Forty-five
Nieve
The door swung inward with an audible creak. Nieve tensed as someone in the room gasped—there went their element of surprise. Her fingers tightening on the leather hilt of her blade, she rushed in, only to halt, stunned.
Wrapped in a gorgeous sapphire dress, Ariadnne lay on the bed, an ugly iron collar encircling her neck.
Nieve’s heart stuttered like a flame in the wind.
Ariadnne was so still, too still, and her skin held a deathly pallor.
Only the faintest movement of her mate’s chest reassured Nieve she was alive.
Sascha cowered in a chair by the bed, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Nieve only spared her a glance before her gaze swept wildly back to her mate, paling as she noticed crimson-soaked bandages peeking through a rip at her thigh.
‘Ariadnne—’ The name came out as a sob as Nieve stumbled to her bedside. With trembling fingers she stroked her cheek.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ She dragged her gaze from Ariadnne’s pale face to Sascha’s quivering form.
‘I... I don’t know,’ the maid sobbed. ‘They told me to watch over her. They said she probably won’t wake until tomorrow, if she wakes at all.’
Nieve went cold, thoughts fluttering in panic.
Sascha swallowed. ‘She did something stupid. I tried to warn her. I swear I did.’
She stifled another gasp as Liren entered the room. His lip lifted as he approached the bed, eyes lingering on Ariadnne’s iron collar.
‘This is how you treat your queens?’ he said with disdain.
Nieve snarled. ‘I’ve not seen her wear that… thing… before—’
‘I have.’ Sascha’s bloodshot eyes rose. ‘They used it a lot when she was a child. To keep her in line. She can’t shift, you see. Not without taking her head off.’
Nieve recoiled. To treat a child that way was barbaric.
Red welts and bruises peeked from under the collar, a consequence of prolonged contact with the metal.
She imagined a younger Ariadnne, tortured and broken, and red clouded the corners of her vision.
Rosa, and the iron shackles that had bit into her own wrists flashed across her mind.
She knew how long it took for those welts, those scars, to fade.
Her arm trembled as she reached out to take Ariadnne’s hand.
‘Mon gruciere,’ Liren muttered in his own tongue and tried to push Nieve aside to get closer. Nieve’s head whipped round with a flash of teeth, shoving him back.
He staggered, snarling, ‘I’m trying to help.’ Shadows danced in his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you look so horrified, Iceling. This is the Guild that decimated an entire race, sparing only those they could enslave, turning a proud race into whipped dogs.’
‘What are you talking about?’
His face shuttered again, trying to step forward, but Nieve blocked his path, struggling to trust that he wouldn’t harm her mate. Without another word he pulled out his makeshift lockpicks and held them out, pointing them towards the collar.
Oh.
A tiny bit of red retreated from Nieve’s vision, and she relented enough to allow Liren access to the collar.
With deft fingers, he slid the picks into the mechanism and it clicked.
Relief flooded Nieve’s chest, turning to disgust as the collar fell away revealing the hideous red welts in all their glory. Barbaric.
Liren’s shoulder jammed into Nieve’s sternum. ‘Give me space,’ he grunted. ‘Like I said, I can help.’
Nieve frowned, indignant. She wanted to punch him. Wanted to scream. A small line appeared between his brows as he lifted Ariadnne’s eyelids to examine her irises and she watched him like a hawk as he proceeded to check her pulse.
‘Hmm,’ he said non-committally and moved his attention to Ariadnne’s leg, glancing at Nieve as if for permission before shimmying Ariadnne’s dress up and unwinding the bandage.
‘What does ‘Hmm’ mean?’
Liren didn’t answer, focussing solely on his task. Nieve clenched her jaw, hand shooting up to cover her mouth as the wound was uncovered.
It wasn’t healing, the tissues a putrid purple with deep crimson streaks spreading across her leg in an angry lattice that disappeared under the hem of her dress.
‘What did that?’ Nieve hissed. ‘Ariadnne usually heals fast…’
Liren’s replied, soft and low, ‘A poison, if I had to guess. Dragonsbane, most likely.’ He shook his head. ‘That they would do this to one of their own…’
Nieve went cold. ‘Can you help her?’ she whispered.
Liren smiled wrily. ‘Fortunately, I’ve studied the runes.’ He looked at her. ‘This isn’t pretty, though. It will take a lot, and even then, most will be up to her.’ He tutted under his breath.
‘But will she be okay?’ Nieve sat, carefully stroking the hair from Ariadnne’s face. The slackness of sleep had smoothed the worry line that so often crinkled her mate’s brow. Nieve ran two fingers across the soft skin of her forehead where it usually sat, a breath caught in her throat.
‘As I said, most will be up to her,’ Liren said. ‘I can draw out some of the poison, but I will need something to pack the wound, as even if I manage to draw it successfully, it will be beyond my ability to heal completely. The tissues are too damaged.’
Sascha rose, eyes wide and scared. ‘What do you need?’ she offered, and Nieve gripped her arm in thanks.
‘Calendula or slippery elm bark, if you have them, and some thread.’
‘Right.’ She nodded, infused with purpose.
‘Be quick, Sascha. It won’t be long until they notice we’re missing.’
Sascha nodded and disappeared quickly from the room.
Liren met Nieve’s eyes, lip twisting. ‘This won’t be pleasant.’
Nieve took Ariadnne’s hand and offered a prayer to Dianea, begging for the deity to give Ariadnne the strength for what lay ahead. The strength to endure, and to fight for their freedom.
She closed her eyes.