[Infinity's End] Edge of Tomorrow - Ch 16
Aug. 29th, 2010 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonTitle: The Edge of Tomorrow
Series: Infinity's End, Book One
Summary: Ione makes a difficult decision when her allies call for her imprisonment, forcing her to flee for her life. In the hands of the Theravada, she meets Gale Arlen, rumored leader of the rebels, and learns what it truly means to choose a side.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)
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Chapter Sixteen
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Ione did think about it. In fact, she brooded on the matter for several days while cooped up in her room with the sniffles and a serious throbbing in her skull. It seemed that despite Gale's concerted effort, she still managed to catch cold after her dunking in the lake. Ione was miserable, and in her misery, she denied contact with all other human beings. Better to suffer in solitude than endure Kieran's idea of pampering.
She had visitors, true. But they always left quickly, just in case she was contagious. Gale stopped by often, and every time they spoke, Ione couldn't help but recall what Azriel and Kieran had said. And now that she was looking, she realized herself for the oblivious idiot she was.
Gale did like her.
While Ione would’ve thought that realization would make her uncomfortable, it didn't. In fact, it stirred all kinds of warmth and fuzzies that were not like her at all. A certain sign that she was sicker than she thought. Or perhaps she should attribute them to the hot, spiced cider Gale kept bringing her or the herbs that Kieran shoved down her throat if she so much as wheezed.
She quickly felt as if she were going stir-crazy, and so Ione devised a clever escape plan. Well, it wasn't clever so much as she got out of bed, wrapped herself in layers, and crept into the hallway with a stealthy glance around.
“Are you sure you're healthy enough?” Aponi asked, hovering around Ione's head with worried flutters of her wings and twitching of her antenna.
With her muffler, ear muffs, and tightly woven cap, there was nowhere for the poor butterfly to land. Unless of course she decorated the colorful puff of strings atop Ione's hat.
“I'm fine,” Ione muttered, feeling annoyance tick at her. She hated being coddled. “They're… overreacting. I barely even… cough anymore.”
“You're wheezing again,” Fenris countered with a pointed look.
Ione set her jaw firmly. “Only… a little.”
“Suit yourself.”
She planned to do just that. Sniffling and telling herself that she hadn't, Ione crept down the corridor and considered her destination. The training room was out. She wasn't hungry, and Kieran's lab had Kieran in it, so that wasn’t an option either. She supposed she could go to the library, but she’d spent the last week lying in bed reading. And quite frankly, the thought of looking at more books was enough to really make her ill.
So she wondered where to go.
“You look lost.”
To her credit, Ione only jumped two feet off the ground as opposed to the five her startled body had attempted.
“Sabriel?” she wheezed.
“Yo,” he greeted with a grin, lifting one hand. “Sneaking about are we?”
“I don't sneak!” she denied as she straightened.
He looked at her, staring pointedly at the scarf that covered all but her eyes, and the hat pulled low over her head.
She sighed. “Okay, maybe I was attempting to be a bit… sneaky,” Ione admitted, shoving her hands into her pockets. “And what are you doing?”
“Looking for you actually,” the man said with a softer smile and a tilt of his head.
Well, wasn't that convenient. If suspicious.
“Why?” And she couldn’t quite keep her misgivings from her tone.
His grin widened though. “You have a visitor.”
Ione was intrigued. Very much so.
“Who?”
“You'll just have to see,” Sabriel replied, one finger scratching under the edge of his eyepatch. “Coming?”
She had nothing else better to do. And really, it might be a nice change of pace. A chance to get away from Gale’s hovering and Kieran’s pouts and declarations of affection. Honestly, it was far too much like Souya for them not to be related somehow, someway.
Ione lifted her shoulders. “Might as well.”
Sabriel clapped her on the back, not that Ione could feel it through her layers, and directed her down an intersection. He chatted about nonsense things, something concerning the vegetable crop in their underground garden, and Ione made appropriate noises of feigned attention. She noticed that Sabriel was leading her deeper into Paragon, where the more barracks-style rooms were squared away. A fair few of the rebels resided like that, even though there was room for them to move elsewhere. Ione just figured that they preferred it for the company. Or perhaps from a more defensible standpoint.
