Page 52 of Wings of Ice and Steel

The next morning, after breakfast, Melixanthe came to Ariadnne’s rooms, to escort her to the main part of the castle. Before they left, she handed Ariadnne a little glass vial. Ariadnne hadn’t even realised that two weeks had passed since her last dose.

‘I still think today is a waste of time,’ Ariadnne muttered as she threw back its contents. The acidic liquid burned, her stomach churning unpleasantly before the usual numbness spread through her belly.

‘Try to make the best of it. Please, Ari. For me.’

Melixanthe seemed distracted, her hand drifting to her trouser pocket where the crumpled corner of an envelope was visible.

‘What’s that?’ Ariadnne asked, nodding towards the envelope.

‘Nothing.’ Melixanthe’s reply came too quick as she stuffed the paper out of sight. She was hiding something. Ariadnne’s nostrils flared—she’d always trusted her handler, but recently she’d been distracted, evasive, and trust was a two-way street.

Ariadnne, being less familiar with the castle, let Melixanthe guide her through the marbled courtyards, passing through a dark stone passageway lit with faelight sconces, to emerge in dazzling morning light.

The yard was surrounded on three sides by castle walls, and in the distance, the fourth side of the square was a low stone wall, giving Ariadnne a clear view of the surrounding woodland. The twisted trees with their autumnal flame-licked foliage almost glowed in the dawn light.

On the sand, the other companies had already gathered around a small marquee at the side of the yard. Ariadnne spotted Lucius and Regulus lounging by the tent, the very picture of casual boredom as Regulus examined his nails, his long dark hair fastened in a knot at the nape of his neck. Lucius flexed his biceps, eyes darting to Ariadnne as she approached, features brightening. Ariadnne sighed.

Gods help the ever-optimistic males.

Standing nearby were two varanyen she was less familiar with. Both solid figures, with chiselled jawlines and well-sculpted features. The fairer of the two was Tobias—she had fought with him at a brief skirmish at the southern border. But the last, Finnius, she’d only seen in passing. Both stared as she approached, straightening their tunics and smoothing their hair.

Ariadnne snorted. At least Lucius and Regulus knew her well enough to understand that they didn’t interest her that way. Finnius and Tobias evidently hadn’t received that memo.

Ariadnne’s company were waiting in an orderly line along the wall. Nieve's eyes sought her out, holding her as she approached in unspoken support. It threatened to crack Ariadnne’s tightly wound interior as she ducked to follow Melixanthe into the marquee, to where the handlers waited.

She bit back a grimace at the sight of Flightmaster Ronin pouring over diagrams at a large central table. The old fae oversaw the training of the fledgling dragons. It had been a few years since she was under his tutelage, but he was just as she remembered; elderly, wizened, and skinny enough to be blown away in a stiff breeze.

‘Ahh, here you are, the cornerstone of my plan for today.’ He smiled benevolently and opened his arms in greeting as the varans trailed her in. ‘Young Ariadnne. It is a pleasure, as always.’

Ariadnne gave him a tight smile in return. He could pretend to be the fatherly figure all he wanted but his ‘training’ techniques were downright unpleasant.

She recalled the agony of great iron pins being driven through her wings as a fledgeling, fixing her to the ground in punishment for being curious about Ullieve town and abandoning circuits to get a better look. She had been seven.

‘I was explaining to everyone the idea behind introducing these coordinated flight patterns. They should increase both your destructive force and safety by combining your skills.’

Ariadnne rolled her eyes; she wasn’t seven anymore, and he was wrong. Dragons weren’t team players—not like that. Their individual egos would cause more hindrance than help if forced to work together. There was a reason formations were abandoned aeons ago.

The Flightmaster proceeded to describe what he’d dubbed the ‘Aerial attack’ formation, where they would fly in a tight ‘V’, with Ariadnne at the tip and the firedrakes arranged behind at various heights to provide clear lines of fire for the archers.

‘You varanyen will need to pay close attention to your handlers during the flight, as they will be responsible for keeping a check on your position and stop you drifting too close to your companions.’ Ariadnne frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose as the proposed flight grew more and more complex.

Ronin glanced at her and frowned at her pained expression. ‘Did you have something to say, Ariadnne?’ His jaw clenched, and Ariadnne swallowed the instinctive jolt of fear that look awoke. She was fully grown. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. Not the same way.

‘No, sir.’

‘Hmm.’ Ronin turned back to his audience. ‘I am sure with practice you will become a fast, well-oiled machine.’

Melixanthe’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at Ariadnne, as though she could see how close she was to breaking her silence. A hundred sarcastic comments floated on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back, smiling tightly at her handler.

With a flourish, the Flightmaster went back to pointing out the finer details of the formation, and what he hoped to achieve. He finally bade the varanyen good fortune and sent them out into the yard so he could have a final word with the handlers.

Lucius strode at her side as they approached their knights. Ariadnne glanced across at him, slowing her feet.

‘Lucius,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Can I ask you something?’

He fell in beside her. ‘Of course, Ari,’ he replied, a soft look falling over his features. A look that her question would probably banish, but she needed to know.

‘Sol. Do you trust him?’