30 - Ariadne #2
Ariadne slams her hands down against the ivory keys, the opening notes inciting a startled gasp or two and drawing all eyes to her.
She plays the third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, the part that she cannot seem to master, despite her many, many attempts.
Euphemia had expressed her hope to hear the full sonata performed when she finished learning it, but that’s impossible now.
“As I was saying,” Olesya says, annoyed, “I thought I might inquire upon a rumor I overheard.”
“Rumors are a cancer.” Iona’s speech is slurred.
“Indeed.” Olesya chuckles almost nervously. “However, I must insist. Is it true you intend on bequeathing marks to the common folk you’ve taken to inviting to your rituals? I cannot help wondering how you plan to determine which should deserve-”
“I suppose you are also of the opinion that your mark is a divine right?” Iona wipes a hand down her face with exasperation.
The agitated tempo of the song only grows increasingly erratic as Ariadne attempts to drown out the conversation, but even if the sound doesn’t reach her, the bond will compensate for her hearing.
“I wouldn’t say divine,” Olesya says, half-heartedly.
“Yes, I imagine you’d avoid saying that sort of thing aloud,” Iona grumbles.
“I merely wish to raise concerns of the potential ramifications,” Olesya says. “If they were to misuse their newfound abilities, it could lead to unmitigated chaos.”
“As opposed to the tranquility we now find ourselves in?” Iona asks.
“It could always be worse,” Olesya says.
The arpeggiated passages become simple as scales when Ariadne’s unrest grows, her gaze locked on her hands.
“I’ve recently found myself questioning the necessity of marks at all,” Iona continues. “I’ve come to detest the worthless things… No one should possess so much power within themselves.”
“Apart from you, I suppose,” Olesya says dryly.
“Least of all me.” Iona hiccups.
Sighing heavily, Ariadne claws at the keys like a madwoman, the chords swirling like a brewing storm.
“Why should I be owed power? What, because of a mark that can only be observed whilst I’m practically naked?” Iona rambles on, and Rebekka fails to suppress a laugh.
“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” Rebekka reaches for the bottle, but Iona wrenches it away.
“And another thing,” Iona says, far too loud. “It’s a miracle that any of us should reach adulthood at all! These poor children… You treat them so abominably. Your daughter is awful!”
“I beg your pardon?” Olesya stutters.
Ariadne ignores the cramp in her right hand, forcing her fingers to crawl up the key block in a rapid burst of notes.
“She is an awful contemptuous shrew. She cut my hand!” Iona lifts up her palm, but of course there is no scar to prove it. “And it’s your fault! Or… I suppose she’s responsible for her actions now, but she did not become so terrible on her own, I assure you.”
Olesya gasps, “Well I never-”
“You should be ashamed. You all should,” Iona yells, then lifts her bottle in Cintia’s direction. “You most of all. Did you truly procreate only to torment your own child?”
“Iona…” Rebekka winces.
“Children should not be put under such undue pressure, should not be bestowed power they cannot possibly comprehend,” Iona insists. “Why, Ariadne is proof enough of this.”
She tries to ignore it but finds it impossible to do so when Iona speaks again.
“She was nearly killed by her own friend for her part to play in your pointless war over magic,” Iona yells. “Then nearly killed that friend in defense of herself! Why would I subject others to that same fate, so their children will only be used as pawns for their parents’ selfish connivances?”
Ariadne’s jaw drops, her song ending abruptly. She jumps up, taking her staff and storming to Iona, stopping time mid-stride before letting loose her fury.
“How dare you!” Ariadne screams.
Iona flinches, her eyes widening as her drunkenness fades almost entirely. “What-”
“How dare you speak of Vivien! How could you?” Her throat aches from the force of her cry. “When you know well my shame? My regret?”
Iona’s face falls as she seems to recognize her failing. “I only meant… Indeed, I do know how deeply hurt you were. It should never, never have happened, and I do not wish for another witch or warlock to fall victim to the same fate.”
“I am not a victim,” Ariadne seethes. “Nor am I a cautionary anecdote. I should never have told you-”
“Please forgive me,” Iona implores, stumbling to her feet. “I am not thinking clearly.”
“I’m surprised you can stand, let alone think.” Ariadne looks her over. “This is perhaps the worst possible time for you to take up drinking. We are meant to be mourning Euphemia.”
“I am mourning her.” Iona’s face contorts with pain.
“By dulling your grief with wine?” Ariadne asks, scoffing in exasperation. “Another Lysander meltdown.”
