Page 86 of Wings of Ice and Steel

I hope this reaches you in time to collect her. I know you have your ways of moving unseen, but I beg of you, as one mother to another, look after her. Keep her from the clutches of this godforsaken Guild.

Regards

M.

*

Ariadnne stayed shut in her rooms all night, restless and refusing to see anyone except Sascha the following day. Not even a summons from Councillor Vesta got her to move. What were the Council to her, but monsters.

The letter had been the final blow. Proof that Melixanthe had been willing to do anything for her daughter, even arrange an escape.

She read it what must be a thousand times, weeping as she clutched those last penned words to her chest. That good news Melixanthe had wanted to share… a way out, now dissolved as though it had never been. Whoever ‘A’ was would remain a mystery, the letter proof that Melixanthe was not the loyal general she appeared. Had secrets. Contacts.

Only Nieve had got to her before the Council. They must be so happy.

The loss of both her mother and her mate left a gaping chasm in her breast that made it hurt to breathe. Ariadnne missed Melixanthe with every fibre of her being, and she missed Nieve, though she hated to admit it. Now, all she had was the letter. She didn’t speak, barely ate, food turning to ash in her mouth.

However, there was something her grief-addled mind couldn’t grasp, something that didn’t quite make sense through her dragon-fuelled rage.

Nieve’s face, struck by shock, haunted her. Ariadnne couldn’t get that beautiful, treacherous face out of her head, the anguish that flitted across her brows.

A little voice nagged that Nieve appeared shocked before she’d noticed Ariadnne standing in the doorway. Why? If she had intended to kill Melixanthe, why look shocked by her death? Nieve was too in-control to lose it in an argument. Ariadnne kept trying to quash the thoughts—of course her mind would make excuses for her mate. But they were excuses.

Only, what if they weren’t? What if her dragon had reacted without thought, the way it had when she’d accused Nieve of hurting Melixanthe.

Another wave of Nieve’s grief crashed through her, plaguing her with doubt.

What if the Council had succeeded, after all?

She vividly recalled Nieve’s stance as she stood, swords drawn over her mother’s body. Defensive. Eyes searching the room. Ariadnne had been overwhelmed and not thinking clearly, but now she forced herself to examine the agonising memory for details: Nieve’s hunched posture, the brilliant edges of her blades, flickering in the faelit room.

Brilliant edges.

Clean edges.

There had been no blood on her swords.

There had been no blood on her swords.

With clarity, Ariadnne recalled Nieve desperately trying to speak, a seed of doubt worming into her mind, interrupting the well of despair she’d been sinking in.

Nieve’s swords had been clean.

She should have listened—with the bond between them she would have known the truth if it was uttered from Nieve’s lips.

Her seed of doubt erupted into splinters, each taking root. If Nieve was innocent Ariadnne owed it to her to find out. Instead, she’d let her be taken, manhandled and bruised.

Cursing her dragon’s volatile emotions, Ariadnne forced herself up, dragging fresh clothes onto her body.

She couldn’t, and wouldn’t wait—not if Nieve suffered.

The halls echoed as the surprised guard reluctantly let her out of her quarters at her request for air. He fell into step, muttering to himself about volatile reptiles. Ariadnne smoothed her hair as she went, her features arranged in the deadly calm mask she wore to battle.

She stalked the main corridor with reptilian grace, her eyes flashing at every sudden movement, every flutter of curtains or creak of a door enough to set her hackles on end.

As she passed the great oak doors to the dining room she paused, drawing a shaky breath. They had done a good job erasing all traces of metallic blood from the air; she could scent nothing. She nudged the door open. The hall looked like nothing had ever happened, everything in its place.

There was a new rug.