Wings of Ice and Steel (Fae of Frosted Fates #1)
One
Ariadnne
Ariadnne’s blue cloak fluttered over the silver scale of her finest ceremonial plate, which chafed something dreadful, rivulets of sweat trickling down her neck as she navigated the capital’s largest market under the watchful eye of her handler.
The throng ebbed and heaved with its own rhythm, people skittering out of the way as her company passed.
Curious, she watched as high fae with pierced, pointed ears meandered alongside nymph-like faeries while Flames danced for the crowds, sending sparks flying and children shrieking.
Everything was beautiful. A sharp reminder of how much of the world Ariadnne hadn’t seen.
A cart careered past, almost knocking her over.
The wire-haired priskan driving cursed as his longhorn scented Ariadnne and bolted—prey recognising predator.
Ariadnne’s skin prickled and, before she could stop it, the bronze of her arms rippled with dusty, pale scales.
She shot Melixanthe, her handler, a swift glance, relieved to see she hadn’t noticed.
A year of isolation had been her punishment the last time she truly lost control.
Forbidden to speak to anyone outside of her company, she’d never realised how long a year could feel until she’d spent most of it within the same walls.
She was almost happy that the High Lord of Eradiata had requested she fight his war for him.
If only she enjoyed killing.
The Council was testing her, seeing if Ariadnne could perform without another royal fuck-up—not that she accepted responsibility for last year’s ‘debacle’.
If that minor lord hadn’t groped her at her coming-of-age celebration, she wouldn’t have shifted in a fit of rage and flattened the ballroom’s frail walls.
The look of terror in the lecherous lord’s eyes had almost been worth the month she spent wearing an iron collar.
Ariadnne glanced sideways. Melixanthe’s stony face was unlined, but the Guild General’s short, midnight hair had recently sprouted a few greys as it curled round her pointed ears. Her black armoured plate was pristine, and jaw was set in its usual grim line, softening as she caught Ariadnne’s look.
‘Breathe, for Dianea’s sake. You’re fine.’
Ariadnne exhaled, determined to be the perfect little soldier, even if the effort made her teeth ache. She set her eyes forward.
Silhouetted against the skyline, the High Lord of Eradiata’s castle was a cluster of peaked roofs and jagged towers that cut an imposing shadow against the clouds.
Ariadnne bit back a groan as she mounted the first of the many steps leading to the castle’s gates.
The stairway was part of the heart of the city, lined at every point by more stalls and merchants.
Her limbs already ached from transporting everyone, and the climb was an added insult.
‘You understand your role?’ Melixanthe said, snapping her fingers. Ariadnne fought the urge to roll her eyes.
‘Be quiet. Deferential. Stroke the pompous prick’s ego,’ she recited.
‘And let me do the talking.’
‘Of course.’
At the top of the steps, shadowed by the imposing arched gateway, waited a liveried butler. He surveyed them both, sweating in their armour after the climb.
‘You must be the varanya.’
His accent was pronounced, drawing out the vowels in the female term for varanyen almost comically.
‘I suppose I must be,’ Ariadnne answered, earning a sharp glance from Melixanthe.
She winced, but it had been an obvious question.
Her vivid violet eyes were the giveaway—her race’s trademark.
Ariadnne wondered, sometimes, what vast sum of money the Guild had offered her parents when her eyes changed, revealing her varanyen heritage, or whether mentioning that a curse would kill her slowly without the Council’s help had persuaded them to hand her over.
Not that it mattered. All varanyen became Guild property eventually, one way or another.
Melixanthe shunted Ariadnne behind her. ‘Apologies for the late arrival. We had to stop for supplies.’
The butler cast a critical eye over the line of attendants and engineers that followed their knights. Many staggered under their heavy loads, red-faced after the uphill march.
‘Yes. Well. The other companies arrived without issue a good thirty minutes ago. They are waiting in the dining hall.’ He offered a thin-lipped smile, giving directions to her first attendant before turning back to Ariadnne. ‘Follow me, if you will.’
They were shown into the blessed cool of the foyer; a large space, chiselled from marble and stone and a vast improvement from the blazing, Lithielian sun.
A life-sized portrait of the High Lord hung over their heads, hand on hip as he gazed at the distant horizon, his golden mane billowing regally.
Ariadnne snorted, the sound earning her a sideways look from Dantro, one of her knights, who hid a curved smile.
They were ushered towards a set of engraved oak doors at the end of the atrium.
