Twenty-three
Nieve
Nieve, wake up!’ Kayla’s rosy face swam into view. She was leaning over the bed, her mouth wide with laughter.
What Nieve had intended as a quick lie-down had turned into a full-blown nap. It had been a long month, and it seemed exhaustion had finally caught up with her.
Her head swam. Had she agreed to meet Kayla this afternoon?
Her memory was foggy—the last thing she remembered was Ariadnne watching her as she left the training yard, teeth tugging at her lip, disappointed that again they’d barely exchanged a word.
At this point it was physically painful, each brush of their arms or stolen glance tipping an avalanche of sensation that demanded she march back to the varanya and claim her—an act there would be no coming back from. Not for her.
Spending time with Kayla was a much-needed distraction. The curly-headed knight had been as relentless in pursuing Nieve for her company as she was now in waking her up—
‘Come on, sleepyhead. It’s not like you to flake out on me. You feeling okay?’ Kayla’s golden brows furrowed as she put a hand on Nieve’s forehead.
‘Ugh, yes. Just tired.’ Nieve swatted her away, hiking herself onto her elbows.
‘Not a good enough excuse.’ Kayla teased. ‘Dantro and Lucile are waiting, and if we don’t make a move they’ll drink the bar dry by the time we get there.’ Without further ceremony she gripped Nieve by the arm and hoisted her into a seated position.
‘Okay, okay!’ Nieve groaned. She could have done with an extra hour.
Kayla flicked a blonde curl over her shoulder, her cheeks a little flushed.
Nieve chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me… you’ve come from Josef’s room?’
Kayla’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘How do you always know?’ Then a smirk crossed her lips. ‘He is a bit of a stallion.’
‘I don’t want to know!’ Nieve groaned and pushed Kayla away with one arm, dragging herself up to finish getting ready.
They were in town within the hour. The Crooked Oak was a respectable establishment, with bright walls, intricate murals, and clean, scrubbed tables.
The ale didn’t taste like it had been scraped from the bottom of the barrel, either, unlike some places Nieve had visited in her time.
She was growing to like it, along with the company she kept there.
The proprietor paid good coin for travelling performers to come and play, drawing large crowds that filled the courtyard.
They found Dantro and Lucile already well into their cups at one of the best seats near the stage.
The air elementals were go-with-the-flow types, breezing in and out like the air they shared an affinity with.
They’d welcomed Nieve wholeheartedly, which helped with the hurt she experienced each time Sol gave her the cold-shoulder.
However, Ariadnne’s absence soured the joy Nieve found in her new friends. In that regard, it had been a long month. Ariadnne was never allowed to come on these trips, or spend time with her company full stop, but Nieve had made a promise to make it work, and she intended to keep it.
Given the way her heart still fluttered each time she stepped through that gate and saw Ariadnne waiting on the sands, she wasn’t sure she had another choice. She was a big believer in fate, and her heart still told her that Ariadnne was worth trying for.
That didn’t mean it was easy. It was quite the opposite, in fact.
She pushed herself to exhaustion daily to drown her mounting frustration at the way Ariadnne was treated.
Over the last month, her subtle questions about the accord that kept the varanyen bound to the Guild were met with bemused stares.
A bargain had been struck, and the varanyen were honour-bound to fulfil it, but no knight knew the details and Nieve could hardly ask Lucius.
Meanwhile, her body heated with every exchanged glance, Nieve’s heart bursting each time Ariadnne turned away to avoid her handler’s suspicion. It fractured further each time her expression closed, hope dying, and Nieve wished she could give her each pulsing piece.
She’d give anything to kiss her again, to taste Ariadnne’s lips and make her skin shimmer as she lost control—
Nieve’s skin flushed a delicate pink, and Kayla’s brows rose from across the table, her lips curling in a sideways smile, as though aware of the direction of Nieve’s inner thoughts.
Nieve avoided her gaze, plastering on a neutral face as she ordered everyone a round.
Kayla was a master at digging up gossip, and Nieve refused to provide any.
The small group’s chatter washed over her as she leaned back to survey the crowd.
The tavern’s courtyard swelled with both knights and local tradespeople.
A grey-skinned Earthling pounded the table opposite as he guffawed at something a furry priskan said.
Nieve’s eyes crinkled at the unlikely pair before being drawn to a pair of hooded figures seated behind them.
The two swarthy fae had the pale skin and white-blonde locks of the Miradael mountains.
The sight sent a stab of surprise through her; it had been many years since she’d seen people from the frozen slopes of her homeland.
Automatically she turned her head so as not to be recognised.
She swallowed the pain that the reminder of her family brought in its wake, and the shame that stirred along with it.
She missed the land, and the people. But returning home would never be the same. Not when her family were dead.
‘…I can’t believe you left Agatha there,’ one of the Miradaeleans said in a low tone, slurring slightly. ‘Bloody dangerous. What with the trouble at the border.’
The other spat. ‘What could I do? Wife or no, she wouldn’t leave Lartha, and Lartha wouldn’t leave the temple. I told them to come south. I did.’