Now more curious, Ione paid rapt attention as Sabriel somehow navigated the corridors that better resembled a series of doors with numbers on them – not unlike an inn – until they stood before number twenty-seven. Sabriel rapped his knuckles against the surface, and the door swung open before he even managed the third knock. Ione had a moment of recognition before her name was shouted in a ridiculously happy voice. And she braced herself for the inevitable impact. It came in a flurry of bouncy curls and arms wrapping around her.
“Ione!” Ophelia greeted, as enthusiastic as always.
“Ophelia,” Ione gasped, just as happy to see her but much more sedate in showing it. “How did you get here?”
“How else?” the red-haired woman asked, squeezing tighter if that were even possible. “Master Hadley invited me. He’s the boss here apparently. Isn’t that just strange? A nice man like him heading a rebellion?”
As she babbled on, all Ione could think about was how this wasn't safe. How Ophelia shouldn’t have risked it. How this could backfire in a potentially awful way. Even though she was glad to see Ophelia, she couldn't seem to force the proper words out.
“You shouldn't have come,” Ione had to say, trying to extract herself from the clinging hold. “It's dangerous. What if they find out?” She didn't even need to elaborate on who she meant. The truth hung tensely in the atmosphere above them.
Grinning, Ophelia's cheeks were flushed. “I was careful; I promise,” she assured and clasped one of Ione's hands between both of her own. “I had to risk it though. Hayden and I were worried about you. And of course, I had to see my mama.”
“Your definition of careful and mine differs. From now on, meet me somewhere else. Not here.” Ione sighed.
“If you insist,” Ophelia grudgingly agreed. “But is that all you have to say to me? After all this time?”
“It was only a few months or so.”
Maybe more. But who was counting really?
Ophelia pouted, and Ione felt the guilt crawl into her belly. The younger woman was her dear friend, and she’d risked too much to come here. Ione should be grateful, not chastising.
Her annoyance deflated. “I’m glad that you came,” Ione said instead and shouldn't have been surprised when Ophelia squealed and hugged her again.
Several minutes later, Sabriel elegantly bowed out, citing that it was “girl time”. Fenris trotted along after him, deciding that Anubis was certain to be far more interesting. Only Aponi remained and hovered over Ione like an overprotective mother duck.
Ione was dragged into the room that she came to learn was actually Antoinette's. Ophelia's mother was just as happy to see her daughter and couldn't stop beaming with pride, even as the three of them sat by a small table and sipped at tea in delicate little cups that Ione feared breaking. She was a bit sick of tea, but it’d be rude to refuse. So Ione nibbled on the lace cookies that seemed too fancy for actual consumption and pretended to drink every now and then. But the cookies did taste a fair bit like her mother’s, which was oddly comforting.
Really, Azriel had gone all out when he’d supplied this place. Why they even had half this stuff was a mystery.
“You're looking well, dear,” Antoinette murmured, making small talk as was polite when starting any conversation.
Though Ione could only wonder why they’d worry about politeness given the situation. This was her daughter, and Ione herself was known for her flagrant disuse of manners.
But Ophelia didn’t question that. She just positively beamed. Being in love suited her, Ione supposed. She and Hayden probably cooed nauseatingly sweet nothings to each other all day long and then through the night.
“Thanks, Mama. Master Hadley’s been treating me very well.” Ophelia sipped delicately and without a single slurp. “He keeps me updated on you guys, too.”
Ione munched on a cookie. “So he just outed himself to you? Or did you suspect something and corner him?”
Either way, Ione knew that Azriel needed to be more careful. If Ophelia had caught on, someone else might have as well.
“A little bit of both.” Ophelia shrugged and tugged a stray curl behind her ear. “Though he made the first move, I’d always thought something was a bit off around him. I'm his personal assistant, so I notice his absences the most. And really, he was gone at the weirdest times. At first, I thought that he might have a… You know.” She made a vague gesture and leaned forward to whisper, “A secret lover or something. I mean, he always came back really happy and smiling.”
