Page 31 of Wings of Ice and Steel

It was surreal how Nieve had stumbled into her path, and yet it felt right, as though a new chapter was beginning, but she couldn’t shake the worry, deep inside, that the book might burn before she could finish the story.

Fourteen

Ariadnne

Great plates of food graced the long tables, the smell of roasting hogs filling the air as afternoon drew into evening. Lord Greve, the ruler of Monmouth Keep, had thrown a feast fit for kings in recognition of the Guild’s victory.

The three varanyen were on display, seated in a place of honour by the lords at the top table. It was an honour Ariadnne didn’t appreciate. Every bone in her body ached and she had to fight back visions of claws digging into human flesh. All she wanted was a quiet space to lie down and scream into a pillow. She’d killed so many. Celebrating didn’t seem right.

Her attention drifted down the table to Nieve, who was deep in conversation with Josef.

‘What do you think, Ariadnne?’ Lord Greve asked, and Ariadnne’s shin smarted as Melixanthe kicked her under the table.

‘What?’ Ariadnne grimaced. Melixanthe followed her gaze to Nieve, frowning.

‘Lord Greve was asking your opinion on whether the Guild should be more involved in training with the kingdom’s armies?’ she murmured pointedly.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.’ Ariadnne’s brain waded through fog as she tried to think of a reply. She gave him a polite smile.

The Lord nodded. ‘Given all these reports of dark fae, it seems like something we should consider.’

Ariadnne stared. He seemed to be alluding to more than the rumours Melixanthe had mentioned. She frowned, unsure what to say.

Melixanthe chimed in, ‘We don’t get involved in politics. The Council make all our decisions.’ She glared at Ariadnne as the lord turned away.

Ariadnne tried harder for the rest of the meal. She made small talk with the lords and answered their questions. The food, at least, was good. Ariadnne had helping after helping to replace some of the reserves she’d burned through, while Lord D’avant made eyes at her from across the table. Suddenly, the plate in front of her became particularly fascinating.

As the night deepened, a band struck up and people left tables to mingle and dance. Ariadnne hung on, hoping for a lull where she could escape and see Nieve. Her frustration mounted as that lull failed to present itself. All too soon they would be ‘home’, and Ariadnne would lose the semblance of freedom she had on campaign.

She searched the faces of the crowd, noticing the way Sol stared at her. He stood apart from the others, mouth set in a tight line until Failion slung an arm around his shoulders, leading him away.

With a sigh, Ariadnne twisted her neck from the puffed-up lordling she’d been ignoring and glimpsed Nieve nearby. She hung close, evidently hoping for the same opportunity as Ariadnne.

It wasn’t fair. Ariadnne could already see that their moment wasn’t going to happen, not when everyone was constantly in Ariadnne’s face, demanding pieces of her.

She shuttered her gaze and turned back to the lordling, who was describing his estate in the lowlands.

‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, and forced a polite smile before excusing herself. She was exhausted and needed room to breathe. To think. Doubts about wanting more with Nieve were already creeping in.

Melixanthe was deep in conversation with a noble as Ariadnne made her way over. She almost made it but was intercepted by a bulky form stepping into her path. Lord D’avant licked his lips, smiling, and suddenly Ariadnne wanted a reason to be anywhere else. She looked for an escape. When none presented itself, she found the High Lord taking her hand, pressing it to his gold-whiskered lips.

‘Ariadnne,’ he purred. ‘You were magnificent today…’

‘It was nothing.’ Ariadnne gently-yet-firmly pulled her hand away. ‘It was my duty. I was happy to fulfil it.’

‘I want you to know that if you need anything tonight, anything at all, you only have to ask.’ His eyebrows rose, and Ariadnne thought she could safely say that there was nothing possible that she could need from him, that night or any other.

‘My Lord,’ she began. ‘I was just going to ask Melixanthe if I could be excused—’

‘What a wonderful idea.’ Lord D’avant’s lip curled. ‘We could take a walk.’ He reached to take Ariadnne’s wrist. She could smell the tang of spirits on his breath and tried to pull away but his grip was like iron. His magic lifted the hairs of her neck.

‘You forget yourself, Lord.’ Fear stabbed her gut as she twisted to escape. D’avant pressed closer, and Ariadnne couldn’t think how to tactfully remove herself from the situation without harming him. Her dragon reared and, wild-eyed, she searched for her handler as his hot breath tickled her neck.

‘Lord D’avant. I believe the varanya is telling you to stop.’

Nieve appeared beside her, baring her canines and Lord D’avant’s lip curled in displeasure. Ariadnne seized the distraction to pull free, Nieve stepping between them, her small stature dwarfed by his.

Eyes flashing with fire, the High Lord puffed up his chest. ‘I don’t believe we asked for your input.’