Fourteen
Ariadnne
Great plates of food graced the long tables, the smell of roasting hogs filling the air as afternoon drew into evening. Lord Greve, the ruler of Monmouth Keep, had thrown a feast fit for kings in recognition of the Guild’s victory.
The three varanyen were on display, seated in a place of honour by the lords at the top table.
It was an honour Ariadnne didn’t appreciate.
Every bone in her body ached and she had to fight back visions of claws digging into human flesh.
All she wanted was a quiet space to lie down and scream into a pillow.
She’d killed so many. Celebrating didn’t seem right.
Her attention drifted down the table to Nieve, who was deep in conversation with Josef.
‘What do you think, Ariadnne?’ Lord Greve asked, and Ariadnne’s shin smarted as Melixanthe kicked her under the table.
‘What?’ Ariadnne grimaced. Melixanthe followed her gaze to Nieve, frowning.
‘Lord Greve was asking your opinion on whether the Guild should be more involved in training with the kingdom’s armies?’ she murmured pointedly.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.’ Ariadnne’s brain waded through fog as she tried to think of a reply. She gave him a polite smile.
The Lord nodded. ‘Given all these reports of dark fae, it seems like something we should consider.’
Ariadnne stared. He seemed to be alluding to more than the rumours Melixanthe had mentioned. She frowned, unsure what to say.
Melixanthe chimed in, ‘We don’t get involved in politics. The Council make all our decisions.’ She glared at Ariadnne as the lord turned away.
Ariadnne tried harder for the rest of the meal.
She made small talk with the lords and answered their questions.
The food, at least, was good. Ariadnne had helping after helping to replace some of the reserves she’d burned through, while Lord D’avant made eyes at her from across the table.
Suddenly, the plate in front of her became particularly fascinating.
As the night deepened, a band struck up and people left tables to mingle and dance.
Ariadnne hung on, hoping for a lull where she could escape and see Nieve.
Her frustration mounted as that lull failed to present itself.
All too soon they would be ‘home’, and Ariadnne would lose the semblance of freedom she had on campaign.
She searched the faces of the crowd, noticing the way Sol stared at her. He stood apart from the others, mouth set in a tight line until Failion slung an arm around his shoulders, leading him away.
With a sigh, Ariadnne twisted her neck from the puffed-up lordling she’d been ignoring and glimpsed Nieve nearby. She hung close, evidently hoping for the same opportunity as Ariadnne.
It wasn’t fair. Ariadnne could already see that their moment wasn’t going to happen, not when everyone was constantly in Ariadnne’s face, demanding pieces of her.
She shuttered her gaze and turned back to the lordling, who was describing his estate in the lowlands.
‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, and forced a polite smile before excusing herself. She was exhausted and needed room to breathe. To think. Doubts about wanting more with Nieve were already creeping in.
Melixanthe was deep in conversation with a noble as Ariadnne made her way over.
She almost made it but was intercepted by a bulky form stepping into her path.
Lord D’avant licked his lips, smiling, and suddenly Ariadnne wanted a reason to be anywhere else.
She looked for an escape. When none presented itself, she found the High Lord taking her hand, pressing it to his gold-whiskered lips.
‘Ariadnne,’ he purred. ‘You were magnificent today…’
‘It was nothing.’ Ariadnne gently-yet-firmly pulled her hand away. ‘It was my duty. I was happy to fulfil it.’
‘I want you to know that if you need anything tonight, anything at all, you only have to ask.’ His eyebrows rose, and Ariadnne thought she could safely say that there was nothing possible that she could need from him, that night or any other.
‘My Lord,’ she began. ‘I was just going to ask Melixanthe if I could be excused—’
‘What a wonderful idea.’ Lord D’avant’s lip curled. ‘We could take a walk.’ He reached to take Ariadnne’s wrist. She could smell the tang of spirits on his breath and tried to pull away but his grip was like iron. His magic lifted the hairs of her neck.
‘You forget yourself, Lord.’ Fear stabbed her gut as she twisted to escape. D’avant pressed closer, and Ariadnne couldn’t think how to tactfully remove herself from the situation without harming him. Her dragon reared and, wild-eyed, she searched for her handler as his hot breath tickled her neck.
‘Lord D’avant. I believe the varanya is telling you to stop.’
Nieve appeared beside her, baring her canines and Lord D’avant’s lip curled in displeasure. Ariadnne seized the distraction to pull free, Nieve stepping between them, her small stature dwarfed by his.
