Sixteen
Ariadnne
Ariadnne ran her fingers over the tender new skin of her abdomen, puckered from the stitches that she had pulled free. More scars. She sighed and pulled a clean tunic over her head, belting it at her middle.
Her guard, Lucile, had proven easily distractible, more than willing to help Ariadnne with her stitches while Nieve slipped silently past. Ariadnne already missed her, which was dangerous in itself, and wondered what she’d agreed to— whether there could be anything like happiness in her future.
She took a last glance round the room. There was nothing left to pack. A smile lingered on her lips as her gaze slipped to the window. Still open. Nieve was an idiot for attempting the climb, but it seemed like she was Ariadnne’s idiot.
They gathered in the courtyard as the sun rose, several knights lugging the great prize chests for the Guild—a collection of precious jewels and artifacts that had surely been painful to part with.
Lord D’avant was notably absent. Despite her lack of sleep, Nieve stood tall beside Josef, glancing over with a small, secret smile as Ariadnne approached.
‘Form up!’ Melixanthe commanded. More than one company-member was yawning after their night of revelry, and Melixanthe’s brow furrowed deeper at the sight of their sloppy formation.
‘What do you call this?’ she bellowed in a voice fierce enough to carry over turbulent winds. With a start, the knights leapt into orderly rows.
Melixanthe surveyed them, irritation clear on her face, before turning to lead them in silent procession through the archway towards the camps beyond.
Far from the walls of the keep, the varanyen were given the signal to change.
They erupted into their dragon skins, hunkering to be harnessed.
The scent of pine and snow as Nieve climbed aboard made Ariadnne’s dragon-heart race, an overwhelming sense of possession coming over her.
Hers. She huffed to try and clear her raging dragon hormones and concentrated on Melixanthe, who was sitting at the base of her neck—a sobering presence.
It was time to go home—where walls would cage her and the only taste of sky she would have would be at training.
But now she had Nieve.
*
The land stretched towards the horizon in a patchwork of fields and forests.
Melixanthe kept a map braced against Ariadnne’s hide and called out directions under the blazing autumn sun.
It warmed Ariadnne’s scales and roasted the knights arrayed along her spine—who grumbled and groaned over the creak of the harness.
Five hours in, Lucius and Regulus descended to rest and eat.
Melixanthe gave Ariadnne the signal to continue.
Her company would eat on the wing and reunite with the others at their overnight campsite.
Ariadnne suppressed her own hunger and tried to think only of flight.
This was what she lived for, riding air currents and racing between clouds.
In the sky she could pretend she was free.
Pretend she wasn’t cursed and bound to the Guild.
After a day’s flight, however, Ariadnne’s exhilaration waned.
She was long past exhaustion, and by the time Melixanthe signalled that the campsite was close she was ready to curl up and sleep for the rest of time.
Relief surged through her muscles as she prepared to descend.
They often used the plateau ahead when coming this direction, a large expanse of flat rock at the top of a craggy range of hills.
Isolated, it was hard to approach from the ground without knowledge of the goat trails in the area.
Ariadnne and her company were first to arrive.
The two varanyen would likely be several hours behind.
It was no matter—Ariadnne carried all they needed to make camp.
As she crumpled into the rocky ground, her harness was stripped and panniers emptied, fae scurrying like ants scraping flesh from a carcass.
In minutes she was free to change, and after dragging herself to the edge of the plateau for the ordeal, she dressed and approached the camp, hovering to the side of where her knights laughed and swapped stories.
Nieve stood in the middle of the group, pale skin glowing in the dim light. She smiled at something Lucile said, and Ariadnne felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. She blamed her volatile dragon emotions, filled with an irrational urge to throw caution to the wind and kiss her—
Nieve’s head tilted, searching, and her smile widened as she spotted Ariadnne standing in the shadows. She gestured for her to come stand with the group, but Ariadnne shook her head. She’d never really been part of the company. However, Nieve was determined and gestured again.
Reluctantly, Ariadnne stepped away from the shadows and joined them, standing close enough to Nieve that their arms brushed.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, trying not to notice the way Nieve watched her lips as she spoke.
‘You looked lonely.’
‘Mmhmm. I was just fine.’ Ariadnne gave her a sideways look.
Nieve lowered her voice. ‘But secretly you were missing me?’
Ariadnne smothered a smile and looked away. She wasn’t wrong.
By the time the firedrakes drew close to the camp it had been up and running for a few hours.
Knights sat around the campfire as cooks served them stew from enormous kettles.
