35 - Iona
“B ut there is one flaw in your logic.” I pull myself from Ksenia’s grip and turn my back to her to pace about the room.
“Hecate would never, never preside over maleficians. She is an honorable Goddess of magic with power enough to sustain herself without resorting to such nefarious tactics. She would never-”
A loud clanging startles me into silence and has me whirling about to find Samaira with her hand over her mouth, and Ksenia lying prone on the stone floor fast asleep, her limbs splayed out around her.
“Oh, you must be joking.” I rush to Ksenia’s side. “Wake up! Damn you! Wake up!”
No matter how vigorously I shake her, Ksenia’s eyes won’t open, having reached the limit of an energy potion’s potency.
Sleep cannot be prevented indefinitely and given how many empty cups litter the dirty floor, it’s a miracle she hasn’t fainted sooner.
I sigh with frustration at the many questions I can no longer ask her.
“Iona.” Samaira’s voice is enough to cut through my anger.
Looking over my shoulder, I behold her astonished expression as she looks around in horrified wonder.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The threads,” Samaira whispers. “They’ve gone.”
“Gone?” I glance about, wishing I could see what she can. “What do you mean, gone?”
“They’ve disappeared.” Samaira meets my gaze. “I don’t… I do not know what that means.”
“Neither do I.” I push myself back up to standing. “And quite frankly, I cannot care about it now. We must find Ariadne.”
“But Iona… I feel so strange.” Samaira puts a hand to her forehead. “Something’s happened. Can you not feel it?”
“It can wait until we’ve found Ariadne.” I take her hand and craft a portal. “We’ve waited longer than I would have chosen, if Ksenia hadn’t been so insistent-”
“We cannot go there!” Samaira points through the portal at the Villa Mitriora on the other side. “They will be there. If Ksenia’s theory is true…”
“Then they will have Ariadne and so that is where I must go.”
Samaira’s face goes deathly pale, and I huff with impatience.
“You needn’t follow me. Stay here with Ksenia until she wakes. We’ll need elaboration on her many claims.” I try to step through, but Samaira keeps hold of my hand.
“I wouldn’t let you go alone,” she says, “but we must be careful.”
“Of course.” Though caution is not at the forefront of my mind. All I can think of is Ariadne, the pain she might be in, the thoughts I can no longer read.
Wisp sprints up the front steps, pushing her nose against the front door until I manage to run up and blast it open, so it hangs off its hinges. The fox runs past the atrium and down the long, winding hallway so swiftly Samaira and I struggle to keep pace with her.
I should have known she would take me to the purple door, to the room where Hecate had first appeared to us.
Bracing myself, I push open the door and poke my head inside, half expecting Xiomara or Moira to be there waiting for me, but the room is empty and dark, the air still smelling faintly of incense.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t linger,” Samaira says, wringing her hands.
“Wisp.” I reach down to pet my fox’s head. “Is Ariadne here?”
Wisp scurries across the dusty floor and scratches at a wooden panel on the Eastern wall.
“What is this room?” Samaira asks.
“They perform rituals here.” I approach the panel, knocking on it with my knuckles and finding it hollow.
Samaira stays at the threshold, too unsettled to enter. I cannot fault her, for I too can sense the heaviness of the air, almost like humidity, that makes it difficult to breathe. A prickle of awareness runs down my neck.
“Meydana cikarmak,” I incant, and all at once my vision goes dark from the sheer volume of maleficium floating like smoke in the small space.
“Stars above,” Samaira whispers.
I step back and point the labradorite stone at the wall. “Démolir.”
The wood explodes into a cloud of splinters, revealing a hidden compartment holding shelves of maleficium grimoires, their leather spines carved with the same acicular symbols that I’ve grown to hate, and that hatred makes my skin hot with outrage and burning regret.
“No…” Samaira says from the doorway.
“Why would she…” My knees threatened to buckle. “Why would Hecate allow this?”
“Perhaps she is unaware,” Samaira says halfheartedly.
I slam the staff against the floor, envisioning the field of endless asphodels, and a portal bursts to life in the center of the room.
“What do you intend to do?” Samaira asks, but I’ve already stepped across and run through the stalks of white blossoms.
“Hecate!” I call, my voice echoing across the abyss.
Samaira follows and takes my wrist in her firm grip.
“Take care in how you confront her,” Samaira cautions. “She is still a Goddess.”
I pull my arm back. “I fought and nearly died in her name. Now she must answer for her coven’s misdeeds. She must tell me where Ariadne is. She must. She will!”
