Page 93 of Wings of Ice and Steel

Sascha took one look at her before setting the tray and wrapping her in a motherly hug.

‘Oh, Ariadnne…’ She pulled her in close. Too close… Ariadnne hadn’t wanted to be touched—it broke the wall she was carefully crafting, and a sob rose unbidden as her dam shattered, all the tears, pain and grief bursting through. She wept for the handler who’d always been there for her, wept for the mother she’d never fully known, and wept for Nieve, who might die if she couldn’t pull it together. Her fear cleaved at her chest.

‘I…’ she croaked between gasped breaths. ‘I don’t know how to do this without her, Sascha. I miss her so much it hurts.’ Sascha smoothed her hair and listened. ‘They want to take Nieve from me, too.’ Ariadnne pulled away and wiped her eyes on her shoulder to clear the tears. She wasn’t thinking about what she was saying. ‘If I lose her, it will break me.’

Sascha simply continued to stroke her hair as Ariadnne closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.

‘You don’t believe it was her?’ Sascha said in a quiet voice.

‘I know it wasn’t,’ Ariadnne replied vehemently, trembling with emotion.

‘I believe you,’ she said simply. Ariadnne’s shoulders relaxed. Having someone on her side, someone she didn’t need to argue with or persuade… it meant more than she could say. She put her hand over Sascha’s and squeezed, trying to force a weak smile for her maid’s sake.

‘What would I do without you?’

‘You certainly wouldn’t look after yourself,’ Sascha tried to jest, then pulled the tray closer. ‘You should eat something—you need to keep your strength up for Melixanthe’s funeral tomorrow. You want to be strong for her.’

Ariadnne knew the wisdom of her words, but the idea of eating filled her with nausea.

‘Maybe later, if you leave it here.’ She looked at her maid. ‘Do you think anyone in my company could have hurt Melixanthe?’

Sascha looked startled but quickly composed herself, shaking her head.

‘I’m sorry, my love, I don’t know them well enough to know. You think it was one of them?’ She seemed surprised.

‘It’s possible. I only have nine days to figure it out.’ Ariadnne went back to staring at the floor. Sascha rose, but Ariadnne’s hand shot out and took her arm.

‘Can you stay? Please? I don’t want to be alone,’ she begged.

‘Of course.’ Sascha settled back, stroking her hair and watching over her, until Ariadnne finally fell asleep with her head on her lap.

Forty-one

Ariadnne

Dawn’s brilliant rays streamed through the window. Ariadnne squeezed her eyes shut. The couch she’d slept on was too short for her frame, and every muscle hurt from being scrunched to fit.

Today. They would bury her mother today.

Ariadnne nudged her bond with Nieve. A soft quiet met her touch, an absence of thoughts or feelings. There was no wrongness the way there would be if anything had harmed her. More likely she had succumbed to sleep.

Gathering her limbs, Ariadnne stretched while her mind churned. She needed Nieve free before the Council tightened its leash, making it impossible to find the true killer.

She needed help.

Kayla flashed to mind—the one other person she’d felt close enough to trust. A person who could be her eyes in the company, asking questions where Ariadnne couldn’t.

She just hoped a public confession from the killer would be enough to force their hand.

With a groan she kicked her legs off the side of the couch and forced her stiff form up. They would bury her mother today, while the word ‘mother’ was still raw on her tongue. Her reflection in the mirror wasn’t pretty; the lines of strain as alien to her as the shadows under her eyes. That wouldn’t do. Not for Melixanthe.

In honour of the day, Ariadnne found her kohl and painted her eyes, then smeared the twin black warrior lines on her cheeks. She fixed her hair into a long braid and surveyed her wardrobe. Her ceremonial armour stood adjacent on its stand. She would probably be expected to wear that. However, nestled amongst her tunics, Ariadnne owned one dress. It was sapphire blue, with a back panel of silver lace.

She fingered the fabric, remembering how she had laughed when Melixanthe bought it for her. ‘In case a formal occasion arose.’ She’d asked Ariadnne to try it on, but Ariadnne refused, saying she’d do that on the day she needed it. She now felt regret that Melixanthe had never seen her in the gift.

Making up her mind, Ariadnne drew the dress from the wardrobe. Today she would honour her mother.

She slid out of her nightgown and stepped into the silken fabric. It fit perfectly. Gazing into the mirror, her heart throbbed as she recognised the slope of Melixanthe’s nose, and the angle of her jaw. How had she never seen the similarities? On bare feet she padded through to the living area, past the tapestry of Beatrix, for the first time noticing the shadows under the mighty warrior’s eyes and wondering if she had been as tired and lost as Ariadnne.