36 - Iona
E very labored inhale is a torturous offense, knowing Ariadne no longer breathes with me. To feel the life leave her body…
“Iona, breathe,” Samaira says, still finding it in herself to comfort me despite her own sorrow.
“I couldn’t see,” I sob. “She couldn’t…”
Wisp trembles in my arms, pressing her head against my chin, burrowing close to me, so that I cannot tell which of us is comforting the other. I weep into her soft fur.
“Ksenia’s accusations were true?” Samaira asks, though she knows the answer.
I can only nod, the heavy scent of sulphur accosting my senses.
“What can we do?” Samaira asks Hecate, but the Goddess has sunk into her own thoughts.
“Did you hear?” I ask.
“Yes. Forgive my intrusion.” Hecate appraises me with compassion.
“Do you know where she is?” I ask, moments away from rage, but Hecate shakes her head no.
“Eris has always been a meddling fool,” Hecate murmurs. “She’s concealed their location well.”
“Are you not meant to protect us?” I ask. “How could you let them do this in your name?”
Hecate’s brow furrows. “I ceased being the patron of the Zerynthos family generations ago, when I could clearly see they were headed down a dark path, one I could not absolve and-“
“You did not think to intervene?” I ask, appalled. “You’ve abandoned us.”
A trace of guilt crosses Hecate’s face as she admits, “Very few remain invested in the wellbeing of Earth when so often we’ve watched your kind repeat the same unending mistakes again and again despite our intervention.
Other Gods have long been diverted by other planes of existence, but there are those still compelled to interfere as Eris has done.
Neither have I abandoned all witches entirely. ”
I blink once, then glare up at her. “Ariadne prayed to you ceaselessly and you neglected to answer.”
“I swear to you, on my honor as a Goddess, I did not hear her prayers,” Hecate says, confusion crossing her expression, as if she is trying to recall every prayer made to her. “It may be possible that her prayers were intercepted, prevented from reaching me.”
“It no longer matters…” I decide, my head swimming with endless possibilities, my sorrow turning to rage at how little I know for sure. “If you cannot help us, then please leave us be.”
Hecate’s eyebrows raise, surprised at my boldness. I turn away from her to face Samaira, who has been lost to tears.
“I am so terribly sorry.” I embrace her, allowing us both a moment to grieve our beloved Ariadne before I pull away and reach for her hand. I pull the sapphire ring from her finger and toss it away, uncaring of the burning sensation that pales in comparison to the pain I’d just endured.
“Sebastian cursed it,” I explain. “You mustn’t wear it.”
Samaira stares at the ring where it rests in the grass, likely remembering every vision she’d suffered through, all for nothing.
She pulls out a handkerchief and places it over the ring, picking it up through the barrier of the fabric, and converting it into a little pouch, which she stows away in her pocket.
“We must stop them,” I say.
“How?” Samaira asks. “We know not where they are or what they plan to do.”
“They would need to perform this sort of ritual in a place of great power, and likely somewhere significant to Ariadne, or the coven, or Katrin…” Hecate muses.
“Thessaly?” Samaira asks.
“No.” My brow furrows in concentration. “Ariadne is… was very cold but not freezing from snow and ice. She smelled the ocean, and there was wind…”
“Constantinople is surrounded by water,” Samaira says. “They have a manor there on the coast of the Sea of Marmara, where Zephyra and her son reside.”
“I’ve never visited it.” I say.
“I have,” Samaira says, hesitantly reaching for the staff, but the magic burns her before her fingertips can even graze the wood, and she quickly pulls her hand back.
“Let me see in your aura,” I suggest.
Samaira nods and unveils it, the color of a sunrise, and I peer in to find an image of Constantinople, a city of vibrant colors and Byzantine castles with domed roofs and tall towers.
A portal emerges, and without a second glance at Hecate, I jump through, running straight down gravel road.
Samaira follows fast behind me, and we behold what looks like a monastery, a tall building on a foundation of stone with arched corridors, a plaza at the entrance, and not a single candle lit. The angry sea waves crash against the rock, splashing water onto them as they run.
“Xiomara!” I bellow, making Samaira jump. “Moira!”
“Do not provoke them!” Samaira cautions.
“I mean to do more than provoke,” I say, my voice low as I approach the manor and hold out a hand, sending a gust of wind to blow in all the doors, shatter every window, and ensure that our presence cannot be ignored.
“Marina!” I yell. “Zephyra! Show yourselves!”
But there is no response, only the clinking of broken glass, creaking of swinging doors, and crashing of waves.
