20 - Ariadne #3
When Ariadne confesses that she cannot bear to spend one more day in that prison of a villa, Iona has their things packed within the hour.
If the coven has need of them, they will conjure a portal and arrive in haste.
Otherwise, Iona agrees there is no reason for them to stay.
Xiomara wishes them well and promises to write if there is any sign of their enemy.
They travel to Triora, where Nonna welcomes them with open arms. Frankie resides nearby with his parents, but decides to stay with them, too, to keep them company. Within a week, even while their solicitude does not wane, their spirits are moderately lifted.
July swelters even hotter than June, but Ariadne doesn’t mind in the slightest. She spends her days in her Nonna’s sprawling gardens, filled with produce and flowers of nearly every variety, and an orchard of Annurca apple trees.
With green mountains in front of her, and the modest orange roofed house behind her, she feels as if she can breathe for the first time since they’d left Brazil.
“Are you certain of your relation to Frankie?” Crescentia asks.
Sighing heavily, Ariadne cracks open an eye to glare up at her from where she lays in the grass.
The only annoyance she now endures are Crescentia’s constant visits with Frankie.
Today she wears an airy white linen dress, her golden hair loose against her shoulders and fair cheeks pink from long days spent in the sun.
“Quite certain,” Ariadne says.
“He must have inherited all the charm in your family,” Crescentia chuckles.
“Go bother him then, if you enjoy him so,” Ariadne grumbles.
“Best not let Iona hear you speak to me in such a way.”
“Likewise.”
Crescentia smirks, and Ariadne pushes herself up onto her elbows.
“I like him very much,” Crescentia says, observing her expression with caution. “Truly, sincerely, beyond his skills in-”
“He is my cousin,” Ariadne says, scrunching up her nose in disgust.
“Poetry!” Crescentia finishes, then scoffs. “Your lewd assumptions are no fault of mine. Though you would not be wrong about-”
“What do you want, Crescentia?” Ariadne asks.
“Would you be very cross if I wed him?” she asks.
Ariadne balks at her. “Stars above, you’ve just met him!”
“Yes, but I should not grow attached if you’ll skin me alive for accepting his proposal,” Crescentia says.
“Why do you feel the need to ask my permission to irritate me?” Ariadne grumbles. “Do as you wish! I cannot stop you.”
Crescentia’s responding smile is so sweet and full of hope, that Ariadne fights to keep her frown intact.
“You are an entirely ridiculous person.” Ariadne slumps onto her back and stares up at the slow-moving clouds.
“Crescentia!” Frankie calls from within the house. “Where have you gone?”
Ariadne expects her to run inside, but she lingers.
“We are visiting the quarry for a swim this afternoon,” Crescentia says. “Might you join us?”
“No,” Ariadne says. “No, thank you. I am fine here.”
“I asked Iona, but…” Crescentia winces.
“Leave her be. She has much on her mind.”
“I gathered that.”
“Go.” Ariadne waves her off. “Enjoy the summer.”
“If you need anything… Someone to lend an ear…” Crescentia says.
“I don’t,” Ariadne says.
“Very well.” Crescentia runs off toward the house. “I’m here, Frankie!”
Ariadne closes her eyes and tries to sleep while basking in the warm glow of the sun.
She supposes Crescentia must think she spurns their coupling for shallow, inconsequential reasons.
Of course, she does not relish the thought of tolerating Crescentia’s presence at every family gathering for the rest of her life, but she is already stuck with her as Iona’s friend.
In truth, she does not wish for Frankie to tell Crescentia anything about her, her upbringing, her family, her secrets.
She hopes that Frankie will be discreet and know that she wishes for such things to be private, not whispered in every ear across Europe and beyond, as Crescentia tends to facilitate.
“Nipotina!” Nonna calls.
Sitting up, she searches for her grandmother, who waves at her from within the orchard.
“Come, help me with these,” Nonna says.
Ariadne stands and brushes dirt from her maroon skirts, taking her staff from where it rests against the house, and conjures an apron as she walks. She helps her Nonna pick apples while Aster sits between them, panting heavily from the heat.
“Is it not too early to pick them?” Ariadne asks.
“Some are ripe enough,” Nonna assures her. “Trust me, child. I know what I’m doing.”
“Of course,” Ariadne says quickly.