Samaira purses her lips. “If Ariadne is here, you know there is nothing to be done to-“
“No.” I turn away, refusing to consider it for even a moment. “Hecate!”
Again, no one responds, and the silence does nothing to remit my untempered emotions threatening to explode.
Then a crackle of flame in the distance makes me hold my breath, straining to hear it, wondering if it might have been my imagination. Again, there is a faint snap and the very distant sound of music, and I run towards it with Wisp just ahead of me and Samaira not far behind.
I reach a crossroads, a connection of paths within the endless asphodels where Hecate, draped in a simple robe the color of saffron, sits on the ground within a collection of plush cushions.
Her torch is like a fallen star suspended in air, casting such brilliant light across the abyss, that it’s almost possible to see the limits of the emptiness. It’s far, far brighter than ever been before, the flames so entrancing, it takes my breath away for a moment, before I remember my purpose.
Hecate lounges beneath the blazing torch with her eyes closed, a golden bowl filled with grapes and pieces of cheese nestled in her lap, and a ring of golden keys strapped to her waist. A lyre plays a delicate melody that floats across the otherwise silent void.
“Where is Ariadne?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.
Hecate’s eyes pop open, beholding her red eyes, but the color and emotion within them are softer than I remember, not scrutinizing me to the point of discomfiture.
“Tell me where she is!” I yell. “If you’ve hurt her-”
“Iona.” Samaira takes her arm and whispers. “Do not make brazen accusations.”
Hecate sets her bowl aside and stands in one graceful motion, her eyes never leaving mine as she approaches.
“Are we acquainted, child?” she asks, her brow furrowing with concern and her voice deeper in pitch than I remember.
My heart sinks, but I refuse to accept the lack of recognition in her gaze, with eyes so starkly different from the ones that dissected me and made me feel woefully small and insignificant.
“Are you the one who altered fate?” Hecate asks. “I felt it but a moment ago, an undeniable shift. It’s been so very long since existence was so permanently transformed into something new.”
“New?” Samaira asks. “But is fate not an eternal principle? Surely it cannot… cease to exist.”
“Nothing is truly eternal,” Hecate says, her gaze becoming unfocused.
“Fate is malleable now. No longer fixed in time and space, no longer locked by predestination. There were once multiple forces in the universe with power over fate, working in tandem, but Arachne was the final anchor keeping it as it always was. Now she is gone-”
“Gone?” I gape at her. “But she is an immortal.”
“A lesser immortal. She is dead,” Hecate says, “and so there was an irrevocable shift. Now fate is… indeterminate. A fleeting, oscillating uncertainty.”
“We can determine our own fates?” Samaira breathes, likely wondering how this will affect the magic of her artifact.
“Indeed. Destiny is no longer set, no longer inevitable,” Hecate says. “It is truly remarkable.”
“I know nothing of that,” I say, though the reworking of the universe is admittedly distracting. “Tell me where Ariadne is. I must find her.”
“Perhaps the two are related somehow,” she says. “Regardless, I’ve only ever heard of one notable Ariadne in my existence, and I’m afraid she’s not here. Dionysus has her.”
Hecate looks up, peering through the darkness above, seeking a soul I have no use for.
“Not that Ariadne.” I keep my voice steady. “Ariadne Zerynthos.”
Hecate appears truly perplexed then, and I can no longer ignore her lack of recognition.
“Don’t you know me?” I ask, imploring her to have a sudden realization and tell me she’d only forgotten somehow.
“I’m afraid not,” Hecate says, looking me over, “but I will always welcome the presence of fellow witches. I can see you are clearly in distress, so I will ignore your insolence.”
Heat fills my cheeks, but I cannot spare too much thought on my impropriety. My mind is reeling at the thought of another imposter. A truly blasphemous subterfuge, but I suppose if the coven could construct a false crone, they could possibly do the same to Hecate.
“Can you still not see through the bond?” Samaira asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “I haven’t felt her for hours.”
“But that’s impossible,” Samaira says. “Blood bonds are impervious to another witch’s interference. Even a coven… I suppose we do not know the full extent of a malefician coven’s power.”
“A coven of maleficians?” Hecate repeats, outraged.
Samaira lowers her head. “It would seem so.”
“Who are you?” Hecate narrows her eyes at me.
“Iona Evora Lysander,” I say, shrinking beneath her gaze.
“Are you in league with this coven?” she asks.
“No,” I say, then wince. “Or… I was until I learned of their true nature. I am in search of my beloved to free her from their clutches and…”