33 - Iona #3
“Not many places would be at night in mid-winter,” Iona retorts. “I can only craft portals to places I’ve been to before.”
Ksenia conjures a bottle of lavender oil, tipping it over and dousing Iona with it until she’s covered.
“I can manage it myself,” Iona says when they reach for her.
She rubs the oil into her salt-covered skin, only allowing Samaira to help rub her back, while Ksenia incants her protections spells, until Iona notices a distinct shift.
Her limbs were once heavy as lead, though she hadn’t perceived it until they are suddenly light and easily moved.
The colors in her vision grow in vibrance and clarity, her thoughts forming quicker, her movements more blithe.
It’s as if an imperceivable fog has been lifted.
“How do you feel?” Ksenia asks.
“Much better,” Iona says in amazement. “But why-”
“Not here.” Ksenia wraps a warm towel around her.
Taking back the staff, Iona conjures new clothes and a blue cotton shawl that she wraps around her shoulders.
Ksenia leans in close and whispers in her ear. “Moscow.”
Iona nods and creates a portal, finding it much easier to manage the second time. They step through and only once the doorway is shut does Ksenia visibly relax only slightly. They now inhabit a dark stone hallway of the Ulanova’s castle, the bitter cold turning Iona’s lips blue.
She conjures a flame and holds it close to her chest to warm herself, her wet hair like ice against her scalp and neck.
“Come.” Ksenia beckons them to follow her.
She takes them up two flights of stairs and throws open the door to a bedroom.
Iona’s jaw drops at beholding the total disarray.
Books, scrolls, and loose papers are strewn about on Ksenia’s bed, her desk, and all over the floor.
The only beauty to be found in the derelict space is a pot of flourishing red poppies by the lancet window.
“Is your family here?” Iona asks.
“They left for the ritual…” Ksenia murmurs. “Tried to take me, but obviously I couldn’t go with them.”
In the corner is a well-worn cauldron filled with what looks distinctly of energy potion, with dirty cups littering the floor. A cockroach scurries from inside one of the cups to a crack between two stones in the wall. Iona grimaces, then regards Ksenia with rising unease.
“When did you last sleep?” she asks.
“There wasn’t time!” Ksenia’s impatience persists. “Close the door behind you.”
Samaira does so, then comes up to Iona and whispers, “Has she gone mad?”
“I couldn’t confront you until the loop was completed,” Ksenia says, shuffling through a mountain of papers on her desk, “or it would-”
“Tangle the threads of time,” Iona says. “I know all too well.”
“Good, one less thing to explain,” Ksenia sighs, then leans her hands against the desk. “I know not where to start.”
“Do sit down and I’ll make tea,” Samaira suggests.
“No time,” Ksenia mutters.
She goes to the chairs by the fire, frantically tossing papers and books this way and that in her haste. When she still hasn’t found what she’s looking for, she weaves her fingers through her matted blonde tresses.
“Do you know where Ariadne is?” Iona asks. “That is of the most importance to me at present.”
“No, I don’t know where she is,” Ksenia says, slumping in a chair.
“Then I must go and find her, and we may speak later,” Iona says, but Ksenia leaps up and grasps her wrist so tightly it smarts.
“No!” she pleads. “Please, you must let me speak!”
“Alright!” Iona wrenches her wrist away. “Be swift or-”
“I’ve been observing you for months. You and Ariadne,” Ksenia says.
“For what purpose?” Iona asks.
“What you told me during the trials… I knew it wasn’t right,” Ksenia says. “I would have spoken sooner… I couldn’t. It was torture.”
Ksenia spots a paper on the floor and reaches down to take it and shove it in Iona’s hands.
She looks at it, then realizes it’s upside down.
Turning it to rights, she reviews a map marked red with what were once Katrin Zerynthos’ territories, underlaid by the humans’ borders.
The red stretches over most of Europe, part of Asia, Africa, and the Americas.
“I felt something was very wrong and took it upon myself to find out what. That proved more difficult than I’d anticipated.” Ksenia rubs her face with her hands.
“What do you mean?” Iona asks, setting the map aside. “What have you been doing all this time?”
“Waiting. Watching. Studying,” Ksenia murmurs. “I cannot tell you why one so honorable as Hecate would allow this… It strains credulity… My only doubt…” She looks about the room, her eyes darting wildly to inspect every corner. “She hasn’t noticed me thus far, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“She is a benevolent Goddess,” Iona says. “She would not-”
“You are too easily beguiled,” Ksenia scoffs.
“Even when I failed her, she healed me from the brink of death,” Iona insists, struggling to make sense of her abstruse ramblings.
