Thirty-three
Ariadnne
Damn the sun, and the way it streamed through the window, chirpy and bright.
Ariadnne rubbed her overly sensitive eyes, mouth hairy and dry, regretting every sip of ale that had passed her lips.
It turned out she wasn’t immune to hangovers.
Who knew. With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed, already cutting it fine for training.
The memory of her heated conversation with Melixanthe surfaced, bringing with it a convoluted mix of guilt and frustration.
She forced down a queasy bite of toast from the tray Sascha left in her living room. It didn’t sit well in her stomach, but she needed to eat. She vowed to learn from this experience.
She made it to the yard, but Melixanthe barely looked at her during her session with Garth, her avoidance leaving Ariadnne picked clean and bare.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she’d been trying to protect…
She bit down a fresh pang of guilt as a wave of disappointment rolled off the general’s proud form. She shook it off, trying not to care.
Throwing herself into the sparring ring, she worked up a sweat, only pausing when the gate pealed with a mind-splitting clatter. A tug in her chest drew her eye to the archway, a tightening of the band that cradled her heart as she sensed her mate’s arrival.
The knights at Nieve’s side paled into insignificance as they entered the grounds, laughing and jostling as they would any other morning.
Nieve’s lips tilted as she caught sight of Ariadnne waiting on the sand, sparring forgotten.
Her pale face lit the air around her, the sight setting Ariadnne on fire to the point that she was overwhelmed by the urge to drop everything and run to her.
Unbidden, scales rose, mottling the bare skin of her arms.
She couldn’t handle training alongside her, not like this, not today.
She couldn’t trust herself to remain aloof, to not head to Nieve right there and kiss her perfect lips.
No. She needed another way. Without thinking, she turned and stripped.
She wouldn’t be forced to stand next to the one she longed to touch and pretend there was nothing between them.
Instead, she exploded into her dragon form.
They could go straight to aerial work, plans be damned.
Melixanthe could believe her defiant or difficult if she wished.
If the company were surprised by Ariadnne dictating the session, they hid it well.
All except Nieve, whose eyes lingered too long, brows drawn in concern, before climbing into position.
Feverish, Ariadnne threw herself into the aerial course, flinging herself into the turns with a reckless abandon that had her team shouting with surprise and struggling to make shots.
Wild twists, sudden drops—she exalted in it all, her dragon ignoring their handler’s commands with snide satisfaction.
They were free. Alive. Untamed.
Until the moment she ran out of course and her fevered energy waned.
Landing with a thud, her company disembarked—relief on many of their faces. She felt another pang of guilt as Kayla shot her a quizzical look.
Ariadnne knew Melixanthe would be further angered by her reckless flight, so lingered as a dragon, looking to the skies and wondering how easy it would be to grab Nieve and disappear.
Maybe she would.
Maybe it was worth the risk. Curse be damned.
Melixanthe gave her a curt signal to shift from across the sand, and Ariadnne huffed, somewhat sheepishly, as she followed the command, scooping her tunic and flinging it over her head.
She turned to where the company had gathered for their debriefing. Nieve stood beside Josef, eyes fixed on Ariadnne, barely listening. Ariadnne took two paces towards her when Melixanthe released the team, beckoning Nieve.
‘A word.’
Without a glance Ariadnne’s way, Melixanthe led Nieve off the sands, leaving her alone, cursing her inability to follow.
*
A cloying worm of worry wriggled through Ariadnne’s mind as she struggled through Brentworth’s lecture on Eastern customs that afternoon.
She was usually bored during his lectures, but today the bond she shared with Nieve kept her alert, focused, but not on verbs.
Her mate was upset. Very upset, and Ariadnne didn’t know why.
It led her to fret as she was led back to her rooms, not improving as the afternoon dragged on.
The door clicked and Sascha entered, the welcome on Ariadnne’s lips turning to confusion as she noted Sascha’s flustered appearance and the lines wrinkling her brow as she hurriedly deposited the tray.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, concerned.
Sascha didn’t meet her eyes. ‘I can’t stay,’ she said brusquely. ‘I’ve too much to do in the main castle.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Ariadnne pushed again, but Sascha ignored her, brushing her hands and heading for the door, pausing briefly.
‘I’ll pick the tray up in the morning.’ A frown creased her brow as she seemed to dither over her next words.
With an exasperated sigh she dropped her hands to her sides.