Antoinette laughed into her cup. “It was a reasonable guess, love. Probably what most people think if they even bother to notice his movements at all.”
“But lucky it was you and not anyone else,” Ione commented with a vague frown.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Antoinette shook her head. “Lord Azriel knows of our relationship. It helps that she’s already talented on her own. He wanted to meet her on his own, and apparently, he liked what he saw. His offer for an apprenticeship, for being his assistant came straight from him. Nothing on my part.”
Blushing demurely, Ophelia still looked pleased with herself. “I'm happy because I can help now. I don't just have to sit on the sidelines and watch and wonder.”
“It’d be better if you stayed out of it,” Ione put in, reaching for another cookie. “Grayshire doesn't play around.”
“I know. That's why I came here,” Ophelia insisted, watching Ione hopefully. “They've been searching everywhere. Trying to find you. Trying to find who helped you. I had to warn mama to be careful. That she shouldn't try to leave anymore. It’d be safer if she stayed here and out of sight.”
Ione put her cup down and winced as it clattered loudly. “What about Hayden? He's the one who warned me in the first place?”
“I don't know.” Ophelia shifted uneasily at her own admission; her fingers scrubbed along the outside of her decorated tea cup. “I've noticed people watching him whenever we go out. But it could be my imagination. I mean, how could they know? We’re not exactly important enough to notice.”
A valid question. But then, Ione wondered how they’d found out about her and Fenris? Who’d seen what? Who’d talked?
“That’s the question indeed,” Ione murmured as she hid behind her cookie.
Ophelia bobbed in her seat. “The rumors about you are still going strong. Especially after what happened last week. Everyone's sure you're a rebel now. Maybe that you were one from the start.”
“I'm not. I wasn’t,” Ione protested. Rather weakly at that. “At least, I haven't decided anything. They attacked first. I was just defending myself. Defending Gale and the villagers.”
“Grayshire doesn't see it that way,” Antoinette inserted, calmly pouring herself another cup and plopping in two cubes of sugar. “No matter how you choose, you’re a rebel now, Ione. Even if you don’t say it aloud, everyone knows that.”
She thought to protest further, but unfortunately, Ione knew that Antoinette was right. That didn't make her determination to actually choose for herself any less. Ione didn't want her future decided for her by Grayshire's statements. Azriel had promised she didn't have to fight, though Ione wondered how long she’d be able to keep that up herself. It wasn't in her nature to stand idly by.
“I didn't ask to be. I only wanted to protect the things that mattered to me.” Ione sank back in her seat. “Now, I'm not even sure what it was I was fighting for in the first place.”
Antoinette patted Ione gently on the hand. And seemed on the verge of doing more until she thought the better of it.
“I know, child,” she said instead. “I understand. It’s a harsh reality.”
Ione felt patronized, even though she knew Antoinette didn't mean it that way. It was her own sensitivity to the situation that aggravated her. So she changed the subject, though the new topic wasn't any less worrisome.
“Have you heard anything?” Ione put down her half-eaten cookie as her appetite completely left her. “About Malcolm's patrol, I mean. When I left, they were heading for the Flats. And from what I heard...” she trailed off, uncertain how much Ophelia knew.
Silence stretched thin around the table. And Ophelia now lost interest in the sweet tea.
“They disappeared,” she murmured. “About a week after entering. No one's heard from them since.”
Ione's heart dropped into her stomach, where it preceded to churn about. She felt as though the entire world had crumbled beneath her feet.
“Disappeared?” she repeated numbly.
Ophelia inclined her head, sympathetic and concerned. “All five of them, vanished without a trace. Grayshire claims they were attacked and killed by the rebels. But I know better. Master Hadley wouldn't kill without cause. And he and his men had no reason to be anywhere near the Flats. Or unless the Merihem did it…” She just shuddered at the thought.
“Theron must be pissed,” Ione murmured with eyes downcast.
She could just imagine his reaction. Especially at his only son’s death. He didn’t have a favorite child, but Malcolm did have a special place in his father’s heart as the only boy.
