Thirty-one
Nieve
The ceiling had never looked so dull. Nieve lay on her bed after lunch, trying to summon the willpower to get up and go back to the yard to train. It had been a hard week, the attack on Miradael a reminder of everything she’d left behind. The people she’d abandoned.
The day her family died, Miradael had been left without a ruler.
Much as Nieve wanted to forget the facts, Nieve’s father had been the Lord of Miradael.
On the day he died he hadn’t even had the chance to draw a weapon, betrayed as he was by his right-hand man, Gregor.
Nieve sneered at his memory. He had wanted Nieve as his wife and her father had said no—so Gregor sold them out, giving away details of their security to roving bandits.
There had been so much blood. So much death.
When Nieve escaped, the last living heir, she had run.
She’d abandoned her people and never forgiven herself fully.
If she’d stayed, perhaps she could have defended her homeland from the Mordai, or perhaps she would have died trying.
Either way, Ariadnne was the only reason there was a Miradael left—even if it was in tatters.
Ariadnne—who had been tortured by the Guild Nieve had turned to in an effort to start a new life.
The unwelcome revelation that her mate was a slave played on Nieve’s mind, shining a new light on the knights and Masters around her.
For the first time she noticed signs of strain on varanyen faces and questioned whether all their scars were from battles.
She wanted to ask Lucius, but was afraid to draw attention in case it backlashed on Ariadnne.
She already had enough scars, and Nieve wondered incessantly which Masters, guards and councillors had dealt them.
They needed to pay.
Her darker thoughts wondered if any had been given to her by Melixanthe.
Despite her reservations, Nieve had tried hard to weasel her way in with Finnius’ company; to figure out if anyone harboured a grudge against the general.
So far, she’d gleaned nothing. Sascha was equally enigmatic.
When she refused to be charmed, Nieve trailed her, only to turn the corner and find her gone in that very same spot.
There was an illusion at play, she was sure, but she had never been gifted at runes and her chances of spotting it were weak.
It was all very frustrating.
Ariadnne’s honeyed scent laced the air in her room, making the distance between them unbearable.
Her mate suffered, a torrent of grief pouring through the bond.
Respecting the Guild’s boundaries might have been the hardest thing Nieve had ever done.
It was only the knowledge that she might make things worse by breaking rules that stayed her hand.
It was an intense drive, a restless, pounding urge—fate demanding they be together. Exist in the same space. Nieve craved the comfort of Ariadnne’s arms, the warmth and the rightness. She craved making her smile.
She missed having her to talk to, to explain her own complicated grief.
Miradael. She missed it like a lost limb, but her memories were hard to swallow; the sort of memories you wrapped up and kissed goodnight to before laying on the thin ice of a lake and casting the first crack, allowing them to slowly sink to the bottom.
The sight of those bodies in the snow… it reminded her of the sister she’d failed to save, Rosa, the light of her childhood, who would sit for hours braiding flowers into Nieve’s hair.
She was the reason Nieve had chosen the rose motif for her armour.
Roses and dragons, it seemed fitting now.
She thought it might feel good to tell Ariadnne about Rosa one day.
There was a sharp rap on her door, summoning Nieve from her thoughts. She cracked it open to reveal a messenger delivering a missive, sealed with the General’s mark. Thanking him, Nieve took the letter into her room. Ripe with curiosity, she flicked the seal.
She read that Ariadnne had requested an escort to take her into town for the afternoon, and Melixanthe had chosen both her and Kayla. Nieve’s heart swooped despite the thinly veiled warning in the words:
I trust the excursion will be uneventful and your conduct beyond reproach.
Nieve didn’t care. Ariadnne had somehow convinced the General to allow this, and for that she was grateful.
Just before two, Nieve met Kayla in the yard so they could make their way to Ariadnne’s wing.
As Nieve approached, Kayla stuffed a letter into her pocket.
She was quiet and pale, far from her usual bubbly self, and Nieve wondered if she had any special instructions from Melixanthe in her note.
Perhaps she’d been asked to ‘keep an eye’ on the pair of them.
Nieve forced a smile, asking, ‘Does Ariadnne get an escort into town often?’
Kayla unfroze a little. ‘No. Never.’ She looked away again.
They were met by Sascha at the door to the wing, who gave Nieve an appraising look before turning to lead them down the corridor. The silence of the wing struck Nieve like an asp, the high ceilings and grand corridors almost eerie in their uninhabited state.
