Seventeen
Ariadnne
Ariadnne drifted in and out of sleep, disturbed by the feeling that something was wrong, an eerie sense of unease that twisted her stomach. Opening her eyes, she stared into the darkness, her sharp ears picking out sounds that were out of place in the sleeping camp.
Something was wrong.
There, behind the tent, was the faint scrape of armour on rock, followed by the muffled crunch of gravel beneath booted feet. Someone was creeping in the dark. Many someones by the sound of it.
Ariadnne shuffled toward Melixanthe, almost reaching her side when an alarm rang through the camp, punctuated by the reverberating clang of steel on steel; a sound that clawed talons down Ariadnne’s spine.
She reacted on instinct, scrambling to her feet and giving Melixanthe an undignified shove before yanking the curtain aside and grabbing her sword and shield.
Wishing she’d slept in armour, she darted for the doorway and pushed herself through, cat-like eyes adjusting quickly to the moonlight.
It was chaos.
A swarm of heavily armoured fae, skin painted black, had descended on the sleeping camp.
Her first thought was that they were dark fae…
but no, as the Guild scrambled to react, she realised they were high—only dressed for murder and death.
Ariadnne’s instincts kicked in, threatening to overwhelm her with possessive fury.
Her company was in danger.
Her people.
Icy rage coiled under her skin, her fingertips lengthening into talons before she forced her dragon back under control.
If she shifted, she’d crush everyone on the plateau.
Knights included—knights who were rallying to the sentries call.
Blow for blow, they struggled. Ariadnne’s eagle eyes flicked from Finnick, who was backed into a corner, to Lucile, who had snatched up her bow and was dispatching painted faces with deadly focus.
The Solvet twins stood back-to-back in silent solidarity, surrounded.
She was about to leap in and help when a flash of silver caught her eye.
Glowing in the moonlight, Nieve’s hair shone between the dark silhouettes of the enemy.
The knight was locked in combat with the largest fae Ariadnne had ever seen—a wall of hulking shoulders and biceps that could crush skulls.
For all Nieve’s speed and agility he was strong.
and each blow sent Nieve stumbling back into a roll.
A spear of ice flung from her fingertips, skittering harmlessly off the wards on his armour.
Sweat pricked Ariadnne’s brow as her dragon thrashed against her boundaries. Nieve was hers. Its reptilian voice screamed at her to end the threat and without thought her legs started moving, pumping across the rocky terrain, dodging swords and limbs as she shoved armoured foes from her path.
She dropped into a slide across the dirt, her blade slicing low across the painted giant’s bare ankles to rip tendons and muscle. Before he had time to topple, Nieve finished him with a sword to the throat.
Ariadnne sensed someone behind her and spun, sword raised.
The painted female attacking her paused, sword raised, staring at her eyes before stumbling back, much to Ariadnne’s confusion.
Her hesitation was her downfall as an arrow lodged in her chest. From the other side of the campfire Han lowered his bow, drawing his sword and plunging it into the chest of a figure rushing toward Finnick’s unprotected back.
Han’s boyish face grinned, then suddenly stopped, slack, as a blade took him in the side.
A cry escaped Ariadnne’s lips as he crumpled like a sack of flour, swallowed in the chaos.
Nieve assumed a protective stance at her side, firm as first one charged, then another.
A blow skidded off Ariadnne’s shield, and she retaliated with a vicious slash to the gut as Nieve spun to slice the legs of another.
A yawning crater of worry for Han had Ariadnne doubling back, but she was distracted by a scene near the main tent.
Melixanthe was fighting alongside Sol and Lucius, the three of them holding their own against four masked attackers—but none had noticed the fifth, creeping in the shadows, murder in their eyes as they fixed on Ariadnne’s handler.
Fear clutched at Ariadnne’s heart. Sol turned toward the general and Ariadnne was sure he’d seen, but her relief turned to horror as he spun away, leaping toward Lucius instead.
The shadowed figure moved and a scream burst from Ariadnne’s lips.
The sound caught Melixanthe’s attention as the figure lunged.
The general twisted, and the would-be fatal blow to her chest speared her shoulder.
Ariadnne, sprinting, heard the grunt that escaped the general’s lips at the impact.
Before the attacker could rally for a second blow, Melixanthe swung and his head rolled free.
The wounded general staggered, and Ariadnne was there, supporting her weight as Nieve became their shield.
Teetering under Melixanthe’s weight, Ariadnne glanced across the plateau.
The knights had organised themselves, slipping into tried and tested formations, coating the floor with blood as many painted scrambled to flee.
Ariadnne bared her teeth at one painted figure who dared come too close, Nieve pushing them back as Ariadnne dragged Melixanthe towards the tents.
‘Last push!’ someone roared, and knights surged, cleaving through bodies with businesslike efficiency.
Before long the plateau was quiet, punctured by the groans of the injured. Healers ran across the campsite, seeking the wounded, while the battered warriors still standing shook as their adrenaline ebbed.
Ariadnne lowered Melixanthe to the ground and summoned a healer.
‘How bad is it?’ Ariadnne asked.
‘She’ll live.’
Melixanthe grunted and gave Ariadnne a tight smile.
Ariadnne glanced towards Sol. He remained locked in conversation with Lucius and his new Second, Failion, but his eyes shifted her way.
She couldn’t decide if he’d made a genuine error or if he’d left Melixanthe on purpose.
It would have been a convenient way to get rid of a rival.
Nieve also stood apart, watching them all with a light frown. She was giving the general a contemplative stare, and her ambition to become Ariadnne’s handler swam to mind. If Melixanthe fell in battle, that ambition might be easier to realise.
The thought didn’t sit easily.
With a heavy heart, Ariadnne rose to assess the rest of the team.
Josef was doing a headcount and Ariadnne ran her eyes over the knights, checking for injuries.
Lucile was nursing a nasty gash to her abdomen, and Kayla was staring fixedly at the floor with her hand clasped on a bleeding thigh. They were one short.
‘Han?’ she asked Josef, praying that the boy lived, that he was with the healers.
He shook his head, eyes tight. ‘No.’
Ariadnne closed her eyes, Han’s youthful face flashing against her eyelids. Her dragon raged at the waste of life, and she needed to take a deep breath before she lost control.
‘Gods alive,’ she cursed bitterly. ‘What in the hells was that? It’s supposed to be safe here.’
‘Maybe they knew we carried prize money for the Guild,’ Josef shrugged. ‘And hoped we’d be broken, easy targets after the battle.’
‘Least we showed them,’ Regulus replied from behind.
‘Though at a cost. I’ve lost two good knights tonight.
I’d like to know who was behind that, and if their leaders are among those we’ve killed.
’ He stared around. Unfortunately, it looked like all the invaders were dead so they had no one to question.
Josef rolled the nearest one over with his foot and went to smear the paint before realising it wasn’t paint at all.
The face, which was surprisingly youthful, was completely tattooed in black.
A startling contrast to the startling white of his eyes and white pointed teeth.
‘That’s odd.’ Josef frowned.
‘What?’ Ariadnne glanced at him.
‘I’ve seen these markings before, but not in this area. The shadowed ones usually don’t stray far from the coast, and they never attack our mounted units—only Guild foot legions.’
Ariadnne looked back at the dead fae, whose eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, and there was one thing she knew; if she saw another of the inked bastards again, she’d kill them.