Page 50 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Melixanthe’s sharp tone cut the air, dragging her back to the hall and her hard wooden chair. She screwed up her face, the idea of studying the convoluted language as sour as the lingering taste of the small yellow fruits she had been munching.

‘Don’t be like that. Braemish is a useful language,’ Melixanthe reproached her, but Ariadnne wasn’t so sure. The Braemish fae resided in the Winter Isles, across the Silver Sea, and though they traded frequently with Eradiata, it was rare to encounter them anywhere but the trading ports. Ariadnne had been receiving lessons in the language for the last few months, alongside her lessons on battle strategy, politics, and history.

‘Don’t you think it’s ironic the Council ensure I have such a functional grasp of so many languages when there’s no likelihood I’ll ever use them…’

Melixanthe tutted.

‘I know.’ Ariadnne sighed. ‘Gods forbid I appear uneducated and embarrass the Guild in front of a client.’

‘Ari…’

‘Don’t worry, I promise I’ll behave.’

‘Good. I don’t want to hear from Brentworth that you’ve been distracted again. I know he’s difficult, but he keeps complaining you’re not focusing enough. Insolent, he calls it.’ Melixanthe popped the potato she had been waving around on her fork into her mouth.

‘He thinks everything I do is insolent,’ Ariadnne commented, spearing a piece of ham.

‘Really, Ariadnne. I think you make your own life difficult for the fun of it.’ Melixanthe fixed Ariadnne with her dark brown gaze. ‘This behaviour—it wouldn’t be anything to do with Nieve, would it? I know I said I’d turn a blind eye up to a point, but I’d hoped you’d have gotten whatever that was out of your system by now.’

Ariadnne’s heart stilled. She’d been so careful; she barely even looked at her when Melixanthe was watching. Even if look at her was all she wanted; to stare at the way her training leathers hugged her form, her silver hair sticking to her forehead as it escaped her braid—

‘No. That didn’t come to anything.’ She offered a tight-lipped smile. It was the safest thing for Melixanthe to believe, but she prayed it wasn’t true.

‘Hmm.’ Melixanthe sighed. ‘It’s probably for the best.’ She rose, finished with her meal and the conversation. Ariadnne’s shoulders sagged with relief as she said her farewells. Suspicion averted, for now.

‘Well, I won’t see you later as I’ve Guild business to attend to,’ Melixanthe said. ‘But I’ll come for you tomorrow morning. Try not to create any extra ‘entertainment’ this afternoon and we can hopefully get through the day in one piece.’

Ariadnne mock saluted her with a fist to the chest, trying to act normal. Melixanthe rolled her eyes, leaving Ariadnne to finish her meal under the watchful eye of her guard.

*

Her language tutor, Brentworth, was a portly fae with thinning hair and little round glasses that were perpetually slipping down his nose. He had a habit of droning on in a monotonous voice as he listed reams of verbs for her to memorise.

Ariadnne’s mind wandered as she scribbled notes, doodling absently along the edge of her page, startling eyes and snowflakes.

Nieve had promised that they would be a way to find time together, but Ariadnne hadn’t seen any evidence of how that would look. She tried not to feel bitter, but she was fraying at the seams to make something happen.

Brentworth’s frown was a solemn reminder that if she stepped out of line, her shackles would tighten.

Perhaps she was fooling herself to think there was hope.

To cap off her annoyance, tomorrow the Guild planned for her to trial formation training with Lucius, Regulus, Tobias, and Finnius. Not only would it be her first time training with the males, but it would also be her first time seeing Sol since the campaign, and she still wasn’t sure what she thought of him. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, but hadn’t forgotten his dark looks and dramatic reaction to losing Nieve. As to whether he had truly meant Melixanthe harm, she was still undecided. Regardless, she wasn’t sure that she trusted him to guard her flank, or rather, Melixanthe’s.

Despite her protests, Councillor Leth had been adamant it was for the benefit of the Guild, and Melixanthe had warned her to stay on Leth’s good side. He had recently been overly interested in Ariadnne, and the last time her had taken an interest in her she’d been deemed insubordinate, followed by a week of the collar. Ariadnne didn’t want to know what had caught his attention this time.

Melixanthe appeared strained after each council meeting, playing incessantly with her necklace and refusing to share any details—which was unlike her.

Ariadnne sighed. At least the formation training would be different, she supposed.

Brentworth rapped his knuckles on his desk.

‘Daydreaming again, Ariadnne?’ he said accusingly. ‘You’ll never grasp the preterit tense if you don’t pay attention!’ He glared at her over his silly little glasses.

‘Sorry.’ Ariadnne raised her hands. ‘You have such a great mind, mastering such a complicated tongue is baffling, but I’ll try harder, I promise.’ Flattery always went a long way with Brentworth, and sure enough he started preening.

‘There, there, young one, don’t you worry yourself. It is just your attention I require. When you have been studying the nuances of language for a few hundred years, I’m sure you will find it is not so complicated.’ Suitably mollified, he went back to his lists.

The afternoon dragged on and Brentworth produced a ream of Braemish shipping logs for Ariadnne to translate. The dry text would have struggled to capture her interest at the best of times, let alone in the convoluted tenses of the White Isles. She rubbed a hand across her eyes, willing herself to stay awake. As she glanced back at the documents, something drew her attention. Her eyebrows knitted as she realised that across the record there were a surprising number of trade ships going missing. It wasn’t the right time of year for rough seas, and each one seemed to be carrying a similar cargo. Weapons, if she was translating right.