Samaira approaches with caution. “I do not think-”
“Where else could they be?” I ask. “I will search every shoreline until we find them.”
“Perhaps we should-”
“Iceland,” I say, making a portal and jumping through.
“Hecate said it must be a place significant to the coven,” Samaira reminds her.
“This could… It might be significant to Ariadne,” I say, looking about for any signs of light or magic, but there are only endless stretches of green and dark stone, with the calming scent of the ocean on the air.
“Iona.”
I whirl around to find Rebekka, bloodied and disheveled, ambling toward me.
“What’s happened?” she asks. “I remember waking in a snowstorm, then someone forced me through a portal, and I found myself here. I thought it might be Ariadne, but she wouldn’t… I am ever so confused.”
I keep a firm hold on the staff, but my ire recedes as pity takes its place. “You’ve been cursed.”
Rebekka looks down at her arms, the cuts and terrible bruises marking every time her blood had been stolen away. “Blood magic, I expect?”
“Yes.” I swallow down my emotions. “I… Forgive me, Rebekka, but we must go. Ariadne is…”
“What?” Rebekka asks. “Is she in trouble?”
I cannot say the words, so Samaira speaks for me. “She is dead.”
“What?” Rebekka exclaims. “No… No, that cannot be!”
She sinks to her knees, and I wish I could join her in mourning and cry until I haven’t tears left, but I cannot stop.
“Stay here and regain your strength. I will return, but for now I must go.” I hesitate, then say to Samaira, “Stay with her.”
“But you should not be alone-”
“Neither should she.” I gesture to Rebekka who has succumbed to her tears.
Samaira looks at me, then Rebekka, torn between two lost souls, but I shake my head. “Stay. I will return.”
“What do you mean to do?” Samaira asks, seemingly reluctant to inquire for fear of how I may respond.
“I do not know,” I reply honestly, “but this cannot go unpunished. And if I should die… then I will be reunited with Ariadne.”
“Iona.” Samaira’s tears return. “She would not want that for you.”
I turn away and harken back on every memory, every precious story Ariadne told, every morsel of information I’ve learned, but still, I’m at a loss of where to go.
Self-hatred burgeons within me. If our roles had been reversed, Ariadne would have turned over half the globe by now.
She would have burned every manor to the ground to smoke out her enemies and bring them to their knees.
She always protected me, protected everyone, even while others scorned her, even before she had full use of her magic, she was an ardent protector and-
It strikes me then. Ariadne’s wand. She told me of the volcanic island in the southern Aegean Sea where she’d found it.
Nisyros.
My breath quickening, I recall a glimpse of her memory when she’d allowed me to see Vivien’s attack; Ariadne as a girl sitting within the crater of a dormant volcano when her wand had rolled up to her.
She had set aside her doll to pick it up, admiring the perfect piece of obsidian glistening in the sunlight, while Cintia had watched on with a knowing smile.
“Take me to Nisyros,” I whisper, and a portal opens.
I jump through, but rather than finding an empty crater under a dark sky, I’m greeted by the low hum of voices. Hundreds of them.
“Iona?” Frankie calls.
I look around in confusion at the covens, every single one, all gathered together in their finest clothes. Off to the side, Marcel converses with his colleagues, a diverse group which has tripled since the equinox, a couple hundred at least.
“Whatever are you doing down here?” Frankie asks when he runs over to greet me.
“I could ask you the same question.” I find it difficult to keep eye contact with him. “Should you not be in Thessaly for the ritual? I thought you were all waiting… there…”
An abrupt sense of foreboding makes me tense with dread when I notice not one of the Zerynthos witches are present within the crowd, and nor would they be.
They are all still constellated for their own secret ritual somewhere on this island.
I know it somehow, can feel it in my bones. They are here.
“I thought you would be preparing with Ariadne,” Frankie says. “The letter said you wouldn’t be ready until midnight.”
“Letter? What letter?” I ask.
Frankie gives me an odd look. “The letter that you and Ariadne sent telling us it was imperative that we attend and-”
I yelp when Crescentia barrels into me, embracing me fiercely. “Oh, how I’ve missed you! We must find time to speak during the party, for I have so much to tell you and-”
“Ariadne has… died.” I choke out the last word.
Frankie’s umber eyes go wide. “I beg your pardon?”
I look to Crescentia, who only stares back at me, confused. “But… No, that can’t be. She sent us a letter-”
“That wasn’t sent by her or me,” I say.
“Who sent it then?” Frankie asks, all manner of geniality gone from his countenance.