Thirty-two
Ariadnne
Dusk was creeping round the corners of the tavern, casting fingers of gold across tables and walls when an opportunity to investigate Melixanthe’s attacker presented itself.
Ariadnne wasn’t used to ale, certainly not in the copious quantities the others consumed.
Nieve and Kayla were well into their cups, discussing Josef’s many virtues, while Ariadnne gazed between them with alcohol-induced warmth.
She wondered if, after this, she could call Kayla a friend.
She didn’t have friends, but she’d like to.
Perhaps she could even talk to her about Melixanthe’s poisoning, get her to ask around.
She could tell both of them, right there, finally getting her pressurised thoughts out in the open.
The curse, too. She’d been that close to telling Nieve. It would crush her, but she deserved to know who she was tied to. Her limitations—just the fact that Nieve would consider leaving made her heart swell, but the thought of what the Council might do to Nieve…
How could she be responsible for that?
Nieve was making it very hard for Ariadnne to think clearly as the tavern lights dimmed.
It turned out, that when doused in spirits, the Iceling became increasingly tactile and confident, her inhibitions dissolving with each sip.
Small gestures, such as their knees touching beneath the table, or the light brush of her fingers as she leaned in to whisper, drove Ariadnne to distraction, so much so that she almost missed Failion when he appeared at the bar.
As recognition flickered, she tore her gaze from Nieve’s smiling face, instantly sobered.
‘A minute,’ she muttered and slid her chair back with a screech. She ignored Nieve and Kayla’s protests as she rose to follow Sol’s recently promoted Second through the crowd.
Winding between the jostling bodies, Ariadnne kept her eyes on Failion as he slipped into a seat beside two others of his company. Uther, the burly one was called. The other… Frieda? Possibly. Her long dark hair hung over her face as she studied the rim of her glass.
Ariadnne needed to be tactful. Every shred of anger that she’d felt towards Sol rose to the front of her ale-muddled mind and was now directed at his Second. It took great effort of will to suppress it as she shouldered her way towards him.
He spotted her. ‘Oh, Ariadnne! What can I do for—’
He was cut off as Ariadnne placed her hand on the table, the alcohol coursing through her blood lending her the confidence to smile disarmingly.
‘Hello, Failion.’ She hooked another stool with her foot and took a seat next to him. Uther’s jaw dropped as he took in their visitor, Frieda crossing her arms.
Failion’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Good. Her presence was having the desired effect. She raised her brows.
‘I hoped we could have a little chat,’ she said, drawing a circle on the table with her index finger.
Failion’s beetle brows knitted. ‘Oh, sure… what about?’ he stammered.
‘I’ve admired the way you’ve stepped up to fill Nieve’s shoes.’
She glanced towards her table, where both Kayla and Nieve wore puzzled frowns.
‘It takes great fortitude to rise so readily to an unexpected promotion. Sol must think highly of you.’
Failion visibly relaxed, chest puffing with pride. ‘Well, yes. I believe he’s realised my value.’
‘I’m sure he has.’ Ariadnne smiled. ‘He must trust you absolutely, now you’re his Second.’
‘Of course.’
‘Tell me, Failion.’ She pretended to think. ‘Has Sol shared any thoughts with you about my handler’s recent accident? It’s been hard for me this week with her injured. I’d hate for it to happen again.’ It was a struggle to keep her expression open and pleasant.
Failion brought his beer to his lips, sloshing a little down the side.
‘No, I can’t say he has. He’s been wrapped up in his own business of late. Moody, if I’m to be completely honest.’
‘Oh?’
‘Mmhmm, why? Is the General okay?’ His eyes widened in concern.
‘She is now. It’s… I’ve been trying to figure out if someone might mean her harm. I was wondering if Sol might have noticed anything?’
‘I doubt he’s been paying attention…’ Failion began but Ariadnne cut him off.
‘And what does Sol think of Melixanthe?’ she asked.
Failion’s brows knitted. ‘I’m not sure I follow your line of thought there…?’
‘Has he ever mentioned her? Do you think he might harbour a grudge…?’ A small part of Ariadnne’s brain told her to halt, to slow down, but in her alcohol-fuelled state her tongue was running away with her.
Failion went deadly still.
‘Are you accusing my captain? Ariadnne.’ He rocked back in his chair, the temperature around the table turning frosty.
Ariadnne bared a canine, dropping her cheerful facade. ‘I wasn’t putting it in so many words, but somehow you lot are always right there each time she’s been hurt…’
‘Oh, so now it’s all of us you’re accusing?’ Failion rose as he spoke. His companions joined him, tight lipped and scowling. ‘How bloody dare you. We’re loyal to this Guild.’