Nieve’s right hand twitched for her sword at the thought of a danger serious enough to push her people out of their lands. Miradaeleans were forged in a harsh and unforgiving climate, making them strong. There wasn’t much they couldn’t deal with.
Kayla drew her attention back by slamming her glass on the table.
‘You’re quiet today.’ She elbowed her playfully. ‘Care to share what’s weighing on you?’
Nieve forced herself to smile and shrug, dismissing Kayla’s comment by calling a waiter for more beer.
The conversation she’d overheard unsettled her, and she recalled other things she’d heard lately.
With a shake of her head, she tried to focus on the group, but a sharp spike of worry for her kinsmen pierced her chest.
Kayla looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘What is it?’ She glanced around, her eyes lingering on the mountain folk before turning back to Nieve, a question in the arch of her brow.
Nieve sighed. Kayla could tease blood from a stone when she was of a mind to try.
‘I couldn’t help but overhear.’ Her lips twisted. ‘There’s trouble in the mountains. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the reports we’ve been getting from the scouts.’
‘You mean the abandoned villages?’ Dantro said with a frown, leaning on his elbows.
‘Those, and the reports of beasts along the borders. Dark fae. Then there’s the tattooed clan that attacked us. Seems like there’s a lot going on out there.’
Kayla leaned back and twirled a knife around her fingers. ‘I’m sure the Council will let us know if we need to worry about any of it.’
Lucile’s lips tightened. ‘They won’t tell us anything unless someone begs for our help with a purseful of gold,’ she said drily.
‘They will if anything’s likely to concern us,’ Kayla argued.
Nieve leaned back, wishing she could speak to Ariadnne. She would understand why the idea of trouble befalling her people made ice spread down Nieve’s spine.
*
That evening, Nieve redressed in her sparring gear. She was a well-known feature of the training yard, especially in the small hours when the others were in the common rooms, being merry. It was one of the reasons she had risen so rapidly in the ranks.
It was a warm evening, and before long Nieve was dripping through a complex set of exercises, when an elderly servant placed a frosty jug of iced lemonade on the bench beside her.
Nieve paused.
‘Wilfred, how are you?’ she asked, wiping sweat from her eyes. She poured herself a glass, murmuring thanks.
‘It’s my pleasure, lady knight.’ Wilfred bowed his head. Nieve rolled her eyes at the title. She’d asked him time and time again to call her by her name.
‘How’s your wife?’ she asked as she took a sip bursting with sweetness.
‘Oh, she’s much better. The worst of the fever passed.’ Wilfred’s eyes crinkled, evidently touched Nieve remembered.
‘I’m so pleased to hear it.’ As Nieve lifted the glass to her lips, movement caught her eye at the other end of the yard.
It was a female servant hurrying towards the kitchens.
Nieve’s brows furrowed as she recognised her as Ariadnne’s maid, the only one who seemed to be allowed in and out of the varanyas’s wing.
An idea started to form, a possible solution to one of her problems.
‘Say, Wilfred.’ She paused. ‘Do you know the name of that maid? The one who attends Ariadnne.’ She glanced at the now empty doorway.
Wilfred nodded. ‘Of course. Sascha is lovely. Always has time for an old fellow like me,’ he said with a chuckle, tucking his tray under his arm.
‘Sascha.’ Nieve rolled the name round her tongue, waving farewell as Wilfred ambled away across the yard.
It seemed she had a maid to befriend.
The following afternoon, Nieve found herself loitering in a servant’s passage. It had been another frustrating morning—she’d barely exchanged two words with Ariadnne, and she was worried at how quiet the varanya had been.
Nieve worried she was losing faith.
It strengthened her resolve—she would find a way.
Which was why Nieve just so happened to be in this corridor around the time Sascha usually returned from delivering Ariadnne her lunch.
A coincidence, of course.
Right on time, the bustling fae emerged with an empty tray. Nieve stepped towards her, thinking to greet her, but the maid jumped out of her skin and backed away, muttering apologies before scurrying off the opposite way.
‘Wait!’ Nieve called after her, but she had already gone.
Damnit.
She looked about. It was a very disused corridor.
It certainly didn’t seem like the easiest route from Ariadnne’s wing.
With a frown she backtracked Sascha’s steps.
The edges of the corridor were dusty, but the centre of the floor was disturbed often enough for the flagstones to be dust-free, until midway down the next corridor. There the trail ended.
Her curiosity piqued, Nieve searched about, wondering if there was a secret passage or corridor that might lead to Ariadnne’s wing, but after several fruitless minutes she turned up nothing. Sascha’s footsteps just ended. It was very frustrating.
Nieve looked back at the way Sascha had fled and felt bad; she hadn’t meant to terrify the poor creature. The bubble of hope that she had held onto sank in her chest. Perhaps Sascha wouldn’t be so easy to befriend, but it seemed she might know another way to Ariadnne’s wing.
If there was one thing Nieve was, it was single-minded.