Page 20 of Wings of Ice and Steel

She caught a gleam of silver hair and the glint of Nieve’s trademark blades, and froze. Nieve’s movements were liquid, ripe with controlled savagery. After a particularly vicious swing Nieve flung her swords to the floor, running her hands through her hair.

Ariadnne took a step back from the window, embarrassed to be watching what appeared to be a private moment. She paused, fighting with herself before, cat-like, curiosity got the better of her.

She re-approached the window, eyes scanning the yard, but Nieve was gone—at least from view. She wrapped her arms round her middle, suddenly lonely as she turned from the window back to the semblance of a bed she’d made on the floor. She gazed at the ceiling, tracing the web of stones as her body melded into the rug beneath her, finally drifting into restless sleep.

*

Dawn was still hours away when the door rapped and Melixanthe entered. Ariadnne’s eyes cracked open as Melixanthe’s gaze swung from the empty bed, to where Ariadnne curled in a ball on the rug. A brow rose.

‘Time to wake up.’ She nudged Ariadnne’s limp form. ‘We’re meeting at the front gates in ten.’

Ariadnne groaned. She’d barely slept but she forced herself upright, rubbing her eyes. Melixanthe held out a tunic and Ariadnne tossed it over her head; soft, pale blue linen with a simple brown belt, easily sacrificed to the shift. Melixanthe nodded in approval and pulled out a stick of kohl.

‘Here,’ she said, and summoned her to sit on the bed. She took Ariadnne’s chin, tilting it to paint the traditional twin stripes down her cheeks. ‘Now you’re ready.’

Melixanthe’s mouth tightened, and Ariadnne swallowed a knot of anxiety—the varanya should never show fear. She was the Guild’s figurehead. Their primary weapon. Fearless. She repeated this, but it didn’t stop her nerves coiling. This was no border skirmish.

Inhaling measured breaths, Ariadnne swept her braids into a bun and grabbed the bread roll Melixanthe tossed her way. She tore hunks out of its soft, doughy centre as they strode through the halls, joined by a steady trickle of knights.

Everyone was geared up to the eyeballs and grim-faced. All except Josef and Kayla, who stumbled, tousled, out of the same room. Ariadnne’s brows rose. She caught Melixanthe’s frown out the corner of her eye and smothered her smile.

In smart lines they wound down the stony steps into the city. Ahead, Lord D’avant’s retinue rode on horseback and Regulus’ smaller team jogged through the dark streets towards the entrance to the citadel. Beyond the gates, an expanse of grassland stretched, dotted with fields of rye and corn. Space—and plenty was needed to shift. The two males, beasts half Ariadnne’s size, could carry teams of ten warriors and a handful of support staff. They could probably shift on the castle grounds, but Ariadnne would undoubtedly damage the buildings nearby.

Away from the citadel’s walls, Melixanthe held up her hand. The companies halted, engineers already preparing the panniers used to transport their kit. Ariadnne strode to the front, stealing a glance at Nieve, who stood resplendent in the moonlight. Arms behind her back and eyes fixed ahead, she was every inch Sol’s Second. Her gaze flicked up and she gave Ariadnne a small smile. Ariadnne’s heart twisted.

Sol, however, glowered with the force of a tsunami. He shook his angular head and muttered something too low for her to make out. Nieve turned to say something urgent, her face creasing. Sol gestured to Lucius, and she lowered her head.

Ariadnne’s breath quickened, and she forced her attention back to her own team.

The support crew had lit the area with faelights, unpacking gear and unrolling her giant harness; a colossal monstrosity of zig-zagged leather and buckles, with metal loops designed for the knights to affix their own harnesses. It kept them safely attached to her back as she hurtled through the air.

To Ariadnne’s disgust, she also had the ‘honour’ of carrying the High Lord and his personal guard. As if she cared for that honour. All she wanted was to get her company through the next twenty-four hours alive and uninjured. And to know whether her company would be one knight more…

The knights fastened their flying belts, Josef helping the High Lord’s men strap into spares. Amid the bustle, Ariadnne prepared for the shift, pausing quietly as Melixanthe summoned Nieve.

‘Please…’ Sol called after her. ‘Nieve. Think about this… Lucius won’t like it.’

‘I’m sorry, Sol.’ Nieve’s voice tremored. She ran a hand over her braid. ‘This isn’t easy, but Melixanthe says Ariadnne’s need is greater.’

Her eyes met Ariadnne’s and there was that look again, a burning intensity. In comparison, the look Sol shot Melixanthe was laden with daggers.

‘You’ve made a decision.’ Melixanthe said, offering Nieve a rare, warm smile.

Nieve nodded. ‘I have.’

The pressure against Ariadnne’s ribs made it hurt to breathe.

‘Then welcome to the company,’ Melixanthe said. ‘You’ll be on point. Josef will set you up.’ She turned to Sol. ‘Captain, I recommend Failion as a replacement—he’s long due a promotion.’

Sol’s scowl dripped down his face.

Melixanthe softened. ‘This should hardly be a surprise, Sol.’

He snorted and Ariadnne almost felt sorry for him, but then he narrowed his eyes and her hackles rose.

‘Ariadnne, what are you waiting for? Time to change,’ Melixanthe shouted.

Sol grumbled as he stalked back to his team, but Ariadnne didn’t care. She strode away from the gathered crowd, not daring to look back at where Nieve stood alongside her people. As one of her people. She would unpick that thought later, providing they survived the day ahead.