Eight
Ariadnne
Ariadnne lay in her room. Not on the bed, of course. The roiling flurry of her thoughts did not match well with pillowy blankets and soft bedding. Instead, she stretched out on the thick, bearskin rug in front of the room’s empty hearth, embracing the welcoming chill from the flagstones below.
Not only was she flying to war tomorrow, to be responsible for the lives of her company, but Melixanthe had re-offered Nieve a place in that company. Permanently.
That thought kept chasing the others right out of her head.
If Nieve said yes—and there was no guarantee she would—Ariadnne would see her again. Every day during training.
But Ariadnne had no freedoms at home—less so than here. There was only training, her rooms, and Melixanthe’s watchful eye.
She rolled over, the hard surface digging into her ribs. Perhaps it would be better if Nieve stayed with Lucius.
No. That thought didn’t sit right, either.
Gods, the way Nieve had looked in that crimson dress; all lean lines and soft curves.
Ariadnne was in trouble. With a huff she sat, rubbing her hands down her face.
A weak, sickly breeze ebbed across her skin from her slit of a window, promising cooler air outside.
She dragged herself to her feet, bracing her hands either side of the window and inhaling deeply.
Her room overlooked a courtyard, where someone practiced in the moonlight.
She caught a gleam of silver hair and the glint of Nieve’s trademark blades, and froze. Nieve’s movements were liquid, ripe with controlled savagery. After a particularly vicious swing Nieve flung her swords to the floor, running her hands through her hair.
Ariadnne took a step back from the window, embarrassed to be watching what appeared to be a private moment. She paused, fighting with herself before, cat-like, curiosity got the better of her.
She re-approached the window, eyes scanning the yard, but Nieve was gone—at least from view.
She wrapped her arms round her middle, suddenly lonely as she turned from the window back to the semblance of a bed she’d made on the floor.
She gazed at the ceiling, tracing the web of stones as her body melded into the rug beneath her, finally drifting into restless sleep.
*
Dawn was still hours away when the door rapped and Melixanthe entered. Ariadnne’s eyes cracked open as Melixanthe’s gaze swung from the empty bed, to where Ariadnne curled in a ball on the rug. A brow rose.
‘Time to wake up.’ She nudged Ariadnne’s limp form. ‘We’re meeting at the front gates in ten.’
Ariadnne groaned. She’d barely slept but she forced herself upright, rubbing her eyes. Melixanthe held out a tunic and Ariadnne tossed it over her head; soft, pale blue linen with a simple brown belt, easily sacrificed to the shift. Melixanthe nodded in approval and pulled out a stick of kohl.
‘Here,’ she said, and summoned her to sit on the bed. She took Ariadnne’s chin, tilting it to paint the traditional twin stripes down her cheeks. ‘Now you’re ready.’
Melixanthe’s mouth tightened, and Ariadnne swallowed a knot of anxiety—the varanya should never show fear. She was the Guild’s figurehead. Their primary weapon. Fearless. She repeated this, but it didn’t stop her nerves coiling. This was no border skirmish.
Inhaling measured breaths, Ariadnne swept her braids into a bun and grabbed the bread roll Melixanthe tossed her way. She tore hunks out of its soft, doughy centre as they strode through the halls, joined by a steady trickle of knights.
Everyone was geared up to the eyeballs and grim-faced. All except Josef and Kayla, who stumbled, tousled, out of the same room. Ariadnne’s brows rose. She caught Melixanthe’s frown out the corner of her eye and smothered her smile.
In smart lines they wound down the stony steps into the city.
Ahead, Lord D’avant’s retinue rode on horseback and Regulus’ smaller team jogged through the dark streets towards the entrance to the citadel.
Beyond the gates, an expanse of grassland stretched, dotted with fields of rye and corn.
Space—and plenty was needed to shift. The two males, beasts half Ariadnne’s size, could carry teams of ten warriors and a handful of support staff.
They could probably shift on the castle grounds, but Ariadnne would undoubtedly damage the buildings nearby.
Away from the citadel’s walls, Melixanthe held up her hand.
The companies halted, engineers already preparing the panniers used to transport their kit.
Ariadnne strode to the front, stealing a glance at Nieve, who stood resplendent in the moonlight.
Arms behind her back and eyes fixed ahead, she was every inch Sol’s Second.
Her gaze flicked up and she gave Ariadnne a small smile. Ariadnne’s heart twisted.
Sol, however, glowered with the force of a tsunami. He shook his angular head and muttered something too low for her to make out. Nieve turned to say something urgent, her face creasing. Sol gestured to Lucius, and she lowered her head.
Ariadnne’s breath quickened, and she forced her attention back to her own team.
The support crew had lit the area with faelights, unpacking gear and unrolling her giant harness; a colossal monstrosity of zig-zagged leather and buckles, with metal loops designed for the knights to affix their own harnesses.
It kept them safely attached to her back as she hurtled through the air.
To Ariadnne’s disgust, she also had the ‘honour’ of carrying the High Lord and his personal guard. As if she cared for that honour. All she wanted was to get her company through the next twenty-four hours alive and uninjured. And to know whether her company would be one knight more…
The knights fastened their flying belts, Josef helping the High Lord’s men strap into spares. Amid the bustle, Ariadnne prepared for the shift, pausing quietly as Melixanthe summoned Nieve.
