Twenty-one
Ariadnne
The tap tap of Ariadnne’s booted heels bounced off the walls, trepidation coiling in her chest as she strode, trailed by her ever-surly guard.
She was ready to see Nieve, to convince herself everything had been real, but the fear of being found, of losing her, turned her excited flutters into lead weights.
Dawn light cast fingers of red and gold across the ocean, the air still holding its night chill, Ariadnne’s favourite time of day, as she entered the training yard.
Garth, the weapons-master stood, arms crossed, waiting.
Heavily built, with a deep brow perpetually pulled into a frown, Garth’s long ears were pierced a multitude of times, tattoos decorating the sides of his shaven head. His size was at odds with the speed at which he could move with any weapon, something Ariadnne learned the hard way.
He tossed a pole her direction.
‘Good morning to you, too,’ she said, snatching it from the air. She didn’t expect an effusive greeting; he was a fae of few words, but she enjoyed his company and always had the impression he had a soft spot for her.
‘Aye,’ he replied gruffly. ‘Just us for now. Melixanthe will join later.’
She didn’t need to be told to take her place on the sand, and within minutes she was lunging across the gap, taking the opportunity to catch Garth off-guard. The swordmaster hadn’t been given that title for no reason, though, and blocked the blow easily. Embarrassingly so.
Soon, he was putting Ariadnne through her paces. Sweat slicked her brow, her limbs trembling with exertion and adorned with fresh bruises as the sun climbed the sky.
‘Enough! Good work. You’ve not let yourself slip.’ High praise where he was concerned. ‘Take a break.’
He waved her over to the bench where a jug of water had been laid out alongside orange slices and berries. Ariadnne poured herself a glass and picked at the fruit, grateful for the reprieve.
The side gate clanged as Melixanthe strode into the yard, lips pursing as she took in Ariadnne’s dishevelled state.
As if she would be any better after ten rounds with Garth.
‘Greetings.’ She nodded to the weapons master.
‘Ready?’ he grunted.
‘One minute.’ Melixanthe took Ariadnne by the shoulder, lowering her voice. ‘Remember, best behaviour today,’ she muttered. ‘I mean it. Show me that I’ve not made a mistake in taking on the new knight. We might be getting an audience later.’
Ariadnne’s throat bobbed as she nodded. Nieve’s place in the company depended on her. The alternative was never seeing her again.
At precisely ten o’clock, the side gate rattled and Josef entered, his long hair swept back into a neat knot at the back of his head and his training leathers immaculate, as usual.
How he managed that after sparring, Ariadnne had no idea.
Her own clothes were covered in sand and dirt, and dust stuck to the sheen of sweat on her face.
Josef was followed by Kayla, always close behind him.
Ariadnne watched as the other members of the company trailed in, anticipation coiling in her breast.
Her breath stilled as Nieve’s pale form emerged from the doorway, silver hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck.
Ariadnne swallowed, eyes drifting to the way her hair fell against the curve of her throat.
Spotting her, Nieve lifted her hand in greeting, disguising the gesture by pushing her hair behind her ears.
She was beautiful, ethereal, and Ariadnne struggled to control her own features as the tether between them pulled taught.
Melixanthe, thankfully, was too occupied to notice.
It was going to be harder than she thought, this dance of stolen glances.
Josef broke Ariadnne from her trance, clasping Ariadnne’s arm in greeting before helping himself to water.
Finnick jostled Dantro, ever competitive, and Lucile shook her head in mock disapproval.
They were in high spirits—but having known most of them for years, Ariadnne could see signs of grief in the lines of their faces.
Nieve feigned picking at the fruit to come and stand next to Ariadnne, almost close enough to touch. Dangerous.
‘Sleep well?’ she asked, leaning against the bench as if to watch the sparring. She gave Ariadnne a look that made her heart flutter—her eyes wide with innocence.
Gods, Ariadnne thought to herself, Nieve might be the death of her. She smoothed her features and forced herself to watch the other members of the company rather than the ethereal fae beside her.
‘Well enough,’ she replied, and rooted around for something acceptable to ask when everyone was within earshot. ‘Josef found you a room?’
‘Of course.’ Nieve took a bite of orange.
‘He moved me into my new barracks yesterday. The room is nicer than my old one.’ She glanced coyly at Ariadnne.
‘Turns out there are quite a few benefits to being with your company…’ She raised her eyebrows and Ariadnne laughed, the tension between them easing into something comfortable and easy.
‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘If I can make you laugh like that every day, I’ll count that up there too.’ Nieve grinned, then her face grew more serious. ‘Josef has been nothing but good to me. I couldn’t ask for more.’
‘He’s a good one.’
‘Hmmm. I think Kayla plans to keep him,’ Nieve said quietly, and Ariadnne smothered another laugh.
Over in the ring, Melixanthe and Garth were dusting themselves off. Ariadnne and Nieve took half a step away from each other as Melixanthe turned.
‘Right! Form up!’ The general’s command rolled across the yard.
Garth split them into two teams for drills; Ariadnne’s were to form a shield wall and focus on defence, while Rook’s worked in pairs to try and breach the wall.
Nieve was placed on Ariadnne’s team and pressed close enough to quicken Ariadnne’s breath as their shields locked together.
Ariadnne was torn between revelling in the sensation of Nieve’s limbs against hers—and wishing she was further down the line so she could concentrate.
On two occasions it was Nieve’s quick movement that sent a blow glancing away that otherwise would have struck Ariadnne’s legs.
‘Ten minutes, then we go airborne.’ Melixanthe shouted, and the company broke apart for a break. Ariadnne’s arms ached, and she was frustrated with her poor performance, knowing she needed to get her head in line.
For the flight, each knights’ arrows were marked so that the results of who hit which targets could be tallied and used to rank them in ability. In order to even make it onto Ariadnne’s team her warriors were already amongst the finest archers in the Guild.
It was Ariadnne’s job to make the course as challenging as possible. To make the competition interesting.
She gazed round the array of targets, raised high on extended flag poles.
Some were scattered across the nearby countryside, others were dotted on the sides of the tower walls or floated on buoys out at sea.
When Melixanthe was satisfied the team had rested enough, she tapped Ariadnne on the shoulder.
‘Let’s go,’ she said and gestured for Ariadnne to shift.
Ariadnne was about to take a step forward when the gate rattled and Councillors Jagen and Sarlemon entered, talking softly.
‘Carry on,’ Jagen’s voice carried easily across the yard.
The two councillors moved to the edge of the space and Ariadnne’s heart sank.
They were here to inspect and observe. She needed to prove that she was as good a flier as she’d ever been if they were to accept that she didn’t need the males as bodyguards.
She glanced at Nieve, whose blue eyes pinched with worry as she frowned at the councillors.
Taking a deep breath, Ariadnne strode to the centre of the arena.
The sea breeze whipped the tunic around her legs as she stood with her back to her company.
Without flare she drew the tunic over her head and kicked off her trousers.
Immediately, she felt the probing gazes of the councillors trail over her skin, and her fists clenched.
She was never bothered by nudity around her own company, they were exposed to it enough, but it always felt wrong when the Council came to watch.
One ice-kissed gaze soothed her rage, helping her find her centre. It burned a brand into her back, marking her.
Making her skin tingle.
The tunic had barely touched the floor when the change rippled through her, her dragon bursting out of her skin in a riot of white, blue, and silver.
Raw magic flooded her form, filling her with power.
With a shake of her mane, she settled onto her four legs, crouching for the waiting harness engineers.