Page 42 of Wings of Ice and Steel

‘Home indeed.’ Melixanthe agreed as she opened the tall doors to Ariadnne’s rooms. Ahead, the large sitting space was arranged around a great hearth with doorways leading to a bathing chamber, bedroom, and small library respectively.

Melixanthe made to follow Ariadnne through the door but the sound of hobnails against tiles behind made them both pause.

Sol strode towards them, his stone-grey eyes flicking to Ariadnne, who took a step backwards.

‘The Council want their debrief.’ He ground to a halt. ‘They caught wind of the fuck-up at the battle and aren’t happy that you almost lost them their varanya.’

Melixanthe’s frame stiffened, her hand straying to the pendant at her throat.

‘That’s fine, Sol, I’ll go shortly—’

‘I suggest you go now. Leth’s making trouble.’

Melixanthe sighed, turning to Ariadnne. ‘Duty calls.’ She smiled, a weary half-moon. ‘I’m sure Sascha will be along shortly with a meal. We’ll resume normal lessons tomorrow.’ She leaned in to give Ariadnne a quick embrace, whispering, ‘It was a good victory. No matter what they say.’

Ariadnne stared after them as the doors clicked closed, brow furrowed.

Shaking off the feeling of unease that followed in Sol’s wake, she turned to her room. A breeze drifted in from the small window, and she slumped on the embroidered couch. The hearth was bare, and above the mantle a large portrait of Beatrix watched her with stern eyes. The infamous varanya of aeons ago stood in a classic pose; one hand on her hip while the other held her sword drawn. At her feet the bodies of monstrous dark fae lay broken and defeated. Dark fae like those Ariadnne kept hearing about, now resurfacing after all these years.

Only Beatrix’s eyes gave away that there might have been more to her than a Guild tool, their violet hue shaded as she frowned at the painter. She’d supposedly had the legendary thunderwing, Helias, as her partner and mate—something Melixanthe assured her was myth. Whether it was true or not, it made for a good story. Everyone agreed that she was the perfect example of a Guild warrior—someone Ariadnne should try to emulate.

The room she’d inherited was a testament to that past glory. Displays of weapons and armour filled the walls alongside tapestries depicting well known battles. On the little table nearby was the book she’d been reading, untouched since she’d left. She idly reached for it and flicked through the pages. It was a historical account of the three largest fae kingdoms. Ariadnne had finished the part on Eradiatan history and was halfway through the history of the ever-winter White Isles, home of the Braemish and Ilaradorian fae, two distinct provinces that bred Shadows and Lightbringers. The author had saved their account of the Kargans till last, and Ariadnne would be surprised if the book had anything new to say on the secretive people that resided in the far east.

She had read most of the books in the wing’s little library and kept having to beg for more. She had been enjoying this one as the descriptions of the various provinces were vivid. However, she wasn’t really in the mood to read.

Her thoughts returned to Sol. She didn’t want to believe that he might have purposefully ignored the threat to Melixanthe, but he unsettled her. There had always been something off about him that she couldn’t place, and the way he’d looked at her since Nieve left could have cut glass.

On one hand Ariadnne couldn’t blame him. Why wouldn’t he hold a grudge? Nieve was a force of nature… of course Sol would mourn her loss. But she had made her choice. He needed to respect it.

Thinking of Nieve summoned an ache in her chest. She already missed the way her mouth curved when they talked, the way she tugged her hand through her hair—

The way she saw Ariadnne like no one else did.

It had seemed so simple, outside of these walls, but the stark reality of her life threatened to strangle her. Who knew how, or if, they would steal another moment. Nieve said she’d play the long game, but what did that really mean?

She breathed, flicking back and forth in the book before throwing it on the table. An exasperated sound crossed her lips and she rose, pacing the room. It was the same fourteen by sixteen paces that it had always been.

Minutes passed, then a knock sounded.

‘Come in.’

Sascha entered, bearing a large tray. ‘Ari!’ she cried, eyes crinkling. ‘Oh, it’s good to see you.’ She dropped the tray onto the table and threw her arms around Ariadnne. Sascha had a kind, laughing face and light brown-grey hair permanently fixed in a messy bun. She’d been Ariadnne’s maid for as long as she could remember, and her only one since Floria and the others had been sent away.

‘Everyone’s already talking about the battle.’ Sascha turned to the tray, setting out plates. The rising scent of herbs made Ariadnne’s mouth water.

‘I heard you had a close call. The whole hall is talking about it. Thank Ra’tel you came through. Of course, I’d never doubt you would—you’re one of the best fighters we have, but still I’d hate anything to happen to you.’ Her chatter filled the room as she took the lids from the dishes. There were new potatoes in garlic butter, a selection of meats and root vegetables, as well as a side of rice fried in the eastern style with dried fruits and thin slices of nut. It was good enough for Ariadnne, whose stomach growled audibly.

She offered Sascha a warm smile and grabbed a plate, pointing to the chair opposite. ‘Do you want to join me?’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t. I don’t have long.’ Sascha protested, but sat anyway, her eyes twinkling. She took a plate and chose a few morsels. ‘They’re short over in the main building. Everyone’s been summoned to help with the feast. I’ll sit a minute though.’ She chewed slowly, regarding Ariadnne as she toyed with her food. ‘What’s wrong? You seem unsettled?’

‘It’s nothing.’ Ariadnne shrugged.

‘Oh, come now, you can tell me.’ Sascha poked her leg and Ariadnne grimaced.

‘It’s just this place. Honestly, I’ll be fine tomorrow.’

Sascha’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Is there anything I can do?’