‘Please…’ Sol called after her. ‘Nieve. Think about this… Lucius won’t like it.’
‘I’m sorry, Sol.’ Nieve’s voice tremored. She ran a hand over her braid. ‘This isn’t easy, but Melixanthe says Ariadnne’s need is greater.’
Her eyes met Ariadnne’s and there was that look again, a burning intensity. In comparison, the look Sol shot Melixanthe was laden with daggers.
‘You’ve made a decision.’ Melixanthe said, offering Nieve a rare, warm smile.
Nieve nodded. ‘I have.’
The pressure against Ariadnne’s ribs made it hurt to breathe.
‘Then welcome to the company,’ Melixanthe said. ‘You’ll be on point. Josef will set you up.’ She turned to Sol. ‘Captain, I recommend Failion as a replacement—he’s long due a promotion.’
Sol’s scowl dripped down his face.
Melixanthe softened. ‘This should hardly be a surprise, Sol.’
He snorted and Ariadnne almost felt sorry for him, but then he narrowed his eyes and her hackles rose.
‘Ariadnne, what are you waiting for? Time to change,’ Melixanthe shouted.
Sol grumbled as he stalked back to his team, but Ariadnne didn’t care. She strode away from the gathered crowd, not daring to look back at where Nieve stood alongside her people. As one of her people. She would unpick that thought later, providing they survived the day ahead.
She walked until the clamour of preparation dimmed, breathing deep of the rich, heather-scented air and closing her eyes, seeking her centre.
It was a common misconception that ‘fae’ was a varanyen’s natural form. That the other was only something summoned for the occasion. In actuality, the other half of her soul resided inside her, a separate entity that constantly raged to be free.
Well, as close to ‘free’ as she was ever likely to experience.
It took little effort to kindle the spark, to ignite the roiling, shifting power kept dormant under layers of mental restraint—it surged with blazing exhilaration along Ariadnne’s nerves, consuming and re-forming.
The tunic tore and fell to the dirt, forgotten, as her body lengthened and expanded.
White iridescent scales erupted along her back and a glorious mane of deep blue spines formed a ruff around her draconian head.
Great wings burst forth in a riot of silver and blue, and steel-like claws curled from her feet.
A colossal eighty-foot dragon filled the space where she had been standing. With a bellow to the sky above she reared and shook out her mane, enjoying her freedom. From Ariadnne’s new position as passenger, she experienced her new form’s raw, unadulterated magic and power.
On cue, both Lucius and Regulus transformed, their hides a mottled black and red.
Like most male varanyen, they were firedrakes, prancing and snorting flame full of inflated ego.
Ariadnne’s anger surged, more volatile now, and she breathed a blade of ice which shattered between them.
They cowered, instantly subservient, lowering their heads to be harnessed.
Three dragons could easily change the tide of a war, and the Guild’s monopoly over the varanyen was why their services were so coveted, and so expensive.
If the Guild ever had the ambition, it could probably rule the continent.
Fortunately for everyone, they were happy with passing that responsibility onto others—providing their pockets were lined.
Ariadnne’s dragon eyes swirled with colour; a deep violet interspersed with shades of blue.
They became darker if she angered, matching the midnight sky, and when her heart soared, they simmered to a pale lilac.
They were a brilliant blue as she turned her head to watch the harness team swarm over her body, attaching straps and fitting loops to her form.
Her dragon’s curiosity peaked as Nieve moved closer, mouth falling open.
‘It can take you like that, the first time you see her shift,’ Melixanthe said, stepping up beside her.
Nieve simply smiled and said, ‘She’s perfect.’
Ariadnne’s soul tingled.
‘I don’t think you’ll regret your choice, put it that way.
’ Melixanthe leapt forwards to swing up the ladder hanging behind Ariadnne’s foreleg.
The other knights were doing the same, clambering to take position along her spine.
Most carried longbows, capable of shooting over great distances, while bundles of javelins along with wickedly pointed spears were stowed at intervals along the harness, making Ariadnne a deadly aerial force.
Nieve was the last to mount the ladder. Ariadnne’s dragon swung her great head round to watch and Nieve smiled.
‘I hope this is okay?’ she whispered and reached for the next rung. In response, the dragon, nudged by Ariadnne, breathed out the softest puff of frozen air. Icy flakes that settled on Nieve’s skin.
Above, Melixanthe settled into her position at the base of Ariadnne’s neck. Josef, as Second, took point on her left shoulder and Nieve swung herself up to take point on her right. Lord D’avant and his men were still clustered around her feet, gawking. Ariadnne snorted.
Puny being, her dragon whispered, and Ariadnne agreed silently. He was enjoyably wide-eyed and slack jawed as members of the company helped him and his men up the ladders, checking they were secure.
The last to mount were the support team, who buzzed over Ariadnne’s form like bees, checking all the luggage was secure and that the harnessing was sound. Eventually the head engineer gave the signal for all clear.
‘All locked in?’ Melixanthe bellowed down Ariadnne’s spine.
‘Aye, General!’ everyone shouted back.
‘All clear, Ari. Let’s go!’ Melixanthe signalled to Lucius and Regulus’ handlers and gave their team the signal to brace.
Everyone took position as Ariadnne gathered herself and launched into the air, her great wings unfurling. She exalted in the rush of wind past her scales the freedom of the sky.
Onwards to battle and war.