Page 4 of Wings of Ice and Steel

She found herself wanting to find out.

To her surprise, the knight glanced over her shoulder to give her the most dazzling of smiles, and Ariadnne’s feet stumbled, iridescent scales shimmering and shifting beneath her skin—

No. Not here. Ariadnne sucked in a deep breath, forcing the creature back. Melixanthe turned her head, eyes narrowing. She took hold of Ariadnne’s elbow, holding her back as the others passed. When the space around them was clear, she twisted Ariadnne’s arm around to face her.

‘What was that?’

‘I…I’m sorry…’ Ariadnne stammered.

‘I expect more from you.’ Melixanthe shook her head. ‘If that got back to the Council… Much as it pains me, if I see even the hint of a shimmer outside of the sparring ring again you will be room-bound until we are called to fight. Do you understand?’

Ariadnne swallowed. She understood. It wouldn’t happen again.

Two

Nieve

Nieve grinned in delight as she followed Sol into Lord D’avant’s rather extravagant drawing room.

‘Put your eyes back in your head.’ Sol hissed out of the corner of his mouth and Nieve stifled a laugh.

‘You’ve got to admit it’s a bit much.’ She nodded to the statue of a penitent D’avant, artfully arranged amongst the plush velvet sofas. Behind this tableau, a marble hearth roared and filled the room with a warm orange glow. Lucius and Regulus, the swines, had already sprawled in the nearest armchairs to bask in the heat, attracting a curious crowd.

‘I’m not going to comment.’ Sol’s lips twitched.

‘You find all this pompous shit as entertaining as I do. Admit it.’ Nieve nudged his shoulder. He’d come from simpler roots, as had she, of a sort. Simpler than this, anyway. It was something they’d bonded over in the few years since he’d invited her—a foot soldier making a name for herself—to join the Guild, promising purpose and glory. Her father’s longhouse might have loomed over her village, but it had been humbler than this; carved oak lined with furs and roaring hearths.

The memory still stung.

Sol muttered something unintelligible, and Nieve cleared her thoughts to scan the room. Her curiosity had been piqued earlier… and there, in the corner: The varanya. Her violet eyes sparkled in the firelight, fixed on the bookcase beside her.

From her position by the fire, Melixanthe repeatedly glanced at her ward as she made small talk, but Ariadnne shook her head, choosing to keep her distance—which was curious in itself. Tall, tanned and graceful, Ariadnne’s fingers tapped her thigh in an agitated rhythm, and Nieve wanted to know what the most powerful being in the Guild could possibly be agitated about. In fact, Nieve got the distinct impression Ariadnne was hiding. Perhaps from a certain High Lord.

Nieve absolutely shouldn’t go and speak to her. She wasn’t here to socialise, especially not with those more important than her, but… something tugged at her chest.

She’d heard the stories: the varanya’s temper, her spoiled life in her private wing, but Nieve thought that tonight, if anything, the Guild’s prize weapon looked a little lost.

‘Who are you staring at?’

Sol stiffened as he noticed Ariadnne. Nieve ignored him. The captain avoided talking about the varanya the same way he avoided questions about the General. Not surprising when they’d both been in the running for that position and Melixanthe had been promoted over him. Ariadnne should have been Sol’s ward, but in truth Nieve didn’t think he’d have ever left Lucius, so the grudge held no purpose.

Plus, Nieve had chosen him over Melixanthe. He had nothing to worry about, even if she was curious…

A sharp breath left her lips, and ‘I think she looks lonely’ slipped out before she could stop it.

‘No.’ Sol gripped her arm. ‘Nieve, don’t. You've got that faraway look you get when you have a bad idea.’

Nieve flicked a spark of ice at his boots. ‘My ideas are never bad.’

‘The moors of Harthage?’

‘I saved your ass.’

‘The Redalian Coast?’

‘Worked out fine.’

‘Hmph.’ Sol raised a dark brow and Nieve suppressed a smile.