“Of course, she would be beguiling…” Ksenia mutters. “But the manner in which… Why the secrecy? Perhaps a false god… But who?”
She flies to the other end of the room to comb through a bookshelf so filled with heavy tomes; it slants lopsided under the weight.
She takes a book and tosses it to Iona, who catches it awkwardly, creasing the pages before she can arrange it properly in her hands.
The cover is titled A History of the Greek Pantheon.
Iona cuts the book in half, flipping through the pages from Eris, Goddess of Discord, to Hemera, Goddess of the Day, then Thanatos, God of Peaceful Death-
“Xiomara must have adored you… So acquiescent. A walking, bleeding heart,” Ksenia says. “You let them mark you… You bird-witted fool.”
“Insult me once more, and I shan’t stay another moment,” Iona warns, tossing the book aside in her frustration.
“So easily affronted,” Ksenia continues, “and so heavily guarded.”
Iona looks to Samaira, but her brow is furrowed in deep concentration, her eyes remaining fixed on Ksenia as she erratically flits about the room. Iona reaches out to capture one of Ksenia’s wrists to hold her in place.
“What has any of this got to do with Ariadne?” Iona asks.
“I underestimated her true importance… Never quite understood the significance of her power… I was a fool. We all were,” Ksenia laments, then levels Iona with a sobering look.
“You must understand that I wouldn’t care about you or any of this if it wasn’t of dire significance.
I have no reason to fabricate my findings. ”
“Of your indifference to me, I’m altogether sure,” Iona says.
Ksenia returns to her desk where she rifles through the many drawers.
“Forgive me,” Samaira says with contrition.
“Of what?” Iona asks, having almost forgotten her where she stands quietly observing.
“I… perused your aura,” Samaira says. “I couldn’t stand my apparent ignorance of all these developments and thought it would save time.”
Iona bristles at the invasion of her private thoughts, then sighs. “You’ve seen it all, then?”
“As have I,” Ksenia says. “Your mind is barely protected. You’ve grown complacent with the pendant doing all the work for you.”
“Has everyone read my mind?” Iona throws up her hands in frustration.
“You should assume so,” Ksenia says. “Even with the pendant, a Goddess could see all of what you are.”
Deciding there’s no point in lying if they already know the truth, Iona says, “The Crone is still out there. She could have Ariadne bound in chains as we speak. I must search for her!”
“I cannot fathom why Ariadne would let you anywhere near a Crone. You were more often a hinderance than an asset, but that’s to be expected from one so inexperienced as you,” Ksenia says.
Iona’s cheeks burn. “That is why I relinquished the pendant. Ariadne is better equipped to wield it. It seems she agreed, since she is the only one who could have taken it. I’m not… I’m not strong enough.”
“You could be,” Ksenia says. “That is what confounded me the most, and what birthed my suspicion. The very same women who once trained Ariadne could just as easily have done the same to you, with all the potential you possess and the raw power you once bore. It’s all that separates you from Ariadne, after all.
Instruction, practice, time. Ariadne knows it well.
It’s why she was once so threatened by you when you arrived at Lysander College unannounced.
Xiomara Zerynthos would surely see it, too, but it seems as though she deliberately sent you out into combat to fall on your face, failing time and again until you conceded. ”
“That’s not…” Iona stutters. “Why would they do something so counterintuitive when the Crone terrorizes our people? Why would they go to such lengths to trick me when I was so obliging to them all this time?”
“Haven’t you guessed by now?” Ksenia asks. “There is no crone.”
Iona’s heart stops, and Samaira sucks in a breath behind her.
“But… that’s not true at all.” Iona shakes her head vigorously. “I’ve seen her with my own eyes! I’ve fought her with Ariadne and her family alongside me.”
“You fought a malefician, to be sure,” Ksenia says, “but not a crone.”
“Who then?” Iona asks.
“All of them at once,” Ksenia says. “I can only guess which one of them attacked when, but-”
“All of whom?” Iona asks.
“The Zerynthos witches, of course!” Ksenia exclaims, “and Sebastian, I suppose.”
Iona laughs, her unbearable anxiety pouring out of her as unhinged hysteria. She doubles over, hugging her aching chest with her arms.
“Are you actually insinuating that the Zerynthos witches are maleficians?” Samaira asks, the notion so outlandish that Iona laughs harder. “Every single one?”
“Every single one,” Ksenia gives a resolute nod.
Iona cannot stop laughing no matter how hard she tries, until Ksenia walks up to her and slaps her hard across the face.
“Pull yourself together!” Ksenia snaps. “There’s no time. There’s simply no time!”