25 - Iona #3
“We were never in such constant peril under Katrin’s rule,” the other witch sneers. “She may have been a tyrant, but she, at least, had the good sense to prioritize the interests of sempiterna covens over those nameless scum.”
“They have as much of a right to attend my rituals as any of you. I shall not stand for such blatant prejudice.” Iona considers it, then narrows her eyes. “You are no longer welcome here.”
The two witches raise their eyebrows in utter shock. One of them stutters, “But-”
“Conduct your own rituals elsewhere,” Iona says. “I never wish to see your faces again.”
“You cannot turn us away!” the blonde witch cries.
“Indeed, I can,” Iona says. “Consider it a blessing. Maleficians will have far less interest in you without abundant magic, or so you claim. Your safety, and that of your ancestors, is permanently assured.”
An incredulous chuckle escapes Ariadne’s lips and the witches glare at her.
“Just as I suspected!” Silvano Evora approaches from where he’d been listening silently. “Your charity is only an act. We must do as you say or risk-”
Ariadne goes to stand between them, but Iona pushes past her to confront her enraged uncle.
“Oh, come off it,” Iona scoffs. “You are only bitter that I won’t conquer land for a family that scorns my very existence!”
Silvano’s face turns red with indignation. “You mistake-”
“I am but a commodity for all you parasites!” Iona spits. “Merely a tool for your own selfish collusions!”
“Iona,” Ariadne’s voice is low, the disapproval in her tone only inciting Iona’s anger until it reaches a boiling point.
“How in good conscience can you claim to deserve magic more than those who can barely cast two spells in one day!” Iona yells. “I will not apologize for-”
A hand brushes down her spine, and she cringes away from it.
“No,” Iona whimpers.
“Pardon?” Gisela asks.
“I…” Iona rubs her face as memories fade into nothing.
“Iona?” Crescentia reaches for her hand.
She flinches away. “I wasn’t finished, I…”
“Finished with what?” Gisela asks, raising an eyebrow.
A splitting headache radiates behind her eyes, and any time she attempts to recall anything past a few seconds ago, a blinding pain has her crying out and squeezing her eyes shut. Someone takes her arm and pulls her off to the side.
“Find Ariadne,” Crescentia whispers to Gisela.
“I am not speaking to her,” she says.
“That hardly matters!” Crescentia snaps.
An angry huff, and Gisela’s footsteps clatter off into the dense crowd.
“What do you need?” Crescentia whispers. “Tell me.”
“My head,” Iona whimpers.
A gentle hand rubs her back in soothing circles. She struggles to lift her eyelids and look up into Crescentia’s concerned amber eyes.
“Perhaps a cup of chamomile tea would help,” Crescentia suggests. “My mother suffers from hemicrania from time to time, and she often drinks it.”
“Please take me inside,” Iona pleads. “I must lie down.”
“Of course,” Crescentia takes her arm. “Lean against me.”
Her head lolls against Crescentia’s shoulder as they slowly make their way along the outskirts of the party.
Her eyelids droop again as fatigue nearly incapacitates her, until an image of Gisela overtakes her vision, her eyes alight with mischief and desire, shrugging her chemise off her shoulders to reveal her breasts to Ariadne’s gaze.
Iona jolts, suddenly wide awake as she tries to shake the image from her head, but the memory is not fleeting as the others have been.
It continues on, showing Gisela perched on a bed, beckoning Ariadne closer, until Nenet joins her and comes to lean against her friend’s back, reaching around to cup Gisela’s breasts in her hands, pressing soft kisses to her neck, all while looking directly at Ariadne, daring her to join them.
“No,” Iona cringes, as the view of the two women grows closer, more detailed, when Ariadne had stepped out of her own clothes before climbing onto the bed, reaching out to touch…
“What’s ailing her?” Salvador asks as she approaches, though Iona still cannot see.
“I… I’m not sure,” Crescentia says.
“Iona, can you hear me?” Salvador asks.
“Yes,” Iona murmurs, the memory finally fading, but she deeply dreads its return.
“Let me help you,” Salvador says, taking her other arm.
She and Crescentia guide her to the villa and set her down in a chair against the wall of the atrium.
“I’ll find Ariadne,” Crescentia says. “Gisela will not know where to bring her.”
She could easily call for Ariadne through the bond, but she abstains to give herself time to calm before facing her. She tries to remember when she last saw her, but it only causes more pain.
“I’ll stay with her,” Salvador says, and Crescentia gives her thanks before she leaves.
Groaning, Iona puts her head in her hands, breathing heavily, her heart racing in her chest.
“Here,” Salvador offers her a cup of amber liquid.
“What… is it?” Iona pants.
“Orujo,” Salvador says. “Spanish brandy.”
She takes it and tries to drink it in one gulp, but it burns her throat terribly, and she coughs into her hand.