Ariadnne refused to be cowed and rose to tower over him. ‘It’s not your loyalty to the Guild that’s in question, only to your general!’
‘Why you fucking upstart of a child… you know nothing! I begin to see now why Sol won’t hear us speak of you.
He must know you’re a spoilt, venomous—’ His words were cut off as a pale fist connected with his nose with a resounding crack.
Ariadnne’s eyes widened and she twisted her neck to see Nieve panting beside her.
‘How dare you speak to her like that.’ Her eyes flashed dangerously, daring any of them to say another word.
Failion cradled his bloody nose, his voice muffled as he replied, ‘Don’t even get me started on you…
’ he retorted. That was enough for Ariadnne.
Her forehead connected with the bridge of his nose before she had time to think.
If it hadn’t been broken before it certainly was now and suddenly, they were brawling.
Patrons scattered as fists flew and glasses shattered on the floor.
Kayla came swinging over a table to join them, narrowly ducking a blow from Uther as she took to the floor like she was made for a bar fight.
Locals seized the excuse to join in and soon Ariadnne could barely remember what she’d been doing, only that Failion had been about to insult her mate.
As he doubled over her fist, she could vaguely hear someone shouting for the town guard, and then firm hands were pulling her away and out into the night.
*
They were a sorry party as they stumbled back through the castle gates, the town guard having informed them none-too-gently that they wouldn’t be welcome at the tavern again. Failion threw them a dark look before marching with his company towards the main building.
A dark bruise blossomed on Nieve’s cheekbone, Ariadnne’s lip swollen and sore.
Kayla limped. She had defended Ariadnne without a single question, securing that label of ‘friend’ in Ariadnne’s mind.
As she sobered, Ariadnne feared Melixanthe’s reaction when saw them.
She swallowed the worry. She would face whatever words Melixanthe had for her.
Failion had it coming the second he’d tried to utter something derogatory about Nieve.
As they crossed the parade grounds, Nieve fell into step next to her, resting her silver head on her shoulder. Kayla was ahead, and Nieve tilted her head, whispering, ‘Do you want to share what tonight was about?’
Ariadnne wished she could, but she didn’t know how Nieve would feel about her suspicions, given that she appeared to care about Sol. She shook her head.
‘Not yet. Not here.’ To soften her words, she bent closer to Nieve’s ear. ‘I promise I will. As soon as I can.’ She paused for a heartbeat, then, ‘I need to see you alone. Soon.’
Nieve’s pupils darkened. She took Ariadnne’s hand, threading their fingers together before releasing her so they could step apart and enter the wide doors of the castle.
At the entrance to her wing, they were greeted by judgemental frowns on the faces of the guards. One gestured curtly for her to follow him and Kayla bade her a swift farewell, Nieve giving her a look that promised so much more before wishing her a good night, too.
It wasn’t fair.
Ariadnne wanted to drag Nieve through the doors, only the stony gazes of the guards keeping her moving as they escorted her through the wing.
In the echoey corridors she inhaled the lingering scent of pine on the scarf Nieve had gifted her, but came crashing back to earth when she opened her doors to see Melixanthe waiting on her couch.
Her handler’s stern expression said it all.
She’d already heard. Someone must have seen them and run to inform her.
‘What the fuck happened?’ Melixanthe rose, eyes glinting like coals in the dim light.
‘I placed my trust in you, how could you break it so completely?’ Her tone was cold and clipped.
‘Brawling like a common thug in a tavern. With some of our own, no less.’ She shook her head.
‘I honestly don’t know what to do about this.
It was badly done, Ariadnne. Again. You seem incapable of keeping out of trouble. ’
Ariadnne felt her anger roiling in response. She should be allowed to make mistakes, and she had been intending to help Melixanthe—
‘You’re not being fair,’ she muttered. ‘So what? I got into a fight. You should have heard what Failion called me.’
‘So what? You are a varanya, not some commoner!’ Melixanthe’s voice rose. ‘What’s that?’ She nodded to the scarf at her neck.
‘None of your damn business.’
Melixanthe looked affronted, but Ariadnne didn’t care. She didn’t care how petulant the action might be, she marched to her bedroom and slammed the door, escaping Melixanthe’s judgmental stares.
Behind her, her sharp ears picked out the sound of Melixanthe starting towards her door. She must have second-guessed herself as the footsteps stopped, then headed off the other way. She released the breath she’d been holding.
Failion had been overly defensive. He knew more than he was saying. And that tidbit he’d admitted—that Sol had been distracted of late—she was more convinced than ever that he was to blame.
With shaky hands she stripped, and then as old habits died hard, she curled on the rug in front of the fireplace to sleep.