Ophelia shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the table. “Lord Wyndham’s in confinement.”
Ione's gaze snapped up. Even as her jaw dropped. Theron Wyndham? In prison? His grandfather was the Great Lord! The Duke! No one would dare!
“You can't be serious!” she all but shouted. “Duke Wyndham would never allow his heir to be imprisoned. He’d wage war on Grayshire itself.”
And as powerful as the old man was, he’d probably win.
“Unless,” Ophelia interrupted her happy fantasy, “his heir spoke ill of His Lordship and the might of the Brigade.” She shook her head. “Things are falling apart, Ione. It's all below the surface, and the general public doesn't know the truth, but it's getting clearer that the nobles’ hold is slipping. People are questioning. Lord Theron's punishment is only the beginning.”
Ophelia's words struck her like an anvil across the skull. Malcolm was gone, likely dead, and his father was imprisoned for speaking out about it. Antoinette could never return home. Hayden was likely being followed, just in case. And Ione's former teammates were probably under close scrutiny, too. She couldn't help but think that if Grayshire was so sure it was in the right, why was it acting so terribly?
“Let's change the subject, shall we?” Antoinette interjected then.
She likely found it as hard to breathe through the negative emotions and tense atmosphere as Ione. It was like wading through a humid summer afternoon while bogged down in winter furs – utterly stifling.
“We’ve finally met again after a time,” the matron continued. “Let's find a more cheerful topic.”
Ione felt like kicking out her feet beneath the table. But it was a childish thing to do, so she refrained.
“Such as...?” she prompted, forcing herself to sit up and pay attention.
A slow smile curled Antoinette's lips, and suddenly, Ione had a strange premonition. A fear for her own sanity. She recoiled in her seat and experienced an odd urge to flee. To run for her life. Maybe even her nonexistent virtue.
“Why you and that dear Gale, of course,” the matron chirped, seeming to overcome the tense atmosphere by sheer force of will alone.
Ione stiffened. “What about us?” she said slowly, hands curling around her cup as Ophelia perked in interest.
“Oh?” the younger woman said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Do tell, Mama. Ione and High Lord Arlen?”
Antoinette smiled wickedly. “It's the sweetest thing since I first witnessed Hayden's shy circling of you, Ophelia. The way that boy dotes on her.”
“He does not,” Ione muttered through clenched teeth. She refused to admit that the tips of her ears were burning.
“He does,” Antoinette said with a key look at her daughter. “Ione suffers from denial. An unfortunate affliction in the young sometimes.”
Ophelia giggled and prodded at Ione with the tip of her foot. “I never thought I'd see the day when you were shy,” she teased with a knowing wink. “It's cute.”
“Ione is oblivious,” Aponi chirped, speaking up for the first time and only to repeat what she’d already heard before.
What was it with everyone and trying to sledgehammer her with Gale's crush lately? Would she have to suffer through more people pointing out the obvious to her? Would it be Grayson next? Talya? Ishmael of all people?
Perish the thought.
“Well, my girl, what do you think of him?” Antoinette pressed. She seemed to delight in Ione's squirming.
“He's a good man,” Ione replied vaguely, giving the matron nothing to work with rumor-wise. The last thing she needed was to add fuel to the flames, the veritable gossip firestorm. “He’s intelligent and strong. A man to be admired.”
Ophelia burst into laughter. “We're talking about a possible boyfriend, Ione, not someone with a bid for leadership! You make it sound like you’re campaigning for him.”
The brunette sniffed. “Those are important qualities.”
“And yet, they don't answer the question,” Antoinette pointed out with a chortle of her own, taking a cookie for herself and biting down.
Ione edged ever so slightly away from the two predatory redheads, going after the truth like a wild dog went after a bone. The urge to escape attacked her again, and Ione sniffled, wondering if she could fake a sudden onset of her cold.
But the sound of someone knocking on the door saved Ione from a terrible fate. She seriously wanted to kiss whoever had interrupted. Perhaps go further with her gratitude if they were male and cute enough. Unless it was Ishmael, of course. He was still too young. Or Kieran since that was wrong on so very many levels.
