Twelve
Nieve
Nieve braced against her smooth leather harness, supple boots digging into Ariadnne’s scales. Wind tore at her eyes as Ariadnne ripped through the sky with incredible speed for someone who’d been a breath from death moments ago.
Gods, she was powerful.
Had she really kissed her?
Gods damn it. Yes, she had.
The memory of Ariadnne’s lips shivered across her skin; their dusky pink turning cyan as her lifeblood spilled across the dirt. Blood that now stained Nieve’s palms.
Fear trickled through her gut. She’d never much cared for whether she made it through a battle, but the terror she had felt for Ariadnne as she bled out changed that.
Her eyes blinked, thoughts of the varanya’s dark hair, matted with blood, and faded, honey-kissed skin rising unbidden.
She swallowed. Her reaction to seeing Ariadnne like that had been visceral.
She knew, damnit, that feelings like these would lead nowhere good. The varanya was out of reach, but she was struggling to care.
She’d almost watched her die.
They crested the wall, and Ariadnne’s grunt as a dozen arrows struck home brought Nieve back to the moment. Her nostrils flared, anger coursing through her veins; as if Ariadnne hadn’t suffered enough.
To cap it off, despite the firedrake’s best efforts, several siege towers had locked onto the wall, humans swarming across the gap. Two other towers were in flames, and the firedrakes were hammering a third.
Ariadnne’s muscles bunched, and Nieve’s heart leapt skyward as they plummeted toward the first tower, Ariadnne swooping dangerously close to the wall as she ripped the top platform clean off, sending soldiers flying.
She smashed the supports of the next with her head, sending her listing to the side, getting sloppy. A sign she hadn’t had nearly enough rest.
Beside her, Josef reached for another handful of arrows.
The company were flagging too, more arrows skittering over Ariadnne’s scales and making their mark as the Gales’ wind shields failed.
Nieve’s heart clenched to see Ariadnne’s beautiful white hide turn pink as blood streaked her sides.
Then Finnick called out, an arrow lodged in his thigh; a lucky shot from an archer on top of yet another lumbering tower that had almost reached the wall.
Nieve herself barely ducked to avoid an arrow to the shoulder.
Fights erupted along the wall as more towers made contact, the humans swarming like ants over a carcass, trying to get to the gate.
‘Ariadnne! Hold steady!’ Nieve yelled, making a split decision.
She unclipped her harness, praying the dragon had heard as she slid down Ariadnne’s shoulder towards her wing, struggling to find grip on the slippery scales.
She had seconds to process what she was going to do, but she had never been one to think first.
Ariadnne’s great wing swept down, and on the upstroke, Nieve took off, sprinting along the broad main limb to the central wing joint.
She felt Ariadnne’s head swivel and muttered a curse at the sight of the daunting distance to the wall.
With a prayer to Dianea, she leapt, Ariadnne bellowing as the wall came up fast. With a clatter, Nieve landed, rolling nimbly to her feet.
She barely had time to be smug before the startled humans closed in. She whipped her blades free.
With a whisper, magic skittered down the steel, igniting the blades in icy fire.
The advancing humans paused, glancing at each other, but Nieve didn’t hesitate, plunging into her well of power—which erupted in an intoxicating rush.
Energy barrelled through her limbs, breath freezing as spiderwebs of ice shot across the floor.
Iceling, they called her.
Oh, she was so much more than that.
She moved as the ice brushed the closest men, freezing their legs and leaving them screaming as she cleaved between them in a whirlwind of blades.
Her destructive ability set her apart. It was what had drawn Sol’s eye from his lofty perch above the southern killing fields of Illian’sa.
She’d been a footsoldier; a nobody seeking escape, defending a province far from her home.
Lord Gastalt’s army would have been decimated if not for Nieve—who had frozen the great Tomoko river as the raiders crossed, buying them precious time.
Feats like that were not normal amongst elemental fae.
Not alone. When her homeland chose to imbue Nieve with ice, her Iceling father had been proud; she’d proven worthy to follow his path.
But when it became apparent that her magic surpassed his, things changed.
He made her promise to keep the extent of her power a secret.
It scared him. Sometimes, it scared her too.
But now he was dead and there was no one to fear for her.
The humans tried to run. Nieve cut them down, brutally efficient as she picked up momentum.
A glance to the side; Ariadnne was keeping pace, and a fierce grin tugged Nieve’s lips as she turned back to her task.
Fae began to cheer, throwing themselves into the battle to finish the now-scrambling humans she left in her wake.
One wide-eyed youngster gave her pause, barely holding his weapon as she approached. She felt a pang of guilt. The poor thing muttered something unintelligible in his terror.
‘The demons…we had to—’
His words were cut short as a fae soldier buried a blade in his chest. There was no time to do little more than curse the humans for sending their young to war before she needed to move.
Slash left, spin right, jump. The movements flowed through her limbs as easy as breathing, her magic creating easy, frozen targets for the defending fae. Soon the tide turned and they had the upper hand. She raised her sword, and they roared their approval.
Ariadnne was struggling to keep close to the wall as they neared the keep, giving Nieve only a small window to get back or she’d be finishing the battle on the battlements.
Fitting, perhaps, but something nudged her back to the dragon.
