Page 9 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Strike. Spin. Parry.

Ariadnne’s thoughts reduced to a series of actions as they moved faster than should be possible, becoming a blur to the surrounding audience.

They were almost equally matched. Almost.

Incredulously, it dawned on Ariadnne that Nieve was the better fighter. She was faster, stronger, and gaining ground.

She was good.

The beast half of her soul rose, curiosity piqued. Ariadnne braced to weather its onslaught of rage, but instead of filling her with indignant wrath, forcing her limbs to move faster, harder—it purred, wanting her to submit.

The foreign emotion stopped Ariadnne dead in her tracks.

She didn’t see Nieve’s sweep until it was too late and her legs were knocked from under her. With a thud, she landed on her back in the sand.

Momentarily winded, she expected a blade at her throat—but it didn’t come. She glanced across. Nieve stood five feet away, blade poised to end the match—but she hesitated, something flickering in her eyes.

What was she doing? Ariadnne didn’t understand, Nieve had won…

Again, that flicker, and Ariadnne realised. Nieve was going to throw the match, to let her win.

She wouldn’t... Ariadnne couldn’t let her…

In that second, she remembered and understood that this wasn’t just between them. It was a performance, and as bitter as it was, she had to take the opportunity Nieve handed to her.

Her inner self screamed at her to submit, to let Nieve take her rightful victory.

But she couldn’t.

Gritting her teeth against the sourness of it, Ariadnne seized the opening and rolled to the side, rising with a sweep of her own that knocked Nieve to the ground. Not wasting a moment, she lowered her blade to Nieve’s neck.

‘Do you yield?’ she said softly, apologetically.

‘I do,’ Nieve answered with a look of such understanding that it made Ariadnne raw.

Ariadnne held out her arm and Nieve grasped it firmly. As she did, something passed between them. Nieve’s brows rose—she felt it too. Without thinking, Ariadnne pulled Nieve in close, shivering as Nieve’s free hand grazed her arm.

‘Thank you,’ Ariadnne whispered.

‘For what?’ Nieve replied softly, her mouth curling.

The crowd’s wild clapping drew them from the moment. Lord D’avant and his retinue surged into the ring and Ariadnne found herself swept away. She strained her neck to try and catch another glimpse, but Nieve disappeared between the jostling bodies.

Melixanthe came up, protectively putting her hand on Ariadnne’s shoulder, muttering, ‘Well done.’ She squeezed and Ariadnne wondered if she knew that her victory was false. That Ariadnne had been beaten.

They were interrupted abruptly. ‘I haven’t seen something so invigorating in years!’ Lord D’avant said, his mouth uncomfortably close to Ariadnne’s ear.

‘It was nothing...’ she began.

‘Nonsense.’ He waved her dismissal aside. ‘Listen. I’ve still not had word from the keep and tomorrow marks the turn of the hunter’s moon.’ His lip curved in what he must have thought was a pleasant smile. ‘It is our tradition to hold a dance in its honour. If we haven’t been summoned to the border I will of course preside over the event, as is my duty. I would be delighted if you and your companies would attend?’

Both Ariadnne and Melixanthe froze.

‘That isn’t necessary, my Lord.’ Melixanthe coughed. ‘It would be a distraction from our duties.’

‘I insist!’ The High Lord’s chest puffed. ‘It would only be a few hours of your time, and I do enjoy the opportunity to dance with new partners.’

‘I don’t dance,’ Ariadnne said bluntly, not caring if it sounded rude.