33 - Iona #2
Iona conjures a wool cloak and offers it.
Ksenia eyes it with contempt, until a frigid gust of wind blows through the trees, showering them in snow that had collected on the boughs overhead, and she wisely decides that her pride is not worth her suffering.
Once she has fastened the cloak around herself, Wisp leads the way with a renewed urgency.
“Thank you,” Ksenia says.
Iona nods absentmindedly, too concerned with Ariadne’s safety.
“Why then do you not have the pendant?” Ksenia asks again.
“I… finally admitted to myself that Ariadne is better suited to bear it than I,” she says. “It’s rather complicated but in the end, Morgan allowed us to choose who should have it, and Ariadne gave it to me.”
“Then… Ariadne spoke true when she renounced her claim. I never would have thought a Zerynthos witch capable of resisting power,” Ksenia muses. “I imagine her family was not pleased.“
“They took it rather well, actually,” Iona says. “Well… all accept Cintia. The others shifted their ambitions to me, as it were.”
Ksenia snorts. “What a terrible misjudgment.”
Iona’s cheeks burn, but she cannot contradict her. “They’ll surely be relieved when they learn Ariadne has the pendant instead, as they’d always hoped.”
Ksenia walks in silence a moment, then says, “I always found it odd they chose Ariadne. You’d have thought Moira would be the one they forced to train all those years, sequestered from the world.”
Their eyes drift up in the direction of the manor on the mountaintop, an ominous presence amid the white trees and overcast sky.
“Moira attempted the trials, too, did she not?” Iona asks.
“Yes,” Ksenia nods contemplatively. “My elder sister was in her year, but she claimed Moira hardly studied at all and did not seem the least bit nervous on the day of the trials, as if she didn’t care what happened.”
“That is in her nature,” Iona shrugs. “She takes very little seriously.”
Ksenia nods again but seems deep in thought. Iona waits for her to speak.
“What possessed you to think the pendant wasn’t meant for you if Morgan herself told you it was?” Ksenia finally asks.
Iona hesitates, unsure if she should mention her dealings with Hecate. Then she supposes it wouldn’t hurt, if she does not mention maleficians, or the Crone specifically.
“Hecate told me as much, in her way,” Iona says.
“You spoke with Hecate? You?” Ksenia asks incredulously.
“Yes, me.” Iona cuts her a glare. “If a Goddess of magic tells me I’m not worthy, who am I to disagree?”
“Why should she care? A Goddess of her caliber could craft any number of artifacts at her leisure if one was required. It is only a feat for mere mortals like us, or lesser immortals, I suppose.”
Iona’s brow furrows. “I… I couldn’t say. Perhaps Xiomara might know.”
“That silver tongued harpy?” Ksenia asks. “Do not believe a word she says.”
Taken aback, Iona stops mid-stride. “Xiomara? She’s only ever been kind to me.”
“Oh, I’m sure she has, while you possessed something she wanted,” Ksenia says. “I have a clairvoyant gift for detecting lies, annoying but useful. I don’t recall ever hearing a true word come from that woman’s mouth.”
“You’re sorely mistaken,” Iona says. “She’s been like a mother to Ariadne, and a mentor to me.”
“If you say so,” Ksenia says. “I wager her kindness will dwindle away the moment she sees your neck is bare.”
“Not everyone deals in fickle loyalty as you do, Ksenia,” Iona retorts.
Ksenia grows silent again, but not out of offense. When Iona peers over at her, she is consumed by her musings.
“What are you thinking of?” Iona finally asks as she trudges on ahead.
“Something isn’t right about this whole affair,” Ksenia murmurs.
“Can you not think and walk at once?”
“Do you want my help or don’t you?”
Reluctantly, Iona crosses her arms and waits.
“What do you have that Hecate would want?” Ksenia asks.
“Nothing,” Iona says. “I doubt a Goddess wants for anything, especially one of her caliber, as you said.”
“Yes… Yes…” Ksenia says. “Then what does Xiomara want that you possess?”
“The pendant,” Iona says, “but no longer.”
“Because Xiomara’s Goddess convinced you to take it off,” Ksenia says.
“For good reason,” Iona argues.
“And you just allowed their sophistry to convince you to discard your only means of protection?” Ksenia asks. “So that their golden child could take it in your stead? Do you not see how that could potentially benefit them at your expense?”
“They aren’t what they seem,” Iona says. “They protect… I cannot say exactly, but you must believe me-”
Ksenia brings her fingers to her temples and lets out a heavy sigh. “You are an idiot.”
“That’s uncalled for!” Iona cries. “There is much you don’t know, that I cannot tell you.”
“We must find Ariadne so I might converse with one of marginally higher intelligence,” Ksenia says. “You’d best hope we find her first. I cannot think of many forces strong enough to ward against a blood bond, except perhaps a Goddess’s power.”
That gives Iona pause. She shifts restlessly on her feet, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. “But… why would Hecate do such a thing?”
