Page 43 of Wings of Ice and Steel

‘Not really.’ Ariadnne eyed her round the forkful she was holding and contemplated the wisdom of telling Sascha what troubled her. She liked her maid, and thought she was one of the closest things she had to a friend, but she had no idea if she could trust her?

Probably not. It was too risky that anything she shared would filter back to Melixanthe.

‘I’ll be fine.’ She forced a smile.

‘Okay, I can tell when you’re not in the mood to talk. If you change your mind, you know where I am.’ Sascha clucked her tongue as she rose, brushing imaginary crumbs from her skirts. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen it all over my two hundred years.’

*

An hour later Ariadnne craved sea air and distraction. She knocked on the door and waited for the guard.

‘I’d like to go for a walk,’ Ariadnne said pleasantly. With a curt nod the guard opened the door, stepping behind her and locking her rooms.

The stone corridor boasted an ocean blue runner, lined with the busts of previous generals and their wards. Each marble face was arranged in straight lines and Ariadnne often wondered if they had been that miserable in life. Probably.

It was only a short walk to the training yard, and she blinked as she stepped into the sun, legs slowing as the crossed the vast space towards the cliff. It boasted a stunning view of the sea. A view that would be easier to enjoy if her guard would stop breathing down her neck. He didn’t. Instead, he seemed unwilling to risk she step more than an arm’s length from his side. She snorted. As if he’d be able to stop her if she decided to shift.

It wasn’t the guards who kept her chained to this place. No, it was the Council’s dirty little secret; the damned demon curse. A small, ugly part of her blamed Beatrix. If she had only been better, faster, stronger perhaps the last varax wouldn’t have had time to utter the words that damned her race to servitude. Ariadnne sneered. The Council hoarded their precious antidote like a drake hoarded jewels, each batch kept under lock and key with only the captains allowed access. There was never enough in existence at any one time to be worth risking thievery—Melixanthe had assured her of that.

Fatigue clung to Ariadnne’s limbs from the battle, exacerbated by two days of travel. A mild tremor told her that already the last dose of antidote she’d taken was starting to wear off, probably burnt away by adrenaline. She’d have a few days, maybe a week, before her symptoms got bad. She’d have to remember to tell Melixanthe…

Reaching the far side of the yard, she glared at her guard, daring him to stop her from scrambling up the rocks marking the edge of the cliff, seeking her favourite spot.

The view from the top was worth the climb. On a clear day she could make out distant islands as she picked tufts of grass, flicking the blades into the wind as though they could carry a message across the ocean.

One of her favourite pastimes was imagining Councillor Leth’s face as she wrung the secret of the antidote from his throat. Of course, then the rest of the Guild would be ordered to bring her down, so she’d have to find somewhere even further than those islands to hide. Somewhere the Council’s agents couldn’t find her.

Somewhere she could fly. Free.

It was a nice dream but in reality stealing even an hours unfettered flight wasn’t worth the risk. It had taken too long to earn the freedoms she was allowed—such as her once-a-month trip into Ullieve town—to risk jeopardising that with a jaunt. It had taken years for Melixanthe to persuade the Council that they could relax their leash. That she wouldn’t flee or make a scene, or shift. That was the first thing the Council beat into all their shifters—they were only to wear their dragon skins at permitted times; a rule Ariadnne had never been good at following. Prior to Melixanthe, she’d spent much of her life collared.

With time on her hands, Ariadnne conjured bittersweet images of the life she would choose. A cottage, perhaps, nestled in the foothills of a rugged mountain range, surrounded by wild forest. She’d be self-sufficient, of course, and take daily hikes to watch the sunrise.

She inhaled slowly—maybe Nieve would be with her, and as the sun rose, the golden light would fall onto her upturned face and—

‘You look bored,’ Melixanthe’s voice interrupted her daydream. Ariadnne’s head jerked, spotting the general striding across the sand, shielding her eyes from the sun. So much for the time on her hands.

With a sigh, Ariadnne slid off her rock. ‘I’d choose the word ‘Idyl’ rather than bored...’

‘Hmm. Let’s remedy that, shall we?’ Melixanthe turned and marched towards the weapons rack along the far wall.

Ariadnne rolled her neck, grabbing the sword Melixanthe threw her and following her onto the dirt. They were well matched, Melixanthe’s shoulder making her movement stiff, while Ariadnne was slow from the fatigue searing her muscles.

‘How was the meeting?’ Ariadnne probed, punctuating the question with a jab to the gut.

Melixanthe grunted, parrying the blow. ‘Fine.’

Ariadnne ducked. ‘Why don’t I believe you?’

Melixanthe stayed silent, a bead of sweat peeling down her brow. There was a look in her eye Ariadnne recognised, one she wore when she wasn’t ready to talk.

‘Bloody Leth,’ Ariadnne muttered, and was rewarded with the tiniest smile.

The afternoon stretched on, a fresh bruise blossoming on Melixanthe’s cheek from the butt of Ariadnne’s sword, while Ariadnne sported new bruises of her own from the flat of Melixanthe’s. Eventually, they called a truce.

‘My shoulder’s done.’ Melixanthe grimaced.

‘I’m not surprised.’