Page 49 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Nieve leaned back, wishing she could speak to Ariadnne. She would understand why the idea of trouble befalling her people made ice spread down Nieve’s spine.

*

That evening, Nieve redressed in her sparring gear. She was a well-known feature of the training yard, especially in the small hours when the others were in the common rooms, being merry. It was one of the reasons she had risen so rapidly in the ranks.

It was a warm evening, and before long Nieve was dripping through a complex set of exercises, when an elderly servant placed a frosty jug of iced lemonade on the bench beside her.

Nieve paused.

‘Wilfred, how are you?’ she asked, wiping sweat from her eyes. She poured herself a glass, murmuring thanks.

‘It’s my pleasure, lady knight.’ Wilfred bowed his head. Nieve rolled her eyes at the title. She’d asked him time and time again to call her by her name.

‘How’s your wife?’ she asked as she took a sip bursting with sweetness.

‘Oh, she’s much better. The worst of the fever passed.’ Wilfred’s eyes crinkled, evidently touched Nieve remembered.

‘I’m so pleased to hear it.’ As Nieve lifted the glass to her lips, movement caught her eye at the other end of the yard. It was a female servant hurrying towards the kitchens. Nieve’s brows furrowed as she recognised her as Ariadnne’s maid, the only one who seemed to be allowed in and out of the varanyas’s wing. An idea started to form, a possible solution to one of her problems.

‘Say, Wilfred.’ She paused. ‘Do you know the name of that maid? The one who attends Ariadnne.’ She glanced at the now empty doorway.

Wilfred nodded. ‘Of course. Sascha is lovely. Always has time for an old fellow like me,’ he said with a chuckle, tucking his tray under his arm.

‘Sascha.’ Nieve rolled the name round her tongue, waving farewell as Wilfred ambled away across the yard.

It seemed she had a maid to befriend.

The following afternoon, Nieve found herself loitering in a servant’s passage. It had been another frustrating morning—she’d barely exchanged two words with Ariadnne, and she was worried at how quiet the varanya had been.

Nieve worried she was losing faith.

It strengthened her resolve—she would find a way.

Which was why Nieve just so happened to be in this corridor around the time Sascha usually returned from delivering Ariadnne her lunch.

A coincidence, of course.

Right on time, the bustling fae emerged with an empty tray. Nieve stepped towards her, thinking to greet her, but the maid jumped out of her skin and backed away, muttering apologies before scurrying off the opposite way.

‘Wait!’ Nieve called after her, but she had already gone.

Damnit.

She looked about. It was a very disused corridor. It certainly didn’t seem like the easiest route from Ariadnne’s wing. With a frown she backtracked Sascha’s steps. The edges of the corridor were dusty, but the centre of the floor was disturbed often enough for the flagstones to be dust-free, until midway down the next corridor. There the trail ended.

Her curiosity piqued, Nieve searched about, wondering if there was a secret passage or corridor that might lead to Ariadnne’s wing, but after several fruitless minutes she turned up nothing. Sascha’s footsteps just ended. It was very frustrating.

Nieve looked back at the way Sascha had fled and felt bad; she hadn’t meant to terrify the poor creature. The bubble of hope that she had held onto sank in her chest. Perhaps Sascha wouldn’t be so easy to befriend, but it seemed she might know another way to Ariadnne’s wing.

If there was one thing Nieve was, it was single-minded.

Twenty-four

Ariadnne

Melixanthe’s voice echoed around the dining hall as she painstakingly took apart the flight Ariadnne had taken that morning, suggesting a multitude of ways in which it could have been improved. Ariadnne barely listened, her mind lost in a tortuous circuit of blue eyes and forbidden thoughts—

‘Your lessons in Braemish will resume this afternoon.’