Nineteen
Nieve
They were airborne within the hour, pale-faced knights clinging tight to their harness, faces lined with grief.
Nieve mourned, too. She had been friends with those lost from Lucius’ company.
War might be war and loss was expected, but to lose them in such an underhand attack grated to the very core of her being.
And Ariadnne… her reaction cemented Nieve’s growing certainty that the varanya was not the spoiled princess everyone assumed, but one thing was bugging her, chewing at her brain: what could the Guild could possibly hold over her to make her fight if she found it so hard?
There was an accord, that much Nieve knew. The varanyen had pledged to help the Guild, to be part of a noble calling in exchange for safety.
But there was meant to be choice.
Nieve itched to find out more, to spend time with her, getting to know all the ins and outs of her life, what made her tick.
It was an itch she desperately needed to scratch; a pressure that could only mean one thing.
If she was right, then the impossible nature of who Ariadnne was must be karma for abandoning her homeland.
It was the only explanation for why she couldn’t get the varanya out of her head; from her endearing awkwardness, and the way she sucked her bottom lip when she concentrated, to the way those lips tasted, and what her skin might taste like if Nieve ran her tongue down her neck.
She flushed. The flash in Ariadnne’s violet eyes when she angered made Nieve want to push her out of her comfort zone—to see that fiery look turned on her.
Or maybe in truth she wanted Ariadnne’s eyes to smoulder for her another way.
Nieve bit the inside of her cheek, struggling to control the direction of her thoughts—Gods.
Nieve was dying to spar with her again. In more ways than one.
She gripped her straps tighter, Ariadnne flying high and fast as the firedrakes fell behind, even with the promise of home and a hot meal to keep them moving. Eventually, the high cliffs of Ullieve crawled over the horizon, the turrets and walls of the Guild cresting the skyline.
Familiar pride swelled in her breast. She was reminded of how she had been accepted into the ranks of the Guild as a fully-grown warrior.
Most started their Guild careers as youngsters, so her advancement to a dragon’s company, then Second, all within a few years was almost unheard of.
It was a sign that she had finally found somewhere she belonged.
The Guild’s castle perched on the edge of the cliff, an awe-inspiring fortress that defied gravity, stretching a full mile in length.
It was the seat of the Council, the masters of the Guild, a vast organisation spanning the continent, supplying guards and warriors to any who could pay.
Ullieve was their central command, and more importantly, it was the home and training ground of the varanyen.
They glided closer and Nieve could make out Ariadnne’s sprawling section of the castle; the queen’s wing.
There was room enough there for ten varanya, though in living history there had only ever been one or two females per generation.
Nieve had been told that females were kept apart from the males due to their capricious nature, their presence making the males behave erratically.
Nieve hadn’t given thought before of what that entailed for Ariadnne.
She’d assumed she was pampered. Spoiled. A brat, really.
Now, knowing Ariadnne, she found herself wondering what that isolation looked like, and again—why she stayed if she was unhappy. Nieve found herself wanting details.
The other varanyen had relative freedom.
However, from what Nieve had seen, Ariadnne’s every move was dictated by the General.
Protectiveness uncurled in her gut—she wanted to change that somehow.
Make Ariadnne realise her life didn’t need to be like that if she didn’t want it. Nieve had changed hers, after all.
Ariadnne’s muscles bunched as they descended, spiralling lazily towards the main yard where there was more than enough room for Ariadnne to land alongside the firedrakes.
Knights gathered as the dragons were spotted, whooping and cheering as they landed.
Nieve unbuckled her harness and followed Josef as he unrolled the ladders and bounded down, the dirt of the training ground a familiar crunch.
Nieve glanced back at the beautiful sheet of white scales behind her and reached to trace two fingers along a ridge.
Her dragon—she thrilled at the thought—was cool to the touch, and Nieve was sure she felt a shiver run across her scales as she withdrew her hand.
‘Soon. I promise,’ she breathed as she passed Ariadnne’s serpentine head, knowing her sensitive ears would hear. ‘I swear…’ She glanced to see Ariadnne’s nearest saucer-like iris swirl a deep purple.
The great chests of prize money were unloaded.
Melixanthe was ahead, saluting those of the seven councillors who’d come to watch.
Masters of rune magic, the councillors were each equally responsible for the running of the Guild.
Their spokesperson, the lion-like Councillor Jagen, watched with tawny eyes, runes engraved on every inch of his skin.
Beside him, stood Councillors Sarlemon and Leth.
Sarlemon hailed from the southern provinces, his ebony skin and shocking Flame auburn hair shining in the sun as he shook Melixanthe’s hand.
Leth, however, stood back. He was tall and somewhat predatory in appearance, with dark, hawk-like features.
The hairs at the back of Nieve’s neck stood on end as he fixed his piercing gaze first on her, then Ariadnne.
‘Nieve, come here!’ Josef turned to those he had been greeting.
‘The White Knight has chosen to join our company!’ he announced with a grin and lifted her hand in celebration.
She tore her eyes from Leth’s disconcerting gaze, plastering a smile on her face as she slipped into her well-practiced facade.
Josef beamed. ‘Come, after we’ve eaten, I’ll help you move your things to our barracks. I think you’ll find them an upgrade.’
Nieve clapped him on the back, and the welcoming arm he threw around her shoulders was genuine.
She cast a glance back over her shoulder as he guided her toward the dining hall; both firedrakes had shifted and were roughhousing with their companies as they followed the crowd, but Ariadnne remained alone on the sand in her scales.
Leaving her felt wrong, somehow. Wrong that she wasn’t a part of their victory.
She would find a way to change things, she swore.