Gritting her teeth, she sprinted towards the edge of the parapet, towards Ariadnne.
As if reading her mind, Ariadnne dipped to intercept as Nieve launched herself into the air.
She landed against the dragon’s hide, scrambling to find grip the harness.
Loose hair blew into Nieve’s eyes, blurring her vision. She felt herself start to slip when a hand grabbed her arm. Dantro stared down at her, a wild grin stretching ear to ear.
‘Gods!’ he whooped, tugging her to safety. ‘You’ve got one hell of a backbone!’
Nieve gave him a shaky smile, arms trembling as adrenaline faded. Grip over grip, she made her way back along the ridge of Ariadnne’s spine until she was on point and could latch into her harness.
Around her, the crew cheered, singing her praises. Acceptance rolled through her; she’d made an impression. Even the General shot her a rare, approving smile.
*
The human clans fled following the loss of the last of their towers, their once formidable mass reduced to a disorganised rabble. Ariadnne’s flanks heaved as horns blared, releasing cavalry to chase down the survivors. The Guild’s part was done.
Melixanthe signalled for them to return to camp.
Nieve clutched the leather of her harness as Ariadnne dipped sideways, wings shaking with strain.
Dust swirled as the ground hurtled to meet them, and knights slid excitedly down Ariadnne’s dull, bloodied flanks, their taut bodies humming with adrenaline.
Nieve couldn’t help her lips twitching as her boots hit solid earth.
They had survived.
She glanced up and caught Melixanthe pausing to ruffle Ariadnne’s spines, her eyes soft.
Then the sound of celebration drew her attention away.
The knights were jubilant, cheering and laughing.
Kayla embraced Josef in front of everyone, and Josef planted a kiss on her forehead.
They staggered away, arm in arm and Nieve’s stomach pinched, thinking of the half-kiss she’d stolen on the battlefield, twisting further as she wondered whether her growing feelings were reciprocated. She thought they were.
Hoped they were.
By the campfire, the atmosphere of the camp was electric, even the usually sombre Rook wearing a smile that split his face ear to ear.
Nieve longed to join in, but Ariadnne was hurt so she turned her back on the excitement, watching as healers moved along Ariadnne’s body, identifying wounds and pulling out arrows.
Melixanthe had disappeared, probably to assess the worst injuries.
There would be more shot to pull free before Ariadnne could safely shift.
Nieve drifted closer to the dragon’s heaving flank, lifting a finger to trace the refracted pattern in her opalescent scales. It didn’t seem right that their company celebrated freely while Ariadnne—who had borne the brunt of the battle—suffered alone.
Her feet took her closer to where Ariadnne’s head rested on the ground, hesitating as she drew close.
What if she’d overstepped with the kiss?
She cleared her throat anyway.
‘Hey… so, we made it…’
Her words faltered as Ariadnne’s nearest eye opened. Her pupil was long, like a cats, and dilated as it focussed on Nieve, whose tongue became as thick and dry as paper.
She wanted to tell Ariadnne everything on her mind; that her dragon was exquisite, but that she needed to shift so Nieve could tell her face to face how badly she wanted her. Nieve’s breath caught. She wanted Ariadnne, so badly that the feeling constricted her chest.
A puff of frozen air caught the loose strands of her hair and her lip curled tentatively, then Ariadnne groaned, and Nieve’s smile slipped. The healers were digging.
Nieve stepped forwards to touch the smooth scales of her jaw, running her hand along the ridge of her nose until Ariadnne stilled.
‘It’ll be over soon,’ she whispered, leaning her forehead against Ariadnne’s cool cheek. She felt more than saw Ariadnne’s eye flutter closed above her, and Nieve ached that no others of her company came to stand by her the way Sol and Failion stood with Lucius.
Melixanthe must have finished her assessment of Ariadnne’s injuries, as she came into view, walking slowly along her length. Nieve withdrew her hand, taking half a step back.
‘I see you two bonded,’ Melixanthe remarked.
There was a pause, and Nieve fidgeted, awkward.
The corner of Melixanthe’s mouth twitched and she turned to Ariadnne.
‘Well, the last piece is nearly out. You should be free to shift any minute.’ She glanced at Nieve.
‘Since you’re here, Ariadnne likes privacy to shift.
There’s a private spot behind the tents.
Take these and keep an eye out for curious soldiers.
’ In one hand she held a deep blue tunic with matching trousers, and the other clutched a large case.
She handed both to Nieve. ‘Be quick, they’ll be preparing a feast in her honour.
’ Her face softened. ‘Good work today, both of you.’ With that she turned on her heels and marched back towards the main tent.
Nieve’s eyes widened as she watched Melixanthe retreat, her mind whirling at the thought of Ariadnne shifting back. Next to her. Alone.
Her pulse thudded in her throat, her excitement at seeing Ariadnne again wound tight with nerves.
She tried not to imagine Ariadnne’s bare skin as she had seen it on the battlefield.
Caramel-kissed and broken with scars that mapped the violence of her life, tried not to imagine the way Ariadnne had looked at her after their lips had met, the flash of desire before she shifted—or had she imagined it?
With a bob of the throat, she turned to the dragon and forced herself to keep her face neutral as she waited for the healers to finish their macabre work.