Iona waits for an answer, but when she looks, Ksenia is gone.
“Ksenia?” Iona calls, then sighs angrily, “Everyone must stop disappearing!”
“Iona!”
She ducks down at the sound, until she spies Samaira’s worry-stricken face from afar and runs through the snow to meet her.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Iona says.
“Something is wrong,” Samaira says. “Very, very wrong.”
“What did you see?” Iona’s heart sinks. “Another attack?”
“I saw Hecate,” Samaira says. “At least, I believe it to be her.”
“Iona!” Ksenia calls.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” Iona yells. “What? What is it?”
She barely has a chance to turn in the direction of Ksenia’s voice before she collides into her, nearly toppling them both. She grips Iona’s arms and shakes her.
“Did you just see me?” Ksenia asks.
Iona looks down at her rumpled green dress and brown cloak, not the black gown and cloak she had just been wearing. The shadows under her blue eyes are enough for Iona to know she’s speaking with the version of her from present day. “Yes, but-”
“We must leave,” Ksenia says. “Now!”
“Why?” Samaira asks.
“I cannot explain until…” Ksenia scans the trees. “We cannot speak here.”
“I am not leaving without Ariadne,” Iona says.
“She isn’t here,” Ksenia says.
“How could you possibly know that?” Iona narrows her eyes.
“I’ve searched the entire forest all day,” she says. “There’s been no sign of her.”
“What?” Samaira and Iona ask in unison.
“Though my eyes may deceive me… They wouldn’t let her roam unaccompanied,” Ksenia trails off, distracted. “They’ve shrouded her… left nothing to chance.”
“She was here; I know it. There was a pianoforte in the clearing back there.” Iona points behind her. “She must be at the manor somewhere. Perhaps the library or-”
“You mustn’t go back there,” Ksenia says fervently.
“But Ariadne-”
“Iona, listen to me,” Ksenia begs. “This is beyond petty grudges, beyond country or family, or anything at all. It is life and death.”
Iona stares at her, at the unhinged panic in her eyes.
“Where?” she finally asks.
“Somewhere far and warm,” Ksenia says, “Please tell me you know how to work that staff.”
“I’m not… I have never used it before,” Iona stutters.
“You’d best learn,” Ksenia says, “and quickly.”
Iona’s doubt creeps up as it always does, but she mustn’t let it.
“Iona?”
She stiffens at the call of Marina, her dreamy, anodyne voice drifting across the frozen forest like a summer breeze.
“Hurry,” Ksenia hisses.
Ariadne had only ever thought the portals into existence, but when Iona tries to envision a location in her mind, nothing happens. She squeezes her eyes shut, manifests as best she can, but still nothing.
“Take me to S?o Paolo,” Iona whispers.
Slowly, a portal shimmers before them, showing the Rio Tamanduateí on the outskirts of the city.
“Good, good,” Ksenia takes her arm and drags her through with urgency.
“What of Marina?” Samaira asks.
“Leave her.” Ksenia reaches through and yanks Samaira to the other side. “Close it now.”
Iona does so and is about to ask what has Ksenia so frightened, when she grasps her arm again and drags her down to the river.
“What are you doing?” Iona asks.
“Take off your dress,” Ksenia says, pulling them into the river.
“What are you playing at?” Iona shrinks away from her.
Ksenia rolls her eyes. “Do not flatter yourself. I’ve seen more of you than I’d care to at rituals.”
“If you would only explain your intentions,” Samaira takes Iona’s other hand.
“You must cleanse yourself.” Ksenia looks over her shoulder, her eyes just as manic as they’d been in Thessaly. “They can see us so long as you’re marked by them.”
“By whom?” Iona asks.
“If you love Ariadne at all, you’ll listen to me,” Ksenia says, going behind Iona’s back to unfasten her buttons, gesturing to Samaira. “Help me. Then, and only then, may we speak frankly.”
Samaira looks to Iona for permission, and she reluctantly nods. Once they’ve removed her clothes, Ksenia pulls Iona into the river and withdraws her marble wand to conjure a bowl of salt, taking handfuls of it and scrubbing all over Iona’s body with frantic thoroughness until her skin turns pink.
“Védeni,” Ksenia incants in hushed tones. “Védeni.”
“You needn’t scrub so hard,” Iona winces, curling into herself for want of modesty.
“Sit still,” Ksenia snaps.
“If this is some sort of foolish capriccio, I shall be very cross with you,” Iona warns.
“We’re well past that now,” Ksenia mutters, and after scrubbing Iona’s arms and legs as well, she steps back and regards her warily. “I’m not sure… It should be enough, but I can’t be sure.”
“If cleansing is what you’re after,” Samaira says, “perhaps lavender oil to ward against evil.”
Ksenia bites her lip and nods. “That could help.”
“For heaven’s sake, do it quickly!” Iona’s teeth chatter.
“I told you someplace warm,” Ksenia reminds her.