Page 16 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Jealousy twinged, but Ariadnne forced it from her mind as she watched the knights dance. Melixanthe drifted into deep conversation with a nearby guardsman, and Ariadnne turned her attention back to the refreshments. Her stomach was a wild thing, needing to be fed, and she began to question how important avoiding D’avant truly was. When Melixanthe showed no sign of slowing her conversation, Ariadnne gave up and, slipping free of the shadows, drifted over to look. It wouldn’t take much to sate her appetite, then she would be back at her handler’s side—for whatever protection that afforded.

She helped herself to a small plate and filled it from a delicate display of little clams and cockles. Crisp breads spread with olive paste followed. And she had to try a few of the miniature fruit tarts—

A light brush tickled her elbow and she turned, thinking to move out of someone’s way. Instead, she found herself face to face with Nieve, close enough for Ariadnne to breathe in the crisp edge of winter’s frost that rolled off her skin, settling around her like a blanket, creating an aura of calm amid the flurry of dancers.

‘Hi,’ Nieve said softly. ‘I didn’t get a chance to speak with you at training this morning, but I’d hoped…’

She tilted her head, light falling on the dusting of freckles bridging her pale nose. She took in the daring cut of Ariadnne’s dress without pity for her scars. There was something else in her eyes. Something Ariadnne wanted to explore. She found herself inching closer when they were interrupted by a booming voice.

‘Ariadnne! I was starting to think you were hiding from me.’ Lord D’avant’s gaze filled with mock chastisement as it swept over her body. ‘My gift looks exquisite on you.’

Nieve’s forehead creased.

Ariadnne gave him a tight-lipped smile. ‘It really wasn’t necessary—’

‘My word!’ The High Lord stared at the scars that adorned her arms and chest, frowning. ‘You’ve seen your share of battle already, haven’t you?’

Ariadnne was about to make a scathing comment when Nieve stepped forward, saving her from herself.

‘Varanyen bear the brunt of the fighting. It’s hardly surprising it leaves a mark,’ she said with a sweet smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

‘I suppose not.’ Lord D’avant barely offered Nieve a glance before holding out his hand. ‘Now, Ariadnne, how about that dance?’

The Lord didn’t give her a choice, leading her by the elbow even as she strained for a last glimpse of Nieve. Melixanthe was nowhere to be seen.

The band struck a waltz. Lord D’avant smiled as he took her hand in one meaty grasp and gripped her waist with the other. Ariadnne fought a shudder, his whiskered breath too close to her face. None of her training had prepared her for this. In survival mode, she avoided his gaze and stared over his shoulder for the first circuit of the floor, following his steps with mechanical grace. A flash of crimson caught her eye and there was Nieve at the edge of the hall, gaze burning into her like a brand. Her brows furrowed deeper each time the High Lord pulled Ariadnne close.

‘You truly look beautiful tonight.’ D’avant’s wet lips left spittle on the side of her neck. She jerked back.

He smiled. ‘Make sure you return from the battle in one piece.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine…’

‘I find the prospect of seeing you in action quite exciting,’ the High Lord continued, barely acknowledging her words.

Ariadnne swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The end of the song couldn’t come fast enough. As the waltz finally ended the band struck a new, lively tune.

‘Ah, one of my favourites! Shall we?’ Lord D’avant held out his hand.

‘Oh, I definitely don’t know this one—’ She tried to excuse herself, but the High Lord was insistent.

‘Ariadnne.’ Nieve appeared, eyes wide and innocent. ‘Lucius wants a word about tomorrow’s plan.’

Lord D’avant’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not sure that’s necessary…’

‘Oh, but he insisted,’ Nieve said with a smile, holding out her hand for Ariadnne’s.

Taking it was the easiest thing.

Seven

Nieve

Many thanks, my Lord. For a most wonderful dance.’

Gods, the control in Ariadnne’s voice… it did things to Nieve. Things it shouldn’t—a fire that sparked when the High Lord paused to stare, again, at the scars that adorned Ariadnne’s arms and chest. Scars, it seemed, that he’d been responsible for putting on display.

Nieve ground her teeth.