25 - Iona
D ays turn to weeks, and before long the autumnal equinox is upon them.
Another ritual, another harvesting of magic amongst friends and adversaries.
There are many more covens present the second time around, with the noted absence of Kokuro Sato and her family.
There is also a diverse crowd of Marcel Beaumont’s acquaintances who marvel at the spectacle and seem more at ease this time.
Xiomara suggests holding the ritual at a walnut tree in Benevento where witches have long gathered for sabbaths over the centuries. Iona does as instructed and the rush of power is just as rapturous as the solstice, an all too fleeting moment of perfect clarity and euphoria.
The reception is held at Villa Mitriora this time, mostly out of necessity, and Xiomara is insistent that she does not mind hosting. Given her bouts of fatigue and aches that prove increasingly difficult to withstand, Iona is grateful for the assistance.
Just as before, Crescentia takes her through the crowd to fraternize with the many covens, but there is a definite shift in the air, whispers percolating whenever her back is turned, and critical looks from witches peering at her from behind their lace fans.
Ariadne elects to stand with Frankie, who speaks with her excitedly, until she hushes him, and takes him inside to speak more privately. Iona watches her go and tries not to lament her absence too strongly.
“Oh…” Crescentia grimaces.
“What’s wrong?” Iona asks.
“The Virtanens.” Crescentia reluctantly slows her steps. “Or… would you prefer to meet them? I could introduce you…”
“I cannot possibly meet every family in attendance,” Iona says, taking her arm, “They can wait until Yule. Or perhaps Spring.”
“I adore you,” Crescentia grins as she embraces her fiercely before leading her to a new family and making another round of introductions. She singles out every remaining council member in attendance, so that Iona is sure to meet them all.
Night falls by the time she is reunited with her college professors, Rayowa Salum, Corella Yun, Josephine Salvador, and Talulah Pari.
“Where is Ariadne?” Yun asks.
“She… I’m not quite sure to be honest.” Iona scans the crowd again, but cannot find her or Frankie anywhere, so she sips her wine and searches for anything else to say. “She’ll be along any moment. Are you enjoying the summer?”
“Yes, indeed,” Yun says. “The sage in my garden flourished while I was away. My daughter tended to it painstakingly and I must say I am quite proud.”
“How old is she?” Iona asks.
“Nearly four and ten. I can hardly believe it,” Yun says with a wistful smile.
“And already she has quite the talent at phytology,” Pari comments.
Yun beams with pride. Pari tells of her son, who is nearly six and can already see glimpses of the future. Iona cannot imagine having such insights at so young an age. Salum tells of her twenty grandchildren. She knows them all by name and disposition.
“And your family is well, I trust?” Iona asks Salvador.
There is a collective wince from the other professors, and Iona immediately regrets her inquiry.
“All is well with me. You are very kind to ask,” Salvador says with a polite smile.
“Forgive me, I…” Iona is grateful when Crescentia approaches.
“Might I take her away for just a moment?” she asks.
“Of course,” Salvador says. “It was lovely to see you, Iona.”
Iona curtsies and lets Crescentia take her away again.
“Where to now?” Iona asks.
“Do not hate me,” Crescentia begs.
“The Ulanovas then.” Iona mirrors her expression. She’d been unsure what to make of their decision to attend this ritual, when they’d decided to abstain from her first.
“I shall ensure it is a brief exchange,” Crescentia promises.
“Not brief enough,” Iona mutters.
The Ulanovas congregate beyond the bustling crowd with an imperious and sullen air about them. Their necks and fingers glitter with jewels, and not one of them possesses a familiar. Iona lifts Wisp into her arms, finding comfort in her warm fur against her chest.
“Olesya Ulanova is their leader,” Crescentia reminds her. “Ksenia’s mother.”
“Oh dear…” Iona schools her features.
She searches for any sign of Ksenia in their company, but she is nowhere to be found, which is curious but not all too surprising. She must have departed after the ritual or is keeping to herself somewhere on the outskirts of the party.
Olesya is a tall, intimidating figure with her daughter’s blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Her husband, Nikolai, stands behind her with emerald eyes and spectacles that he adjusts to better appraise them. Crescentia makes the introductions, and they all bow and curtsy. Iona clears her throat.
“It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Ulanova,” Iona says.
“Quite,” Olesya says, her voice thin and sharp. “Though you did take your time in making it.”
Iona flushes. “My apologies, there are a great many covens to-”
“Yes, yes.” Olesya waves a disinterested hand. “Now that you’re here, we may discuss the rather alarming rise in malefician attacks.”
