Page 37 of Wings of Ice and Steel

‘Are you okay, Ari? You don’t seem yourself.’ Melixanthe watched her with concern.

‘It’s nothing. I suppose I don’t miss Ullieve as much as you do,’ Ariadnne replied and arranged herself on her furs. Melixanthe sighed and eased herself down, stiff after the days flight.

‘I’m sorry, that was probably tactless.’

Ariadnne grunted. She had made her malcontent known frequently to Melixanthe as a teenager, acting out against her handler’s quiet strength. Despite being strict, Melixanthe had shown her nothing but compassion, in her own way. Ariadnne had thought she’d come to terms with the way things were, now she was older. Or at least she had been worn down beyond caring. She was an obedient soldier. To be anything else was to invite the Council to breathe more heavily down Melixanthe’s neck and force her to control her ward.

‘As I said, it’s no matter, it’s not like you can change anything.’

Melixanthe gave her a last long look before nodding and closing her eyes, rolling over to curl on her side. ‘Sleep well, Ariadnne.’

Ariadnne rolled over, but the oppressive weight of their return pressed too heavily for her to sleep.

Seventeen

Ariadnne

Ariadnne drifted in and out of sleep, disturbed by the feeling that something was wrong, an eerie sense of unease that twisted her stomach. Opening her eyes, she stared into the darkness, her sharp ears picking out sounds that were out of place in the sleeping camp.

Something was wrong.

There, behind the tent, was the faint scrape of armour on rock, followed by the muffled crunch of gravel beneath booted feet. Someone was creeping in the dark. Many someones by the sound of it.

Ariadnne shuffled toward Melixanthe, almost reaching her side when an alarm rang through the camp, punctuated by the reverberating clang of steel on steel; a sound that clawed talons down Ariadnne’s spine. She reacted on instinct, scrambling to her feet and giving Melixanthe an undignified shove before yanking the curtain aside and grabbing her sword and shield.

Wishing she’d slept in armour, she darted for the doorway and pushed herself through, cat-like eyes adjusting quickly to the moonlight.

It was chaos.

A swarm of heavily armoured fae, skin painted black, had descended on the sleeping camp. Her first thought was that they were dark fae… but no, as the Guild scrambled to react, she realised they were high—only dressed for murder and death. Ariadnne’s instincts kicked in, threatening to overwhelm her with possessive fury.

Her company was in danger.

Her people.

Icy rage coiled under her skin, her fingertips lengthening into talons before she forced her dragon back under control. If she shifted, she’d crush everyone on the plateau. Knights included—knights who were rallying to the sentries call. Blow for blow, they struggled. Ariadnne’s eagle eyes flicked from Finnick, who was backed into a corner, to Lucile, who had snatched up her bow and was dispatching painted faces with deadly focus. The Solvet twins stood back-to-back in silent solidarity, surrounded.

She was about to leap in and help when a flash of silver caught her eye.

Glowing in the moonlight, Nieve’s hair shone between the dark silhouettes of the enemy. The knight was locked in combat with the largest fae Ariadnne had ever seen—a wall of hulking shoulders and biceps that could crush skulls. For all Nieve’s speed and agility he was strong. and each blow sent Nieve stumbling back into a roll. A spear of ice flung from her fingertips, skittering harmlessly off the wards on his armour.

Sweat pricked Ariadnne’s brow as her dragon thrashed against her boundaries. Nieve was hers. Its reptilian voice screamed at her to end the threat and without thought her legs started moving, pumping across the rocky terrain, dodging swords and limbs as she shoved armoured foes from her path.

She dropped into a slide across the dirt, her blade slicing low across the painted giant’s bare ankles to rip tendons and muscle. Before he had time to topple, Nieve finished him with a sword to the throat.

Ariadnne sensed someone behind her and spun, sword raised. The painted female attacking her paused, sword raised, staring at her eyes before stumbling back, much to Ariadnne’s confusion. Her hesitation was her downfall as an arrow lodged in her chest. From the other side of the campfire Han lowered his bow, drawing his sword and plunging it into the chest of a figure rushing toward Finnick’s unprotected back. Han’s boyish face grinned, then suddenly stopped, slack, as a blade took him in the side. A cry escaped Ariadnne’s lips as he crumpled like a sack of flour, swallowed in the chaos.

Nieve assumed a protective stance at her side, firm as first one charged, then another. A blow skidded off Ariadnne’s shield, and she retaliated with a vicious slash to the gut as Nieve spun to slice the legs of another. A yawning crater of worry for Han had Ariadnne doubling back, but she was distracted by a scene near the main tent.

Melixanthe was fighting alongside Sol and Lucius, the three of them holding their own against four masked attackers—but none had noticed the fifth, creeping in the shadows, murder in their eyes as they fixed on Ariadnne’s handler.

Fear clutched at Ariadnne’s heart. Sol turned toward the general and Ariadnne was sure he’d seen, but her relief turned to horror as he spun away, leaping toward Lucius instead.

The shadowed figure moved and a scream burst from Ariadnne’s lips. The sound caught Melixanthe’s attention as the figure lunged. The general twisted, and the would-be fatal blow to her chest speared her shoulder. Ariadnne, sprinting, heard the grunt that escaped the general’s lips at the impact. Before the attacker could rally for a second blow, Melixanthe swung and his head rolled free. The wounded general staggered, and Ariadnne was there, supporting her weight as Nieve became their shield.

Teetering under Melixanthe’s weight, Ariadnne glanced across the plateau. The knights had organised themselves, slipping into tried and tested formations, coating the floor with blood as many painted scrambled to flee. Ariadnne bared her teeth at one painted figure who dared come too close, Nieve pushing them back as Ariadnne dragged Melixanthe towards the tents.

‘Last push!’ someone roared, and knights surged, cleaving through bodies with businesslike efficiency.