Page 65 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Ariadnne fidgeted as Sascha’s fingers ran though her hair. It was impossible to know which of her handler’s moods awaited her and so far her punishment had been mild. Sascha tugged, the bite against Ariadnne’s scalp jolting her back as Sascha muttered furiously.

‘I hoped I’d never live to see Mordai in this kingdom.’

‘Have you heard any more?’ Ariadnne tried to twist her head only for Sascha to jerk it straight.

‘Not yet, but tongues are wagging. Everyone’s talking about the empty villages. Fields of livestock disappearing too. Tainted wheat and the like.’

Ariadnne fell silent. Sascha didn’t need to explain for Ariadnne to understand the fear. Eradiata had been free of dark fae for aeons, those left keeping to themselves and remaining behind the boundaries raised during the demon wars, but now?

Something was changing, a shift in the balance that held evil in check. Mordai in Miradael. Humans fleeing their lands. Dead villages—Ariadnne shuddered.

Something was very wrong.

According to Sascha, the Guild had been in turmoil since their return, the captains being called to multiple meetings and the knights clamouring to be allowed out on patrol. Ariadnne longed to be anywhere but her rooms, smothered by walls and haunted by Melixanthe’s absence. Yes, she might be angry, but Ariadnne couldn’t shake the insidious, creeping feeling that she’d put her handler in danger with the Council.

It led her to think—what if there was more to these ‘accidental arrows’ than Sol’s petty grudge? Was it Sol at all? Or perhaps Sol was following orders?

There were pieces missing, and she was struggling to put it together. Melixanthe was an excellent general. If they were that unhappy with her surely it made more sense to demote or retire her rather than go to such lengths to stage an accident…

Unless her loyalty was in question?

Ariadnne searched her memories. Her handler had never appeared to be anything but loyal to the Council. What was she missing?

Sol was the key, she was sure. Lucius had made it clear he wouldn’t talk to her about his handler, but perhaps another of his company would? If only she could find a way to speak to one of his knights. Alone.

She rose as Sascha finished, thanking her maid and mulling over her thoughts. Getting to the bottom of the threat to Melixanthe was her priority. Two arrows had found their mark already—too many to be a coincidence.

She sighed in defeat. Melixanthe would be waiting at the training grounds. Much as the thought of her anger made Ariadnne’s nerves jitter, she couldn’t, and shouldn’t, put it off.

Garth was waiting in the yard and nodded to Ariadnne as she took a pole and warmed up, loosening stiff muscles.

They both turned as Melixanthe limped in.

Ariadnne frowned. Her handler was pale, far more so than when she’d last seen her, and her skin was slicked with sweat. Ariadnne’s concern overrode her nerves.

‘Melixanthe!’ she exclaimed, words rushing off her tongue. ‘Have you been to the healers?’

‘It was just an arrow.’ Melixanthe bit back, but there was a catch to her voice. She knew it was worse than it should be.

Ariadnne threw her pole to Garth.

‘You’re not training,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m taking your stubborn ass to your room.’ She turned to her guard. ‘You. Get a healer. Now,’ she ordered.

Melixanthe grimaced, but didn’t argue, which was a worry all of its own.

‘You’ll have to show me the way, so don’t pass out on me, okay?’

*

‘The wound’s infected.’ The healer’s brows were knitted in concern as he examined Melixanthe’s leg. His skin was so pale as to be almost translucent, a network of veins throbbing at his temples as he concentrated. ‘It’s not healing, see? It’s not responding to my magic either.’

‘What does that mean?’ Ariadnne asked.

‘It means, General,’ he addressed Melixanthe directly, ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to ride this out. We can help with the fever, and our herbs will help contain the infection, but I’m unsure why the wound won’t respond to my magic.’

Melixanthe grunted. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll be over it in a few days.’

‘Strict rest.’ The healer raised his arched brows. ‘I mean it.’