They pick apples in silence for a moment, with Nonna lightly smacking Ariadne’s hand if she reaches for an apple she doesn’t approve of.
“Where is Iona?” Nonna asks.
“Studying again,” Ariadne says.
Before leaving Villa Mitriora, they’d gathered a selection of grimoires from the library so Iona can continue expanding her lexicon of spells.
There will always be crossover from one spell book to another, but every fifty pages or so, a new incantation will emerge.
She has poured over nearly half of the books they’d borrowed already.
“She will make herself sick,” Nonna says.
“I already inquired if she wished to join me,” Ariadne says, shrugging to mask her concern.
“You should not have given her the option,” Nonna says.
“You wish to get me in trouble,” Ariadne says, cutting her a wry look.
“Lover’s quarrels are the spice of life.” Nonna’s eyes twinkle.
“Then I’d say my life with Iona is almost too spicy,” Ariadne grimaces.
“Passion, jealousy, and drama are in your blood. You’d best embrace it,” Nonna says. “That excitement is what attracted her to you in the first place, was it not?”
“It is also what she complains about the most,” Ariadne protests.
“She knows the woman she loves,” Nonna says. “I see how she has you wrapped around her finger, doting on her hand and foot.”
“She does not!” Ariadne blushes scarlet.
“You’d best acquaint yourself to complaining, too. That’s half of what a marriage is,” Nonna says.
“We aren’t wed,” Ariadne reminds her.
“I should keep you in separate rooms, then?” Nonna raises an eyebrow.
“Uh…” Ariadne’s heart sinks.
Nonna chuckles. “You wilt at the mere thought of a night’s separation from her? My, my, you are hopelessly smitten.”
Ariadne’s flush deepens. “Nonna…”
“If you insist on taking your time to propose, then you must hold the wedding on Samhain so I might see your dress in the afterlife,” Nonna says.
Shaking her head incredulously, Ariadne picks another apple, trying to hide her face within the branches. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Nonna eyes her, then picks another apple and tosses it into a wicker basket behind her.
“I gave you a week,” Nonna says.
“Pardon?” Ariadne asks.
“A week to tell me what is troubling you. I’ve lost my patience,” she says, “Out with it.”
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Ariadne stutters.
Nonna puts her hands on her hips and, though the elderly woman is more than a head shorter than her, Ariadne gulps.
“I suppose I do have concerns…” Ariadne hedges.
“And what might they be?” Nonna asks.
It all comes out in a rush. Tatiana Nicolo’s haunting presence at the solstice ball, her mother’s vicious words on the front steps of the manor, the comments from the two witches in the ballroom, all of it spills from her lips until she cannot say another word without telling the coven’s secrets or relenting her anxieties about Rebekka’s enduring interest in Iona, which she could never explain to her own grandmother.
Fortunately, what she does divulge proves enough to satisfy her grandmother’s inquisition.
“My word,” Nonna says. “That is… a great deal to consider.”
Ariadne bites her lip and waits for her to organize her thoughts.
“Do you feel changed since consuming Elise’s power?” Nonna asks.
“No…” Her skin itches with discomfort at the prospect. “I never considered there might be negative effects. Stupid of me, I suppose.”
“Those are your mother’s words,” Nonna chastises. “This is an unprecedented situation. I don’t see how you could have predicted its outcome.”
She picks another apple and spins it in her hand to admire its red luster.
“You needn’t panic over it,” she decides. “Any ailments would have manifested by now. It was Elise’s spell, not yours, that leeched her power away. Is that not so?”
Ariadne frowns. “But if maleficium was transferred to me-”
“I doubt the staff would poison you,” Nonna says, “but I suppose if it unnerves you so, you should avoid leeching curses in future.”
“That may prove difficult, with malefician attacks becoming frequent,” Ariadne murmurs.
“Speak with Xiomara,” Nonna suggests. “She might even ask Hecate on your behalf. A Goddess of magic will know if there is anything to fear.”
She hadn’t considered asking Hecate for guidance in this matter.
Perhaps if she prays, this time Hecate will deign to respond.
She is far more comfortable asking Aunt Xiomara but does not know how to do so without Iona overhearing, and she should not be burdened with this when she has more than enough to concern herself with.
