Page 102 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Nieve wasn’t sure what had happened until the guard called out, ‘Who goes there?’

With a grimace, Liren tensed and repeated the action. His efforts were rewarded by the sound of booted footsteps moving away, following whatever illusion Liren had summoned. He motioned for them to move, and together they hurried down the corridor.

They had almost reached Ariadnne’s door when the guard reappeared, rounding the corner to return to his post. His brows knitted, mouth opening to shout when Liren’s shadows were upon him, filling his throat, strangling the sound from his lungs. Eyes bulging, he clawed at his neck. Nieve slipped behind him and wrapped an arm round his throat, holding tight as the guard struggled and gasped. Moments later he slumped in her arms and she lowered him to the ground.

Liren’s eyes fixed on her. ‘What are you doing?’ He said, confused. ‘He will wake, end him.’

‘We don’t need to.’ Nieve looked away, reaching for the door. It was locked.

With a grunt, Liren moved behind her and Nieve glanced back to see him grip the guards head and twist, breaking his neck with a sickening crunch.

Nieve’s stomach lurched. ‘Why did you do that?’ she hissed.

‘Guild scum,’ he muttered and bared his canines. ‘Why leave him to raise the alarm?’

Nieve tightened her jaw and turned her back to him. Ariadnne, this was about Ariadnne, she reminded herself. ‘Can you open the door?’ she ground out.

‘With pleasure, Iceling,’ Liren’s voice was dangerously soft as he moved beside her. She expected him to pull out his lockpicks, but with a taunting eyebrow he reached to pull the keyring from the guard’s belt.

Nieve rolled her eyes. What an arrogant bastard.

She readied her sword as the door clicked open, and pushed it slowly, surveying the chamber beyond. Forcing Liren behind her, she crept in.

The main chamber was quiet, haunting, and a shiver ran down Nieve’s spine. Liren paused to look at the tapestries with something like disgust on his face. Nieve was about to ask him what his issue was when there was a sound from Ariadnne’s bedroom and they both froze. A muffled sob. Nieve motioned for the shadow to hide behind the couch and crept forwards. She paused at the bedroom door—someone inside was crying.

Nieve twisted the handle.

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.