Warm and savoury, it was what Ariadnne needed.
Somehow Nieve had persuaded her to sit with the company over dinner, and soon she found herself laughing with the others at Finnick’s impressions of minor lordlings they had met at the citadel.
Han was listening with rapt attention, still nursing his injuries as he interjected with impressions of his own.
Melixanthe smiled and shook her head. She didn’t offer any stories herself, but glanced occasionally at Ariadnne with an unreadable expression.
The ground shook as the firedrakes landed.
Their usually brilliant red hides were dulled from fatigue as their crew dismounted, and their transformation was a painful shudder.
Lucius climbed to his feet first, waving aside the tunic proffered to him and stumbling straight over to the food.
Ariadnne had sympathy for the hunger, it clawed at her own belly even after her third helping of the stew.
Each shift took its toll on their metabolism.
Ariadnne picked at what was left in her own bowl as the conversation moved on.
‘Go on, Rook, let’s hear about your village again.
’ Lucile egged on the surly warrior, who flashed her a rare smile as he embarked on a tale from his youth.
Ariadnne was surprised to learn he had been a rogue as a youngster.
She lapped up the tale he painted of the village he was from, the fruit trees he stole from and the farmers that chased him.
So subtle it could be mistaken for an accident, Nieve’s hand shifted on the bench next to her and her fingertips brushed against Ariadnne’s leg. Ariadnne slowly shifted her own hand until it covered Nieve’s, and for the first time in a long time felt something akin to happiness.
*
The camp was awash in red light as the sun finished sinking over the horizon. Conversation dwindled, warriors peeling off to bed down under shelters. Eventually, Melixanthe rose and stretched, flashing the pendant at her neck before picking her way round the fire.
‘Come on, Ari. Let’s turn in,’ she said, holding out her hand.
Ariadnne did her best not to look at Nieve as she grasped it, stiff muscles protesting as she rose.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she glanced across the fire to see Sol frowning, as usual.
His eyes flicked to her hand on Melixanthe’s arm and the vein at his temple swelled like an engorged snake.
Lucius noticed, and jostled him with a shoulder, breaking his focus.
Ariadnne shivered as Sol turned to whisper something in Lucius’ ear.
She shook her head, perhaps there was one good thing about going home—she wouldn’t need to see him again in a hurry.
The main tent was an ornate pavilion of green and gold with the Guild’s black wings emblazoned on the door panel.
Inside, there was a sitting space lit by a small faelight hanging from the roof.
The back and sides of the tent were divided into separate chambers by heavy curtains.
Melixanthe and Ariadnne’s bedroom was strewn with sleeping furs, and Melixanthe bundled some into a bed of sorts and sat, stripping off the bulkiest parts of her armour.
Ariadnne followed suit and gathered some furs into a pile at the opposite end of the chamber.
‘I’ll be pleased to get home,’ Melixanthe said with a sigh. ‘I’m definitely reaching the age where a comfortable bed is appreciated.’
Ariadnne laughed wryly. ‘I don’t think you’re there yet. There must be a few more campaigns left in your old bones.’
Melixanthe snorted and Ariadnne’s mind drifted towards what returning home meant; it meant losing most of the freedoms she had while on campaign.
It meant forgoing her stolen moments with Nieve, and potentially losing what they had found.
Nieve had said they’d find a way, but she wondered if that would be true once she realised how controlled Ariadnne’s life was.
‘Are you okay, Ari? You don’t seem yourself.’ Melixanthe watched her with concern.
‘It’s nothing. I suppose I don’t miss Ullieve as much as you do,’ Ariadnne replied and arranged herself on her furs. Melixanthe sighed and eased herself down, stiff after the days flight.
‘I’m sorry, that was probably tactless.’
Ariadnne grunted. She had made her malcontent known frequently to Melixanthe as a teenager, acting out against her handler’s quiet strength.
Despite being strict, Melixanthe had shown her nothing but compassion, in her own way.
Ariadnne had thought she’d come to terms with the way things were, now she was older.
Or at least she had been worn down beyond caring.
She was an obedient soldier. To be anything else was to invite the Council to breathe more heavily down Melixanthe’s neck and force her to control her ward.
‘As I said, it’s no matter, it’s not like you can change anything.’
Melixanthe gave her a last long look before nodding and closing her eyes, rolling over to curl on her side. ‘Sleep well, Ariadnne.’
Ariadnne rolled over, but the oppressive weight of their return pressed too heavily for her to sleep.