Eyes flashing with fire, the High Lord puffed up his chest. ‘I don’t believe we asked for your input.’
‘There are some things that shouldn’t need to be spelled out, such as when a lady is not receptive of your advances.’
Nieve took Ariadnne’s hand, Lord D’avant’s eyes following the motion. The thrum of his power mounted.
‘Where did you say you were from?’ he asked quietly, eyes narrowing as he stared at Nieve’s face. ‘You look like someone… any chance you are a relation to—’
‘No,’ Nieve said bluntly.
The crowd around them quieted as people took notice of their standoff. Melixanthe appeared, face paling as she took in the tableau. Lord D’avant’s bruised pride was replaced by something more sinister as he stared again at Nieve, who looked away.
‘Ariadnne,’ Melixanthe barked. ‘It is high time you were in bed. I suggest you go to your room.’ Her eyes were firm. She would not take no for an answer. Ariadnne turned to leave, and Nieve turned with her.
‘No, Rook will take you.’ Melixanthe said, and Ariadnne’s nostrils flared at the tone. Her anger was replaced by fear as she wondered what Melixanthe had seen, and why she didn’t trust Nieve to take her.
*
Ariadnne flopped onto her four-poster bed. What an evening. First, she’d kissed Nieve, who’d kissed her back. Then, they had all but faced off with the High Lord of Eradiata. All after fighting a war.
Exhausted, Ariadnne debated if she was too tired to take off her armour, but in the end decided that sleeping in it would be worse.
With a groan, she forced herself to sit and unbuckle the heavy plates, wincing as the movement tugged on her stitches.
Not for the first time, she wished the Healers magic could do more than speed her natural healing.
At least she should be mostly healed by morning, with a few new scars to add to her collection.
She let the armour drop to the floor, each piece clanging against the tiles.
When she was down to her tunic, she lay back and stared at the high beams of the ceiling.
Moonlight streamed in through the open window, casting stark shadows on the walls of the minimal chamber.
With nothing else to distract her, Ariadnne found her mind drifting.
She closed her eyes and there was Nieve rescuing her from Lord D’avant’s attentions, moving to defend Ariadnne without thought.
When was the last time anybody had done that for her?
She allowed herself to get lost in thoughts of the upward tilt of Nieve’s eyes, the constellation of freckles on her right cheek, the taste of her lips—honey and pine and frozen lakes.
She couldn’t let the idea of her go.
But she should.
Yes, Nieve might now be part of her company, and once home, they would train alongside one another—but Ariadnne wanted more than a fleeting touch or glance.
That would almost be worse than never seeing her again.
Almost.
There was a quiet knock at the door. Ariadnne’s heart leapt, hopeful.
‘Come in.’ She sat on the bed, her heart thudding expectantly.
It was Melixanthe who entered.
Her brows rose as she took in Ariadnne’s expression. ‘If I didn’t already suspect you were hoping for someone else, your disappointment confirms it,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I came to check on you after D’avant... Are you okay?’
Ariadnne screwed her nose, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
‘Yes. No. There’s no lasting harm, at least. I hope D’avant’s pride isn’t too bruised?’
‘He’s been suitably placated for now.’ Melixanthe snorted. ‘So do you want to tell me who you were hoping would walk through that door?’
Ariadnne feigned confusion as Melixanthe perched next to her.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Ariadnne, I’m not blind. I can see your interest in the new knight.’ She took Ariadnne’s hand. ‘It might have been a mistake to send you two off together. I’ve put her on guard duty tonight. I thought it was probably best until things cool off a little. Blood always runs hot after a battle.’
Ariadnne tried to take her hand back; this was exactly the conversation she didn’t want to have with her handler, but Melixanthe’s grip was firm.
‘Listen, I can look the other way to a degree if you need to get something out of your system. Gods know, I’d hate to deny you your comforts.
I know you’re young. The Guild can be lonely at times.
But please don’t let it go too far.’ Her pause was heavy.
‘I don’t want it to be a mistake that I’ve taken her on—I’ve tried to protect you before, but you’re older now.
Believe me, it won’t end well if you fall for her.
’ Her expression was almost pained, and a hand went to the pendant at her neck to fiddle with the carved stone.
With a sigh she released Ariadnne’s hand.
‘Anyway, we have a long flight back tomorrow, so you do need to rest. Good night, Ariadnne.’ She rose, making her way back out of the room and leaving Ariadnne alone. As she always was.