25 - Iona #2
“Neither had my mother, when she first claimed the pendant,” Xiomara shrugs.
That gives Iona pause. “Hadn’t she?”
“No, not at all,” Xiomara says with an encouraging smile. “Her expertise took years to amass even with the pendant’s enhancements. She’d had a modest education in her childhood, not half what our Ariadne was afforded, and had only just graduated from college when she set out to forge her empire.”
Iona averts her eyes at the mention of Katrin’s conquest, though Xiomara doesn’t seem to notice.
“You mustn’t compare yourself to her, even if others choose to,” she says. “You are so vastly different in nature and in ambition, and there is more than one brand of strength.”
“But the Crone… I cannot afford to be weak,” Iona whispers, unable to keep her dejection from her voice.
“That does not fall on your shoulders alone,” Xiomara reminds her.
“Even when you reach your full strength, the Zerynthos coven shall always be at your disposal. As a fated leader of our people, as a Lysander witch, it’s almost certain you will be a future council member.
Though seats are not always inherited, I imagine when Samuel chooses to step down, you will be his successor.
That day may come sooner than I’d anticipated…
Then you shall have the support of all the great covens, and as the years pass it will likely be your old school mates presiding over the council with you.
Thus is the way of things, the passing of the torch. ”
It’s a great comfort, knowing there is a system in place to support her, but still Iona looks down at her pendant, and sighs.
“If not for Morgan’s decree,” Iona murmurs, “I would wonder if Ariadne should have kept the pendant after all.”
When she looks up, Xiomara meets her gaze, a flurry of emotions glistening within her red orbs.
“It does not do to question fate, Iona. Futile, in fact. And anyhow, I’m sure if Ariadne had claimed it in your stead, she would have troubles of a different sort.
” When Iona regards her questioningly, she continues, “Not all quandaries are best met with aggression and… impulsivity. How do you think she would have conducted herself in the face of Olesya’s recent accusations? ”
When Iona grimaces, Xiomara gives her a knowing look.
“I find that temperance is a rare skill of its own, far more valuable than militance,” Xiomara says. “Worry not, dearest. All will resolve itself in due course.”
Then Raul appears across the room and Xiomara’s smile turns radiant.
“Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I think I may yet have a dance or two in my future,” Xiomara says.
“Of course,” Iona curtsies.
“Won’t you join us?” Raul asks when he approaches and takes his wife’s hand in his.
“Oh… I’m afraid my dance partner is indisposed,” Iona says with an apologetic smile.
“Surely Ariadne wouldn’t object,” he says. “Allow me to find you someone suitable. There would be many a man or woman who would be honored to serve you.”
“A splendid idea, darling,” Xiomara says to him, then places a hand on Iona’s shoulder and murmurs, “It does not do to dwell in sadness.”
Iona lets out a small sigh, then acquiesces. “Very well, but only one dance.”
Raul sets off into the crowd while Iona follows Xiomara to the dance floor.
In hindsight, she is most grateful for Crescentia’s tutelage, for she isn’t as daunted by the prospect of dancing as she has been at every other party she’s attended.
She runs through the steps in her head, muttering the count to herself, when Xiomara excuses herself to find her husband.
Scanning the surrounding mass of people in search of Crescentia, Iona wonders what is taking her so long.
It would be splendid timing if she returned now with Ariadne in tow.
When the string quartet begins a new waltz, Iona stands there awkwardly, still without a partner, until someone comes up behind her, takes her hand and sweeps her away, twirling them about, making Iona dizzy, until she realizes the one holding her is Rebekka.
“Unhand me!” Iona wrenches herself away.
“Oh, come now. It is only a waltz,” Rebekka grins, undeterred.
“You are precisely the last person on earth I would ever wish to dance with,” Iona says, keeping her voice low for both their sakes. The other couples swirl round and round, seemingly unaware of their squabbling.
“It would be a terrible shame if, in all your life, you’d have only danced with one woman,” Rebekka murmurs, mocking her whispering tone. There is a double meaning in her words that makes Iona’s fists clench.
“If it were anyone but Ariadne, I might agree with you,” she retorts. “Kindly find another woman to pester and spare me your company.”
Iona turns to walk away and collides directly into Ariadne.
“Oh!” She cries out, relieved until she takes in Ariadne’s enraged expression. ” Oh… Ari-“
Just as it had in Iceland, their fated magnetism radiates within her, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her flush with heat, unable to resist it, until she releases her grip on Ariadne’s arms and steps away.
