Three #2
‘Swords.’ The word escaped Ariadnne’s mouth before Lord D’avant had time to react. Swords were Nieve’s weapon. Ariadnne wanted to see how she used them.
‘Well then, Ariadnne has spoken.’ Lord D’avant called to the crowd. ‘Swords it is! Just don’t damage your pretty faces, eh?’ He winked.
A youth scurried forward with Ariadnne’s small shield and blunted training blades, of which Nieve chose two, twirling them with skill before settling into a ready stance. Her eyes were focused on Ariadnne, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, looking almost playful.
The noise from the assembled crowd faded as Ariadnne’s other form stirred, uncoiling sinuously to regard her opponent.
It was rare for her to take such an interest, but Ariadnne sensed something like approval.
Forcing her attention from the beast to the ring, Ariadnne rolled her neck, spooling a wisp of power from the beast. If Nieve wanted to play, she’d play.
‘Begin!’ Lord D’avant brought his arm crashing down.
Released, Ariadnne attacked in a flurry of steel.
Nieve’s canines flashed in a wild grin as their blades crossed, Ariadnne’s rebellious mouth answering in kind.
Nieve was a whirlwind of elegance and power, attacking without hesitation and testing Ariadnne with unexpected twists and feints.
Ariadnne’s pleasure heightened as she realised Nieve was the real thing. A true challenge.
Feinting left, Ariadnne dove forwards, enjoying the subtle drop of Nieve’s jaw as she caught her by surprise.
With a deft sidestep, Nieve deflected the blow.
She flicked Ariadnne’s sword away, Ariadnne’s shield sweeping up without missing a beat.
Her push forced Nieve back. Recovering instantly, Nieve’s blades flashed round and met Ariadnne’s shield with a thud.
Ariadnne’s smile split her face as she seized the second it took for Nieve to pull back, ducking and sweeping at Nieve’s feet with a low kick Nieve barely managed to dodge.
They circled cautiously. Nieve was fast, faster than Ariadnne had given her credit for. Ariadnne tried to focus and plan her next move, but instead found her eyes drifting up the curve of Nieve’s form…
Thump. She raised her shield in the second it had taken Nieve to dart across the sand, only just catching the blow.
She shook her head, what was wrong with her?
Bringing herself back to the moment, Ariadnne sliced, trying to catch Nieve’s middle, but Nieve knocked the blow away, catching Ariadnne’s swing of retaliation between crossed blades, forcing Ariadnne’s arm up.
Suddenly Nieve was there, pressing in close to get inside Ariadnne’s guard. She was close enough for Ariadnne to feel the icy kiss of her skin against her chest and smell the sweet scent of her sweat, laced with pine and snow.
Time slowed, the edge of Nieve’s lip curling in a way that made Ariadnne’s skin tingle.
The sensation left her reeling as they pushed apart.
Five paces away Nieve panted and stared at her like she was seeing her for the first time. A low rumble of noise made Ariadnne aware of their audience and she dropped back into a fighting stance. There was no space to process…whatever just happened…right now.
She unleashed a flurry of blows, the movement spurring Nieve back to action.
Strike. Spin. Parry.
Ariadnne’s thoughts reduced to a series of actions as they moved faster than should be possible, becoming a blur to the surrounding audience.
They were almost equally matched. Almost.
Incredulously, it dawned on Ariadnne that Nieve was the better fighter. She was faster, stronger, and gaining ground.
She was good.
The beast half of her soul rose, curiosity piqued. Ariadnne braced to weather its onslaught of rage, but instead of filling her with indignant wrath, forcing her limbs to move faster, harder—it purred, wanting her to submit.
The foreign emotion stopped Ariadnne dead in her tracks.
She didn’t see Nieve’s sweep until it was too late and her legs were knocked from under her. With a thud, she landed on her back in the sand.
Momentarily winded, she expected a blade at her throat—but it didn’t come. She glanced across. Nieve stood five feet away, blade poised to end the match—but she hesitated, something flickering in her eyes.
What was she doing? Ariadnne didn’t understand, Nieve had won…
Again, that flicker, and Ariadnne realised. Nieve was going to throw the match, to let her win.
She wouldn’t... Ariadnne couldn’t let her…
In that second, she remembered and understood that this wasn’t just between them. It was a performance, and as bitter as it was, she had to take the opportunity Nieve handed to her.
Her inner self screamed at her to submit, to let Nieve take her rightful victory.
But she couldn’t.
Gritting her teeth against the sourness of it, Ariadnne seized the opening and rolled to the side, rising with a sweep of her own that knocked Nieve to the ground. Not wasting a moment, she lowered her blade to Nieve’s neck.
‘Do you yield?’ she said softly, apologetically.
‘I do,’ Nieve answered with a look of such understanding that it made Ariadnne raw.
Ariadnne held out her arm and Nieve grasped it firmly. As she did, something passed between them. Nieve’s brows rose—she felt it too. Without thinking, Ariadnne pulled Nieve in close, shivering as Nieve’s free hand grazed her arm.
‘Thank you,’ Ariadnne whispered.
‘For what?’ Nieve replied softly, her mouth curling.
The crowd’s wild clapping drew them from the moment. Lord D’avant and his retinue surged into the ring and Ariadnne found herself swept away. She strained her neck to try and catch another glimpse, but Nieve disappeared between the jostling bodies.
Melixanthe came up, protectively putting her hand on Ariadnne’s shoulder, muttering, ‘Well done.’ She squeezed and Ariadnne wondered if she knew that her victory was false. That Ariadnne had been beaten.
They were interrupted abruptly. ‘I haven’t seen something so invigorating in years!’ Lord D’avant said, his mouth uncomfortably close to Ariadnne’s ear.
‘It was nothing...’ she began.
‘Nonsense.’ He waved her dismissal aside.
‘Listen. I’ve still not had word from the keep and tomorrow marks the turn of the hunter’s moon.
’ His lip curved in what he must have thought was a pleasant smile.
‘It is our tradition to hold a dance in its honour. If we haven’t been summoned to the border I will of course preside over the event, as is my duty.
I would be delighted if you and your companies would attend? ’
Both Ariadnne and Melixanthe froze.
‘That isn’t necessary, my Lord.’ Melixanthe coughed. ‘It would be a distraction from our duties.’
‘I insist!’ The High Lord’s chest puffed. ‘It would only be a few hours of your time, and I do enjoy the opportunity to dance with new partners.’
‘I don’t dance,’ Ariadnne said bluntly, not caring if it sounded rude.
‘Well, we’ll see if we can make tomorrow an exception, shall we?’ Lord D’avant’s smile grew wider as he gave her a bow. He then gathered his attendants to him before wandering across the sands to observe the other companies train.
Ariadnne turned to her handler. ‘Seriously?’
‘Apparently so...’ Melixanthe was watching the High Lord leave, and Ariadnne crossed her arms, unimpressed with the idea of another performance.
Lucius sauntered over, sprawling with characteristic confidence against the stone wall behind as he surveyed his company.
‘That was some show,’ he said, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He was shirtless, of course; the varan thought far too much of himself.
Ariadnne shrugged. ‘It was what he needed to see.’ She gestured to the High Lord’s retreating figure.
Lucius nodded sagely, then smiled to himself. ‘I knew you’d win,’ he said, almost proudly. ‘I told Sol he was a fool to put money on Nieve when it was you she was against.’
Ariadnne raised her eyebrows.
Oh, how wrong he was.