Page 11 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Dantro had been content to gaze into the bare fireplace and entertain himself using puffs of air to keep a coin airborne. As Ariadnne spoke, he pocketed his coin.

‘Yes.’ He played with a loose thread on the arm of his chair. ‘I wouldn’t underestimate them. They have greater numbers and little regard for their own lives.’

Ariadnne fell silent for a beat, then asked, ‘Dantro, do you ever worry about the morals of the battles the Guild pick for us?’

‘No,’ he replied easily. ‘I’ve been doing this a hundred and fifty years. If I worried about the who or why of our contracts, I’d never get any sleep. We are paid well, and for every battle there has to be someone who wins.’

Ariadnne thought about this. She supposed the big difference for her was that Dantro had chosen this life. She hadn’t.

*

As Ariadnne returned to her room, Melixanthe wasn’t yet waiting so she seized the opportunity to have a bath and freshen up while Dantro stood guard outside the door, giving her privacy. The bathroom was nice enough, with a large stone tub stretching along one wall. Magically heated water came from the taps and Ariadnne examined the range of soaps and lotions arranged on the vanity before choosing a subtle forest scent to add to the water.

As she undressed, the myriad of scars across her forearms and belly caught her eye in the mirror, marring her caramel skin. Her violet eyes swirled and shifted, setting her apart and preventing her from ever hiding what she was. A shifter. Irrevocably different.

And at her throat…she fingered the faded welt that the Council’s collar had left her with. A reminder to keep her nose in line.

Turning from the mirror, Ariadnne climbed into the bath and sank into the water. It felt so good on her tight muscles. She let herself close her eyes and breathe in the undertones of pine. The scent made her think of Nieve, and she ran her hands through her hair to clear her head. Would Nieve ‘disappear’ if Melixanthe caught her gaze lingering one too many times? Or would her distraction feed back to the Council and result in some obscure punishment—a curtailing of what limited freedoms Ariadnne had.

Her reverie was interrupted by Melixanthe.

‘Ariadnne? Where are you?’ she heard her call.

‘In here,’ she replied with a sigh.

‘Ah, good.’ Her handler marched into the bathroom, glancing down at where Ariadnne lay before leaning against the wall, one hand drifting to the pendant that hung at her neck. Ariadnne had never learned the significance of the trinket, a simple stone carved into the shape of the moon-god, Dianea. Melixanthe didn’t keep much from her, but had always remained tight-lipped about the trinket’s origins.

Melixanthe’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, and she sighed. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed harsh yesterday. I couldn’t have you lose control in front of an important client like D’avant.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I know he’s a bit…difficult, but I don’t want a repeat of your teenage years.’ She threw Ariadnne a dark look. ‘You remember?’

Of course, Ariadnne remembered. She had been angry. A lot. And had burst out her skin in many embarrassing situations. She had spent many a week isolated in a cell to reflect, and her invitations to Guild functions had dwindled.

Melixanthe sighed again at Ariadnne’s silence, a long and weary exhale.

‘Anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s no word yet as to when we need to get moving.’

This was disappointing, Ariadnne would have preferred a solid plan. She sank under the water to wash her hair. When she rose, Melixanthe was examining her nails.

‘Could you pass me that towel?’ Ariadnne said, getting to her feet. As Melixanthe passed it over, Ariadnne asked, ‘How long till dinner?’

‘An hour.’

‘That long? Gods, I’ll waste away…’

Melixanthe laughed, ‘No, you won’t. Believe me girl, you don’t know hunger. I remember being on campaign with Primus’ company in Thresh and laying siege to their fortress.’ Ariadnne closed her eyes and drew the soft towel tighter about her; sometimes her handler got a bit lost on her walks down memory lane. ‘We were there over a week; the land was completely barren, and our supplies ran out,’ Melixanthe continued.

‘I know, you’ve told me before, you were this close to choosing fae to sacrifice to Primus’ enormous appetite.’ Ariadnne finished the story and gave Melixanthe a wry smile. ‘I’m not ‘eat my friends’ hungry, but, gods, I could eat.’

Melixanthe’s eyes danced with laughter as she turned and led the way out of the bathroom. Ariadnne was about to follow when a violent tremor wracked her form, and she doubled over. At the sound of her grunt Melixanthe turned back, eyes narrowed.

‘Already? It’s barely been eight days.’ She chewed her lip, concern creasing her brows as she fumbled in a pocket. ‘You didn’t tell me the tremors had started…’

There was a soft clink as she pulled out a vial, its contents a deep, swirling violet. Ariadnne grasped for it and pulled the stopper free to down the contents. Blessed relief spread through her limbs, soothing the pain.

‘I didn’t think it was bad yet,’ she muttered, avoiding her handler’s reproachful gaze.

Most varanyen dosed once a month, but Ariadnne was more severely affected, usually needing a dose every fortnight. In times of stress, it could be more.

It was inconvenient, to say the least.