At the very mention of maleficians, the ballroom goes quiet, just as the nearby string quartet finishes a song. For a few agonizing seconds, Iona’s heartbeat thumps loudly in her chest, so loud she wonders if Olesya can hear it, too.
“Do you intend on aiding us in tempering these hostilities?” Olesya presses.
The quartet begins a new song, and the melody jolts Iona into speaking. “Yes, of course.”
“The council will be relieved to hear it,” Olesya says. “Though the Lysander seat has been regrettably empty of late.”
“My uncle is convalescing-”
“Yes, I am well aware,” Olesya sniffs. “The least you could have done for that man was give his daughter a quick death.”
Iona flinches. “I beg your pardon?”
“He shall suffer indefinitely now,” Olesya says. “A spectacle made of his misfortune… He and his wife should have been spared the humiliation, but it is too late now.”
“I shan’t deal in death and lawless castigation,” Iona says. “Nor will Ariadne.”
“She’s had no issue with such things before.” Olesya raises an eyebrow. “I suppose she’s outgrown her ruthlessness.”
Refusing to acknowledge the reference to Vivien, Iona says, “Ariadne’s staff contains magic that can repel maleficium and-”
“Is that so?” Olesya glances at her husband.
“And I am studying combative magic to-”
“Studying it?” Olesya’s eyes widen in dismay. “You mean to tell me you’ve no defensive training at all?”
“No, that isn’t exactly-”
“Did your mother not teach you?” Nikolai echoes his wife’s disbelief.
“She could not…” Iona stutters. “It is rather complicated.”
“How on earth did you manage to claim the pendant with such deficient instruction?” Olesya asks. “And where is Ariadne? If she is the one with any chance of defeating a malefician, perhaps she should hear my appeal.”
Olesya looks her over, entirely unimpressed by her silence. Iona does not wish to speak only to regret her words later, though it is becoming increasingly difficult to restrain herself, her frustration transmuting into barely restrained contempt, but she knows she mustn’t cause a scene.
“Fetch Ariadne, won’t you?” Iona whispers to Crescentia, who nods rapidly and wastes no time in slipping into the crowd, far away from the Ulanovas.
“You are the one Morgan chose?” Olesya asks. “She must have a sense of humor.”
“She did not choose me for my talent at war,” Iona says, flushing.
“That much is woefully apparent,” she says. “Regardless our lands must be safeguarded, and you will be expected to join in our defensive-”
“Now, now,” Xiomara says as she approaches, draped in a gown of Tyrian purple. “This is simply not the time, nor place for such inquiries.”
“I’m not much concerned with formalities when darkness lurks at our doorstep,” Olesya says, but her words have considerably less bite.
“And yet, I must insist you withhold your concerns for a more appropriate occasion,” Xiomara says, her smile tight.
Olesya’s eyes flit between them, then she chuckles darkly. “I must commend you for your cunning, Xiomara. What, did you advise Ariadne to seduce her competition in the event that she should fail? Supplying you with a pliant vassal queen to further your ambitions.”
Iona’s cheeks burn. “My union with Ariadne was not arranged, and I am of my own mind.”
“Indeed. And if I may be so bold, it’s Iona who has Ariadne entirely besotted,” Xiomara grins, despite the tension between them all.
“That’s not… I wouldn’t say it quite like that.” Iona bites her lip to hold back her nervous smile.
Olesya scowls but finally lets the matter rest. “Where is Cintia?”
“I’m afraid I’ve not seen her. You know how she can be at these sorts of gatherings,” Xiomara shrugs. “She’ll be hiding away somewhere.”
Olesya gives them a brief curtsy before leaving with her husband following dutifully at her heels. Iona exhales with relief at her departure.
“Don’t fret,” Xiomara says in a low voice. “You handled that quite well.”
“Did I?” Iona looks up at her with skepticism.
“Olesya is a chronic sniveler,” Xiomara rolls her eyes.
“When the maleficians are dealt with, and the Crone defeated, she will come to you with any number of complaints besides. She detests asking for help, as it’s an admission that she hasn’t the power to resolve her own problems, so she will punish you any way she can. ”
“I see,” Iona says. “I shan’t take her words to heart then.”
“Good,” Xiomara says, then appraises her fondly.
“What?” Iona asks.
“My usefulness shall only last for a brief interlude,” Xiomara decides. “Soon enough I suspect you shall indeed become a queen amongst nobles, navigating our tempestuous natures with effortless grace.”
Iona looks down at her hands. “That is a far too generous prediction.”
“Nonsense,” Xiomara says. “I see now what Morgan saw in you. A budding diplomat bringing with you a time of peace and unity. I welcome it.”
“But…” Iona sighs, “Olesya is right to doubt me. I haven’t mastered my spell work yet and-”