“Have you no shame?” Ariadne seethes, barely noticing the affect she has on Iona when she’s glaring at Rebekka, who simply rolls her eyes and walks away. Ariadne tries to follow her.
“No, no. Wait,” Iona hisses, reaching for her again. “Look at me.”
She cups Ariadne’s face in her hands, drawing her gaze back to her, and withstanding the intensity of their magic bearing down mercilessly, until her knees go weak.
“Do not let her rile you,” Iona beseeches her. “She is nothing to me. You are everything.”
But Ariadne’s features have turned to stone, unyielding and unrelenting, her emotions broiling inside her.
“Come,” Iona pleads, taking her hand. “Please? Please? For me?”
Ariadne lets out a shuddering breath, but she allows herself to be pulled away from the ballroom, past Crescentia, whose bewildered expression is nearly comical.
They enter the hall, and Iona means to take Ariadne upstairs to her room, to console her until she’s calmed down, and it’s then she realizes she cannot recall how many days it’s been since they’ve been intimate.
Her own anger bubbles beneath the surface, hating Rebekka for ruining what could have been a halfway decent evening.
She would welcome a distraction from it just as much as Ariadne might.
Longs for it, in fact, after their magic inadvertently awakened her desire and still tingles at her fingers where they’re woven with Ariadne’s.
She is moments away from suggesting they take their leave early when Ariadne pulls her into a dark alcove within an empty hall and pins her against the wall with such a possessive, desperate kiss that steals her breath and makes her moan.
“Quiet,” Ariadne murmurs against her lips.
It takes every ounce of restraint within her to keep silent as Ariadne’s hands rove over her, groping and caressing her like a woman possessed.
“We should-” Iona sucks in a breath when Ariadne burrows into her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin. “We should… not do this here. I cannot keep quiet if you do that.”
“I need to feel you,” Ariadne says, not bothering to whisper, and Iona tenses with alarm until she notices the total silence surrounding them.
Craning her neck to look down the hall, in the distance she can glimpse the foyer filled with people, all frozen in place.
Ariadne has taken her staff from where it had been haphazardly leaning against the wall, the stone glowing with a steady pulse of light, and with her other hand she pulls Iona back, lacing fingers into her hair to keep her in place as she kisses her with abandon.
Iona lets go entirely, uncaring when Ariadne’s magic rips away her clothes, because seconds after Ariadne’s hand moves from her hair to stroke her between her legs, circling her sensitive flesh, then thrusting into her without warning.
Iona gasps, squeezing her eyes shut as Ariadne ravishes her against the cold stone, pressing her hips into her again and again, her long fingers stimulating her deep inside until she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but whimper and grind her hips with equally ravenous hunger, starving for Ariadne’s touch.
Until suddenly time slips back into its normal rhythm, and it takes everything within Iona not to scream in frustration. She looks up at Ariadne, silently pleading with her to stop time again. She certainly tries to, mirroring Iona’s frustration, but time will not yield again.
“Useless,” Ariadne hisses angrily.
Iona grins despite her disappointment as her pleasure fades and her breathing slows. She quickly conjures on clothes again before someone should see her, then says, “Make a portal to your room so we might-”
“…more preoccupied with the lives of common folk than us, but they run no risk of being slaughtered with hardly any magic worth leeching away,” someone whispers.
Tensing with displeasure, Iona peers around the corner again to discern the source of the voice.
“How many of us need die before she deigns to intervene on our behalf?” the same witch whispers.
Struck by a wave of fury, Iona storms down the hall and confronts a blonde woman whose green eyes widen in surprise at being caught.
“What did you say?” Iona asks.
“Iona.” Ariadne tries to coax her towards the stairs.
“No, if you hold grievances against me, I wish to hear them,” she says, aware of the petulance in her tone but no longer caring to feign politeness. Not when her nerves are already rattled, everything within her wound so tightly.
“Uh…” the witch looks between them, with a trace of familiarity towards Ariadne, then glances at the witch beside her for help.
“You two never did learn to keep your mouths shut,” Ariadne snaps, then in a gentler voice says to Iona. “Ignore them. They’re imbeciles.”
A flash of memory, of the two witches gossiping about Ariadne time and again, tearing down her self-worth as if it were sport. Iona glances at her, and she lowers her head, abashed.