She regrets her words again as they make their mark, the hurt in Iona’s eyes nearly enough for Ariadne to set aside her anger and run to her, begging for forgiveness.
“It is your coldness towards me that drove me to it,” Iona says, blinking to stave off her tears. “I would have hoped to find solace from my partner in such dark times. Instead, you withdraw into yourself and leave me to suffer alone.”
Huffing with annoyance, Ariadne paces back and forth, trying to temper her anger before she might say something else she truly regrets. Or perhaps she should take her leave and calm herself elsewhere away from prying eyes.
“Yes, you may as well,” Iona says bitterly. “Disappear again, for I am clearly no comfort to you anymore.”
“You left me for weeks!” Ariadne reminds her.
“Not intentionally!”
“I suppose that remedies it, then.”
“It is not remotely the same! You constantly choose to isolate yourself, regardless of my steadfast desire to lend an ear to your troubles. I cannot force you to let me in.”
“You can let yourself in whenever you wish.”
“And if you truly think me capable of betraying your trust in that way, then you do not know me at all.” Iona’s lip trembles. “Why then did you agree to the bond if you only planned to resent me for it? I offered to break it-”
“I do not wish the break it,” Ariadne says immediately.
Iona stares at her for a long while, then says, “I do.”
She is almost relieved to hear Iona finally say it, admit it aloud, after days of silence. A myriad of emotions cross Iona’s face, guilt that settles into fortitude.
“You did lie, then,” Ariadne says. “Elise’s plot to ruin us proved quite effective.”
“We need not be ruined.” Iona closes the distance between them, grasping one of Ariadne’s hands. “You think this means my love has lessened-”
“It has,” Ariadne relents.
“No,” Iona insists, imploring with her eyes.
“That anyone would willingly subject themselves to this bond and call it love is ludicrous. I could love you far better without it.” She hesitantly lifts a hand to cup Ariadne’s cheek.
“You came to my aid when I most needed it, crafted this bond despite the semi-permanence of it, despite the danger of it going wrong, and I shall never forget your loyalty in doing so, but Elise is right. This bond is a curse.”
Ariadne lowers her gaze and steps away, leaving Iona’s warmth, pulling her hand back to her side.
“You do not need it either,” Iona says.
“Do not presume to tell me what I need,” Ariadne says, hugging her stomach.
“Please, Ari, speak to me.” Iona weaves her fingers together to keep from reaching for her again. “Tell me what you need from me, and I shall do it.”
“I want to keep the bond,” Ariadne says.
Iona looks away, entirely at a loss.
“Perhaps I should have let Elise have you then,” Ariadne says.
Iona flinches, stepping back as if the words were a physical blow.
“Or let Samuel find some way of saving you,” Ariadne says.
“But there was no other way,” Iona whispers.
“None that were pleasant. Do you think I did not consider every possible, awful alternative?” Ariadne asks.
“I could have placed you in a prolonged slumber and locked you in your room until Elise was discovered. I could have stolen your blood and usurped your mind instead so Elise could not control it, even if it corrupted my soul beyond redemption. I could have stolen your wand, taken your memories of magic and hid you away until Elise was dead, and put your mind back to rights when it was over.”
A trace of fear fills Iona’s eyes, yet more of it trickling through the bond unbidden.
“There were other options, but none that I would ever take. None that you would have forgiven me for. None that Samuel would have the heart to suggest,” Ariadne says.
“Nor did he suggest the bond,” Iona points out.
“Because we were fools to enter into this nightmare! I told you this would happen,” Ariadne says with still greater heat. “I knew you would regret tying yourself to me.”
“That is not why-”
“I’ve felt you pulling away for weeks, if not months,” Ariadne says. “Your love is fading-”
“No, it certainly is not,” Iona insists, her patience waning.
“If you’ve not noticed, the past months have been rather strenuous upon my health and wellbeing.
My melancholy is for those we’ve lost. You are not the cause of my every adverse emotion, and I cannot reassure you every single time I frown or neglect to speak. ”
“You resent me for our current circumstances,” Ariadne rambles. “You blame me for your pain.”
“No,” Iona tries to say.
“You only confessed your love to me after I saved your life, time and again. You didn’t love me before,” Ariadne says.
“You were awful before,” Iona says.
Ariadne flushes. “That’s not the point. You only loved me when I saved you and now that I’ve failed in protecting you-”
“No, that’s not true!” Iona cries. “Why do you say such things?”
“You’ll leave,” Ariadne says, her voice small. “You wish to break the bond to leave, and I cannot live without you.”