Page 72 of Wings of Ice and Steel

‘What do they hold over your kind? There must be something.’ Nieve pressed. ‘I can help.’

‘If they found out I’d told you they’d kill you.’ Ariadnne took Nieve’s hand. ‘Please. I just want to enjoy this day with you.’

Nieve grimaced in frustration, wanting to know the truth more than ever. ‘Does Melixanthe know? Is she part of why you stay?’

‘No. It’s the Council. They—'

Whatever Ariadnne had been about to say was cut off as Kayla returned. They stepped apart.

‘Oh Ariadnne, that’s lovely!’ Kayla exclaimed. ‘You’ve got a good eye.’

Ariadnne glanced at Nieve with a smile that cleaved her in two. She vowed to make Ariadnne see reason. There was a way out for them, even if she had to buy Ariadnne out of bondage.

They continued to wander the street towards the main square, a new tension tugging at Nieve’s chest. Music led them on towards a band who had struck up on the main stand, Kayla navigating them to seats outside a tavern while Nieve ordered them all a round of spiced ale.

Kayla regaled them with tales of previous lovers as they reclined in the sun. Nieve forced herself to relax, to enjoy the time with her mate while she could, even if they couldn’t be alone. Ariadnne nudged her under the table, sensing Nieve’s lingering unease, and Nieve glanced her way, sending her every reassurance. She motioned to the waiter for another round, and with the burn of alcohol in her veins she allowed herself to laugh at Kayla’s stories—which had become decidedly bawdy.

Throughout, Nieve’s eyes remained glued to her mate, drinking in every line of her face. Time was slipping through her fingers, and she didn’t want to go back.

Thirty-two

Ariadnne

Dusk was creeping round the corners of the tavern, casting fingers of gold across tables and walls when an opportunity to investigate Melixanthe’s attacker presented itself.

Ariadnne wasn’t used to ale, certainly not in the copious quantities the others consumed. Nieve and Kayla were well into their cups, discussing Josef’s many virtues, while Ariadnne gazed between them with alcohol-induced warmth. She wondered if, after this, she could call Kayla a friend. She didn’t have friends, but she’d like to. Perhaps she could even talk to her about Melixanthe’s poisoning, get her to ask around. She could tell both of them, right there, finally getting her pressurised thoughts out in the open.

The curse, too. She’d been that close to telling Nieve. It would crush her, but she deserved to know who she was tied to. Her limitations—just the fact that Nieve would consider leaving made her heart swell, but the thought of what the Council might do to Nieve…

How could she be responsible for that?

Nieve was making it very hard for Ariadnne to think clearly as the tavern lights dimmed. It turned out, that when doused in spirits, the Iceling became increasingly tactile and confident, her inhibitions dissolving with each sip. Small gestures, such as their knees touching beneath the table, or the light brush of her fingers as she leaned in to whisper, drove Ariadnne to distraction, so much so that she almost missed Failion when he appeared at the bar.

As recognition flickered, she tore her gaze from Nieve’s smiling face, instantly sobered.

‘A minute,’ she muttered and slid her chair back with a screech. She ignored Nieve and Kayla’s protests as she rose to follow Sol’s recently promoted Second through the crowd.

Winding between the jostling bodies, Ariadnne kept her eyes on Failion as he slipped into a seat beside two others of his company. Uther, the burly one was called. The other… Frieda? Possibly. Her long dark hair hung over her face as she studied the rim of her glass.

Ariadnne needed to be tactful. Every shred of anger that she’d felt towards Sol rose to the front of her ale-muddled mind and was now directed at his Second. It took great effort of will to suppress it as she shouldered her way towards him.

He spotted her. ‘Oh, Ariadnne! What can I do for—’

He was cut off as Ariadnne placed her hand on the table, the alcohol coursing through her blood lending her the confidence to smile disarmingly.

‘Hello, Failion.’ She hooked another stool with her foot and took a seat next to him. Uther’s jaw dropped as he took in their visitor, Frieda crossing her arms.

Failion’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Good. Her presence was having the desired effect. She raised her brows.

‘I hoped we could have a little chat,’ she said, drawing a circle on the table with her index finger.

Failion’s beetle brows knitted. ‘Oh, sure… what about?’ he stammered.

‘I’ve admired the way you’ve stepped up to fill Nieve’s shoes.’

She glanced towards her table, where both Kayla and Nieve wore puzzled frowns.

‘It takes great fortitude to rise so readily to an unexpected promotion. Sol must think highly of you.’