but she refuses to respond.
“I was admittedly distracted by the wedding, and my lying in,” Euphemia admits, “but I never did forget you. I feel as if you wished I had.”
“That’s not so.” Ariadne shakes her head.
“Why then?” Euphemia asks. “Why did you cast me aside as you did?”
“I did not cast you aside,” Ariadne scoffs defensively, the sonata’s tempo racing faster in her agitation.
“You did,” Euphemia says. “Even Iona thinks so. She inquired about it quite persistently and I could not deny it.”
“When?” Ariadne looks up, abruptly ending the song.
“While you were sitting at the pianoforte at Rebekka’s party,” Euphemia says.
Ariadne runs a nervous hand through her hair and mutters, “You did not…”
“I did not what?”
“I was angry. Not with you.”
“I should hope not,” Euphemia says with mild indignance.
Ariadne frowns as repressed emotions rise up again. “You did not protect me as you promised.”
Euphemia’s face falls. “I did try.”
“I know.”
“I tried to visit-”
“I know.”
Euphemia sighs, at a loss. “Would you have bid me abduct you in the dead of night? Take you to the farthest ends of the Earth and live as hermits in some forgotten meadow, like the witches from fairytales?”
Though she means it as an outlandish jest, Ariadne imagines it with a sudden fervent longing. If only they had escaped together, hid themselves away, left marriages and pendants and duty behind. Led peaceful, simple lives.
“They would have certainly found us,” Ariadne murmurs.
It is a pleasant fiction, one that she wishes were true, but only if she could still meet and love Iona. Otherwise, she would gladly live through all her misfortunes again than risk losing her.
“It was your idea to commit that lascivious farce in the first place. I know well the destruction of rumor. It spreads faster than disease, faster than fire, and impossible to reverse once spoken. Even I could not prevent that forever. I tried to warn you against it, but you were adamant it must be so,” Euphemia says.
standing and taking her hand, “You wouldn’t listen to reason. You are too self-sacrificing.”