Sascha knocked on the door to Ariadnne’s quarters, not waiting for a response before opening it.
‘Ariadnne?’ she called as she opened the door.
Nieve gazed around the space Ariadnne had lived in for most of her life and was struck by how impersonal it seemed.
Clearly decorated by the Guild, or a previous inhabitant, with battle tapestries Ariadnne must hate and museum-like memorabilia.
The furniture was heavily worn and quite frankly drab.
Her eyes spotted the window she must have escaped via, and through her disgust she smiled.
Her brave, rebellious dragon.
‘Yes, Sascha?’ Ariadnne’s voice drifted from what must be the bedroom, and she emerged in the middle of re-braiding her hair.
They locked eyes and Nieve’s heart skipped a beat.
It had only been a week since she’d held her body in her arms, but it suddenly felt like a lifetime.
She looked… stunning. Instead of her usual blue tunic she was in more casual attire.
A laced leather vest with dark breeches and knee-high buckled boots.
She looked so beautifully normal that it took her breath away.
The tunics she wore on training days were like a uniform that screamed she was different, the varanya.
Untouchable. This Ariadnne, though, she could imagine a life with. Her heart ached.
‘Ah… umm… are you ready?’ Nieve stammered and Kayla gave her an odd look. She must have sounded like an infatuated teenager. The incredible smile Ariadnne threw her way didn’t help.
‘Of course…’ Ariadnne finished tying off her hair, then strode forward, violet eyes catching the light from the window. ‘Shall we?’ She gestured to the door. Kayla raised an eyebrow and Nieve hurried to keep pace.
They followed Ariadnne through the corridors, the varanya’s tall legs setting a quick tempo. Nieve struggled to keep her eyes off the curve of her back… the dip at her waist… her body was reacting in ways entirely inappropriate.
Guards waved them through the door and Kayla took the lead, allowing Nieve and Ariadnne to exchange lingering glances, lightly brushing fingers as they followed. It was a new torture. Nieve cleared her throat.
‘So.’ She tried to dispel some of their tension. ‘Was there anywhere in particular you wanted to go?’
‘As long as we get out of the castle for an hour or two, I don’t mind. I’ll let you decide what to do with me,’ Ariadnne replied in her velvet tone. To Nieve’s ears it sounded suggestive enough that her core ached, and she glanced at Kayla.
‘Word is there’s a travelling band in the marketplace this weekend,’ Kayla chimed, not noticing the flush of Nieve’s cheeks. ‘They’re meant to be good.’
‘Okay.’ Ariadnne smiled.
The midday sun made Nieve blink as they passed through the main gateway at the front entrance. It was a glorious day of blue skies and gentle breezes. This seemed to cheer Kayla, and she loosened, chatting away about the last band that passed through.
The route was pleasant, a meandering dirt road around the edge of the forest. At the side of the road were two small shrines to the sun god, Ra’Tel, the tiger, and the moon god, Dianea, the huntress.
Ariadnne lingered at Dianea’s to offer a quiet prayer, Nieve’s eyes resting on the back of her neck as she bowed.
With a silent gulp, Nieve clenched her fists in the effort to control herself.
She wanted to take her hand, to ask what she prayed for with that soft smile on her lips—but she couldn’t. Not under Kayla’s watchful eye.
Instead, Nieve watched her as she listened to Kayla’s chatter and asked questions in that soft, collected way of hers.
Nieve’s heart threatened to burst each time Ariadnne’s head tilted, the sun catching her eyes’ burnished amethyst as they flicked Nieve’s way, arching a brow, Nieve’s nostrils flaring with the willpower it took not to draw her close and kiss her.
Her mate.
The word still sounded strange on her tongue. Her mind drifted back to the absolute joy and infatuation her parents had with each other and found herself wanting that life, but with that longing came the tangled knot of worry of whether she could ever have that with Ariadnne.
Kayla coughed, snapping Nieve out of her thoughts.
‘You know, it’s nice to spend time with you,’ she addressed Ariadnne. ‘It’s a shame we’ve never done this before.’
Ariadnne’s lip lifted in a wry smile. ‘I don’t often get the opportunity.’
‘Well, I’m glad I have this chance to get to know you.’ Kayla grinned.
Ariadnne looked almost embarrassed as she smiled in return and a spark of jealousy flared in Nieve—the darker side of the mate bond until she got it under control.
‘So, Kayla.’ She cleared the thickness from her throat. ‘How are your brothers? Have you seen them lately?’