The butler threw them open to reveal a vast crowd waiting within a huge, vaulted dining room.
Ariadnne cursed her sweaty, dishevelled appearance as ten rows of faces turned to survey her. All beautiful. All impeccably dressed.
Seated amongst the nobles, elemental fae shone like jewels—chosen by the land to be imbued with its magic.
The blue-tinted Gales, of which there were many, hailed from Lithiel, but there were also a few Flames from the south alongside sharp-featured Sparks and even an Earthling, his squat form and grizzled face out of place amongst the elegant fae of the court.
Ariadnne fixed her face forwards; palms slick with sweat as she willed her beast down, begging it to stay quiet. There were more people in the hall than she had seen in… scratch that—she’d never seen so many people in one space, and they were all waiting for her.
The buzz of conversation dwindled. Ariadnne blinked, frozen, until Melixanthe nudged her forwards.
There was a singular screech as a large, heavily bearded figure pushed back his chair: Lord D’avant, the High Lord of the Eradiatian kingdom.
An edifice of muscle and chiselled angles, his skin was streaked with an air elemental’s swirls, although it was his mastery over all elements, not only that of his province, that granted him the right to rule.
His combined power set him apart, giving his hair that brilliant, burnished gold sheen instead of a Gale’s typical white.
Melixanthe took Ariadnne’s elbow, denying her instinct to flee.
‘General!’ the High Lord boomed. ‘You made it.’
The monolithic male strode around the high table and stomped along the rows, turning his probing gaze to their knights.
‘I trust your journey was uneventful?’
‘Of course, my lord,’ Melixanthe nodded. ‘Before you are the best soldiers our Guild has to offer.’
‘I would hope so, given the cost.’ Lord D’avant’s eye glittered. He turned to Ariadnne and, to her surprise, held out his hand. Reluctantly, Ariadnne placed her slender fingers in his meaty palm, and he raised them to his mouth. She forced herself not to recoil as his whiskers tickled her skin.
‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ he said in a softer voice, his dark eyes meeting hers. Ariadnne managed a thin smile, reminding herself to be quiet and deferential.
Stroke the pompous prick’s ego.
‘It is an honour, my lord.’
Her words satisfied him, and he straightened. ‘Come. Sit. Your Guildmates are already filling up on bread and ale.’
He turned back to his throne, and Ariadnne spotted those bearing the Guild’s emblem sprinkled amongst those at the lower tables. Melixanthe tightened her grip on Ariadnne’s elbow, falling into place behind the High Lord while their knights peeled off to find vacant seats.
The other Guild captains were already seated at the high table.
Sol, captain and handler to Lucius, glanced up as they approached, dark brows knotting as he leaned to whisper something in Lucius’ ear.
No doubt Ariadnne’s tardiness would provide ammunition for his disapproving scowls.
He and Melixanthe were longstanding rivals, but Lucius smiled encouragingly when he caught her looking.
Her eyes darted away as a servant pulled out a chair for her beside the High Lord’s throne. Before she could take it, Melixanthe stepped forward, bumping Ariadnne to the seat beside Lucius. Protecting her.
Regulus, seated with his captain on the other side of the throne, tried to catch her eye. She ignored the attempt, hardly in the mood to entertain his flirtations. Managing Lucius would be challenging enough.
His gold-tanned face beamed as she took her seat. ‘Ari—’
‘Don’t. Please, Lucius.’
The varan deflated.
‘I was just going to say hi. It’s been a while.’
There was a tiny part of Ariadnne that felt bad for being so prickly.
‘Sorry. As you said, it’s been a while.’
Mollified, Lucius nodded, a soft smile tipping the corner of his mouth, and turned back to his plate.
Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d give her peace for the rest of the meal.
Her stomach rumbled, tempted by the basket of rosemary-scented bread a servant placed nearby.
Etiquette be damned, she reached for the basket, but Melixanthe’s fingers tapped her arm.
Ariadnne’s nostrils flared, and she dropped her hand.
The petulant part of her noticed that Sol hadn’t denied Lucius bread.
She was about to ask Melixanthe if water would be permitted when the flash of an Iceling’s silver hair caught her eye: a knight in white enamelled armour sat at the low tables, brazenly ignoring the hush of the hall as she continued her conversation.
As if summoned by Ariadnne’s gaze, the knight glanced up and Ariadnne’s breath caught as she realised this was the newly famous White Knight; the Guild’s only ice elemental and Sol’s second in command.