‘Look. I’m not an idiot, Ari. It’s been obvious that you’ve been mooning over someone.
I’m happy for you that you’ve found her.
I am. But you can tell… Nieve? Is it? That I don’t appreciate her strongarming me into breaking the rules.
I’ll do it. This once. She looked bloody desperate.
I don’t know if you’ve had a fight or what it is, but I hope you can sort it out.
Don’t say I never do anything for you.’ With that she spun and exited the room in a flurry of skirts, leaving Ariadnne wide-eyed and confused in her wake.
What did Sascha mean? She frowned at the door, mind racing as to the possibilities.
She finished her meal in silence, worrying. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on that sense of Nieve, glowing like a gem embedded in her chest. The waves of worry had simmered, but she could feel her unhappiness. It made her want to tear the world down and build it again, just for her.
Hating her inability to act, Ariadnne changed into a nightgown and focused on simple tasks; teasing out her hair—wavy from the braids—and folding her tunic. Sleep itself was out of the question until she knew what was happening.
Time passed and she grew more restless, alternately staring out the window or pacing, questioning if she needed to fly back to Nieve’s room.
Out of nowhere, a surge of adrenaline speared through the bond, stabbing into her heart. Staggering to her feet she almost knocked over a side table in her rush to reach Nieve, already halfway to the window when there was a soft knock at the door. She paused, stomach churning.
Ariadnne almost thought she’d imagined it, but there it was again.
Quiet.
Insistent.
With long strides she crossed the space, holding her breath at the door as she listened. A sharp exhale, muffled through wood, then Nieve’s hushed voice.
‘Ariadnne?’
Her fingers fumbled with the handle, rushing to pull it open.
Nieve’s bright eyes met hers.
‘How?’ Ariadnne breathed, soaking in the impossible.
Her heart stuttered at how dishevelled Nieve’s normally sleek, silver hair was, as though run through too often with hands, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
‘Nieve, what’s wrong—’ she began, but stopped as Nieve closed the distance, crashing into her and wrapping her arms tight round her middle.
Ariadnne buried her face in her hair and inhaled, a concerned noise escaping her throat. Gently, she pulled away, forcing Nieve to meet her eyes.
‘What is it?’ she said softly. ‘You can tell me.’
She pulled her into the room and closed the door behind them, sitting her at the end of the bed. Nieve averted her eyes, but Ariadnne took her chin in a soft grip and tilted her face.
‘Sascha let you in, didn’t she?’
Nieve nodded. ‘And distracted the guard.’ She finally met Ariadnne’s eyes. ‘I had to see you.’
‘What happened?’ Ariadnne prodded. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure we can fix it.’
Nieve didn’t answer at first. Then she said, ‘You know, I really wish I could have danced with you at D’avant’s ball.’
‘I don’t understand…’ Ariadnne slid a hand around Nieve’s waist, pulling her closer, confused by the rapid spin of her thoughts. Nieve rested her head against her shoulder and Ariadnne soaked in the smooth outline of her face, chilling as Nieve said her next words.
‘Melixanthe told me another varan child has been discovered. She said she’s been impressed with me. Enough that she has made a recommendation for me to be his handler.’
Ariadnne’s body locked.
Melixanthe was removing Nieve from her company—in a way that appeared to anyone else to be a promotion.
This was why she’d let Nieve take her into town. It had been a goodbye.
‘You can’t… she can’t! How will I see you?’ A new, coiling hatred for her handler wormed through Ariadnne’s gut, followed by a sickening sense of betrayal.
Nieve swallowed. ‘I tried. I told her I’m happy where I am, that I have no desire to be this child’s handler. But she said it’s too late, it’s done. The Council have agreed.’ Tears glistened in Nieve’s ice blue eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do!’
Ariadnne stared at Nieve’s porcelain features with a crushing sense of loss.
No convenient answer or cunning plan came to mind, only that she couldn’t lose the one person in this world she needed this much.
Nieve was her freedom, her saviour from a slow, suffocating death.
Almost audibly, her calm, collected shell cracked and she reached out to brush Nieve’s face, running a thumb over her lower lip—unbearably soft, and hers.
With a catch in her throat, she tilted Nieve’s chin to take her mouth, her hunger threatening to break her.
With a shuddered breath Nieve’s scent slid under her skin—filling every fibre of her as their lips melded with a scorching, ice-kissed heat.
Nieve belonged to her