“As for the pendant, I don’t see why you should torment yourself over it now, no matter who’s decision it was or wasn’t,” Nonna says.
“Iona has it. It cannot be undone. She must live with that, and she has you to help her. Your mother may hate you for your choice, but how is that any different from before?”
Nonna waves her wand, made of copper, and the apple in her hand is sliced. She offers it to Ariadne, who picks the smallest piece. As she takes a bite and chews, appreciating its tart sweetness, she supposes Nonna is right.
“Do you regret giving her the pendant?” Nonna asks.
“No,” Ariadne says on an impulse, but the more she considers it, the less certain she is of her choice.
“Then what is the problem? She did want it, after all,” Nonna reminds her. “You must trust her to know what is good for her.”
“I do,” Ariadne says.
“No…” Nonna muses. “I don’t think you do.”
“I am telling you that-” Ariadne sighs. “Would I have bonded to her if I did not trust her?”
“On the contrary. I find that blood bonds can lead to the very absence of trust,” Nonna says, her eyes darkening.
“I don’t know if I agree,” Ariadne says, contemplating her eternal vulnerability and Iona’s in turn. It is an ever-constant crucible of verity between them.
“You call her nymph?” Nonna asks.
A small smile lifts Ariadne’s lips. “Yes, at times I do.”
“A water spirit with no real magic, only an ornamental woman of beauty. Is that truly what you think of her?” Nonna asks.
“No, of course not. It is only a pet name,” Ariadne says, then admits. “I said it once as a slight, but it’s since turned into an endearment. Without context you may judge it harshly, but it is said with love.”
“That matters not. You should recognize her strength more than anyone,” Nonna says. “Names have power. You shouldn’t belittle her, even in jest.”
Ariadne lowers her head, thinking back on the recent times she’s said it, and hopes that Iona never felt disparaged. Nonna takes another bite of apple, her umber eyes dissecting her.
“As for Tatiana, it is quite simple,” Nonna says. “You must confront her. When next you see her, take her aside and listen. Whatever it is she has to say, it cannot be any worse than your fear of the unknown. You’ve already healed her sister. She may wish to thank you for it.”
Ariadne snorts, and Nonna narrows her eyes.
“You are so quick to assume the worst,” she says. “Listen to her and move forward. Or let her presence repel you at every gathering you attend, until she decides to make a scene at the worst possible moment.”
Offering Ariadne another piece of apple, Nonna gives the rest to Aster and tosses away the core. She casts a floating spell on the basket to bring it back to the house.
“I am not entirely ignorant of your family’s secrets,” she says.
Ariadne stiffens, but Nonna puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Do not tell me anything that would cause you harm,” she says. “As my son has told me countless times, only those within the coven may know its inner workings. He only knows what Cintia deigns to tell him.”
“How do you know?” Ariadne asks. “What have you heard?”
“My mother once told stories of the time before Katrin’s ascent,” Nonna says.
“Maleficians were far more common in those days, capable of destroying entire cities. They are the reason for the horrid reputation of witches amongst humans, who were the most vulnerable in the attacks. It induced the plague of witch trials. So much death… primarily of common witches and warlocks, or unfortunate humans scapegoated by their community.”
Being reminded of Iona’s recollection of Lucretia’s plight in this very city more than a century ago, Ariadne looks out at the city of Triora and wonders if Lucretia’s grave was ever marked, so she might leave flowers for her.
“When Katrin claimed the pendant in her youth, and a new age began, the maleficians mysteriously withdrew from the world. A rather fortuitous coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” Nonna asks.
Unsure whether she can confirm such a thing or not, Ariadne doesn’t respond.
“No one ever speaks of such things, but many have observed Katrin’s influence.
It is why no one ever thought to oppose her in her conquest. The great covens sought her protection and were willing to give her anything in exchange,” Nonna says.
“If Iona has been inducted into the Zerynthos coven, then I can understand your unease.”
She sets the basket of apples on her kitchen table and takes a seat. “Do not let your fears cloud your judgement. Support her. Protect her. That is all you can do.”
Ariadne nods solemnly, grateful for any advice when she feels so completely lost.
“In that spirit, is there anything you might do for her now?” Nonna asks. “If she carries on this way, she will work herself to death.”
“I shall think of something,” Ariadne says, pondering how to navigate Iona’s prolonged isolation.