Page 84 of Wings of Ice and Steel

An hour had never passed so slowly.

Anticipation plucked at the corners of Ariadnne’s mind as she readied herself for the meal. This would be her first chance to be alone with Melixanthe since her revelation, a chance to ask all the questions that had been circling her brain that afternoon. She brushed out her hair and braided the sides in the way she knew Melixanthe liked. She chose a midnight blue jerkin with silver detailing, pairing it with dark leather breeches and examined herself in the mirror. Why did she feel nervous? Melixanthe hadn’t changed. And yet she had, in every way that mattered.

As the castle clocks struck eight, Ariadnne made her way down the grand corridor with her guard, towards the dining room. It wasn’t unusual for Melixanthe to ask to dine with her there, and she supposed tonight’s meal was significant enough to warrant the setting.

Without warning, a sharp pang of fear reverberated through her chest. The bond. She stopped. She didn’t know how she knew, but Nieve was close by.

A second wave of shock jangled through the bond, jarring and sharp, setting Ariadnne’s teeth on edge. Her hand clutched her chest, gasping at the sudden burn while her guard looked on in puzzlement.

Melixanthe. She needed Melixanthe. The dining room was just around the corner. She picked up her feet and ran, leaving her guard in the dust.

The metallic tang of blood slowed her as she rounded the bend, a dreadful sense of foreboding pooling in her gut. Fully alert, she stalked towards the door.

Her fingers tingled as she touched the wood, a muffled clattering audible through the oaken panel. With a grunt, she flung open the door.

A heartbeat later and she wished she never had. Wished she’d run the other way and not looked into the waiting, macabre scene.

Nieve.

Nieve.

She stood, twin swords drawn, over the bloody body of Melixanthe.

Over her mother.

Anguish, pure and unadulterated spiralled through Ariadnne’s breast, ripping her into bleeding pieces. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run and run and run and go back and stop this from happening.

Her thoughts screamed loud enough that Nieve glanced up, eyes wide as something like guilt flashed across her perfectly carved features. She took a step back, dropping the blades. Raising her hands.

‘No… you shouldn’t have to see…’

Any further words were lost as a low, keening wail filled the room. It took a moment for Ariadnne to realise it was from her own lips. Nieve had killed her.

No.

‘What have you done?’ she cried, falling to her knees. She clutched at her midsection, trying to staunch the pain as the reality of what she’d lost overwhelmed her. ‘How could you… How could you?’

‘Wait.’ The sob escaped Nieve’s lips, desperate and pleading, followed by waves of anguish that came crashing through the bond as she tried to reach out to Ariadnne, whose draconic rage surged—if she could have clawed the bond from her chest, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

‘She was my mother!’ she screamed. The revelation fell from her lips like broken glass as the fragile future she had dared to imagine shattered into jagged shards. ‘No. No. No… Get out! Get out! You are dead to me!’

Nieve’s eyes shone with fear as she took a step forward. ‘No…This isn’t what it…’

Ariadnne couldn’t hear. There was a roaring in her ears loud enough to mute the diorama before her, blurring the edges until it became dreamlike and surreal. She stumbled through the fog to Melixanthe’s side, slapping away Nieve’s hands as she crouched by her handler.

‘Melixanthe…’ she whispered, her eyes raking Melixanthe’s weathered face and wishing her brown, sightless eyes would flutter.

There was a gaping, leaking wound in her chest, right above her heart. From this her life had spilled out across the flagstones, creating a crimson, sticky puddle that haloed her form. The edges were beginning to soak into the rich brocade of the nearby rug, giving it a vivid, crimson stain. Beneath Melixanthe’s prone form, a tiny flash of white caught Ariadnne’s eye. Her vision swam through her tears and, blinking, she reached out a tentative finger to touch the white object—the corner of an envelope, stuffed into Melixanthe’s waistband as if she had tried to hide it in a hurry. Without thinking, Ariadnne pulled it free and pushed it into her own pocket.

Nieve was making no move to go. Instead, she was holding her hands out. ‘Ari, I didn’t… I know how this looks…’ she was saying with an edge of panic.

Ariadnne’s dragon was thrashing and trying to break free, and it took every shred of will she had to hold herself together.

She hated her.

With pounding feet, her guard burst into the room, gasping as he took in the scene. He yelled to raise the alarm. Soon he was joined by the two from the door, all equally pale.

‘Hold her!’ one of them cried and leapt to grab Nieve. She didn’t fight or struggle. Instead, she held her head high, a sliver of tears glistening on her cheeks as she whispered something lost to the roaring in Ariadnne’s ears. They forced Nieve’s arms behind her body, casting a binding rune before the larger guard manhandled her towards the door.