“Easy there,” Salvador chuckles.
“That’s poisonous,” Iona sputters, then takes another swig.
“That’s it,” Salvador says, giving her a moment to catch her breath. “Now, I am no longer your professor so you’ve no obligation to tell me, but I must ask what happened out there.”
Iona sighs, the shards of ice clinking against the glass as she swirls it around.
“It’s nothing, I…” Iona sighs. “The blood bond got the better of me again, but it is just… I shouldn’t let it upset me but… it’s driving me insane. I cannot take this anymore. I cannot stand it, the figments and… the visceral memories, and I…”
The confession is as much a comfort as it is mortifying to admit to Salvador of all people. When Iona dares to look at her, Salvador’s brown eyes are cast down on her shoes as she fiddles with the button of her jacket cuff.
“Ariadne told me of your disapproval when you learned of our bond, after we escaped from the tunnels in the forest,” Iona says.
“Did she?” Salvador still doesn’t look up.
“I suppose we must’ve seemed rather foolish in your eyes.” Iona bites her lip to keep it from trembling.
“No, it wasn’t that,” Salvador says, then sighs and comes to sit beside Iona, taking the glass from her and drinking deeply.
“I was once bonded to my life’s great love, Dayana.
We were only a year or two older than you and Ariadne are now.
So, you see, I would be a terrible hypocrite to criticize your choices. ”
The same thinly veiled pain crosses Salvador’s expression, that which Iona had noticed when she’d asked about her family earlier.
“We grew apart,” Salvador says in answer to Iona’s unspoken question.
“Time had its effect and as we changed, we found we had less and less in common. We were constantly aware of it, of the ways we vexed each other and disappointed each other, unable to escape our mutual discontentment for nearly a decade. It was… hell.”
Iona worries at her bottom lip, mustering the courage to ask what is really on her mind. “How does it feel… after the bond is severed?”
Salvador’s expression darkens. “It was a different sort of torture. I couldn’t see beyond the emptiness, the loss of her, but much like the illusions I cast in class, when I learned how to see what’s true, beyond the veneer of romanticization, I saw that I had only fallen in love with my perception of her, then became melded into her.
We’d ceased to be individuals and when we separated, it took time to reform my worth, redefine my life’s purpose, and heal…
Anyhow, I have come a long way since that time. ”
“Indeed,” Iona says. “If I may say so, you were my favorite professor at college. Apart from Samuel, of course, but he has a familial advantage.”
“That’s very kind.” She smiles. “I trust you’ve been practicing your illusions then? You’ve a talent for casting them, but you never did master the art of seeing beyond them. It isn’t a skill that can be perfected in only one year.”
“I… I have practiced a bit, but my studies have been focused elsewhere for a while,” Iona says.
“Do not forget,” Salvador says. “Some never master it but for those who do, it can be quite liberating. It can happen in an instant, a sudden revelation that renders them practically transparent to the-”
The sound of yelling in the distance makes them tense with alarm, until Iona recognizes one of the voices.
“Oh no…” She sprints from the atrium and into the hall, with Salvador following close behind.
“What’s happened?” Salvador asks.
The moment they turn a corner and find a red-faced Ariadne and unperturbed Rebekka, Salvador hesitates.
“Uh… I should return to the festivities,” Salvador says, wisely removing herself from their presence. “Unless you’d prefer me to-”
“I have it well in hand,” Iona assures her, gesturing for her to go, for Ariadne might combust at the very sight of Salvador in her current state of mind.
“She is mine alone. Do you understand?” Ariadne yells.
“What a fuss you’re making,” Rebekka chuckles incredulously. “There’s no need for hysterics.”
“Do not act so cavalier,” Ariadne persists. “I know well how you seduce women.”
“Only those who want me, as you well know,” Rebekka says, then a sensual smile curves her lips. “Is that why you are so incensed? You’ve seen her lust for me in her mind?”
Blushing furiously, Iona runs up and braces herself before grasping Ariadne’s arm to hold her back, unfettered rage radiating from her, and their magic hitting Iona like a storm wind, but she fights to keep her expression neutral.
“Please,” Iona begs, her voice shaking. “Do not make a scene.”
“Listen to her, Ari,” Rebekka says.
“Don’t call me that,” Ariadne spits, then in a marginally gentler tone she says. “Iona, please go.”
“No.” Iona’s grip tightens around her arm. “Not without you.”
Sighing, Ariadne glares at Rebekka, and Iona watches her face, taken aback when she looks to be on the verge of tears.
“You swore to me,” Ariadne whispers.
Rebekka furrows her brow ever so slightly, her expression otherwise unreadable.
But before Iona can ask what she means, Samaira runs down the hall, eyes wide with terror as she cries, “Blood. There’s so much blood…”