“Come in!” Antoinette called merrily, disturbing Ione with her high spirits.
Ione surreptitiously wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. It felt like it might’ve been leaking, but no that was just her imagination. Or perhaps her desperate attempt to escape had manifested as an imaginary worsening of her symptoms. If this rescue failed, she’d have to resort to plan B.
The door creaked open then in an ominous fashion. And as if Diana and Kaiyu were both conspiring against her, the object of their conversation poked his head through the crack and peered around.
“I'm not interrupting, am I?”
Ophelia broke into twitters. “Of course not, Lord Arlen. What brings you here?” she positively simpered, casting eyes in Ione’s direction with no subtly at all. “Come to join us for tea?” She nudged the empty seat that was oh so coincidentally next to her friend.
He looked like the proverbial deer being stared down by a hungry wolf. Gale's own gaze skipped over and over the three women. As if he knew the topic of discussion and was mortified by it.
Hell, Ione herself was mortified by it. And that usually took a lot.
Gale nibbled his lip. “I was looking for Ione actually.”
And that was something he really shouldn't have said. It only made mother and daughter share a deliberate look.
Ione had the idea of sinking into her chair. Except that meant she’d be stuck here in this room with these two mad women, which didn't sound appealing in the slightest. In fact, she was on her feet before she even realized she’d made the decision to move.
“Not more medicine is it?” she asked, firmly telling herself that she wasn't fleeing.
Gale shook his head, lips curling toward a grin. “No. I think Kieran's inundated you with enough already. Anymore and you'll turn into an herb yourself. Or some type of syrup.”
“Thank Kaiyu for that.” Her tongue helpfully recalling the bitter and tasteless medicines her uncle had forced on her. “A spar then?” she questioned hopefully, well remembering how out of practice she’d been against Faye.
Faye...
No, best not to think of that right now. Ione didn't want to drown herself in guilt; she couldn't let it consume her. Even if it did strike in the dark of night when she was weakest. And even if she dreamed about frigid waters enclosing her head and arms, hands scrabbling at her for help.
“Not exactly,” Gale went on with another charming smile.
Wait? Charming?
“I have to head out to Sunehaven,” Gale continued, seeming to not notice the strange panic that skittered across Ione's face, “and I thought you might want to come.”
Charming?
“Would I ever.”
Ione barely restraining herself from leaping across the room. Paragon was stifling in the winter. With rebels blasting heat in their rooms all over the place. But still freezing hallways. And all the windows and doors pulled tightly shut.
It didn't matter that the last time she’d left, both she and Gale were nearly killed by the Brigade. And Ione had nearly drowned under a frozen lake. She’d rather do anything than stay here. Enduring Antoinette's insinuations and Kieran's excessive pampering.
Ione was already at the door before her manners remembered her. “Ah, sorry. I don't mean to cut our visit short.”
Ophelia waved her off with a knowing wink. “It's fine. I need to spend some time discussing the wedding with mama anyway.”
The wedding? What the hell...
Oh, that wedding. Ione felt like an asshole for forgetting that Ophelia and Hayden were engaged and due to be married soon. In the spring even, a mere three months away. Ione didn't know if she'd be able to attend or not. Something that galled her immensely. Ophelia was one of her dearest friends, and thanks to Grayshire, Ione couldn't even attend her wedding.
Bastards. The lot of them.
“Soft colors and no sparkles.” Ione made a face. Well aware of Ophelia’s design sense, sure that the wedding was to be tacky in all the wrong ways. And Hayden was far too indulgent of her whims. “Keep me updated.”
“Yes, ma'am. You go have fun now.” Ophelia saluted her in a manner vaguely reminiscent of what they’d learned at Conservatory.
Ione spluttered.
“When you're ready to leave, find Sabriel. He'll escort you back,” Gale put in. He shot Ione a confused look, probably wondering why her face was a lovely shade of sun-kissed tomato.
More polite goodbyes were made before Ione thrust herself into the freedom of the corridors, feeling as if she could finally breathe again. The door closed behind them with such a sense of finality that Ione was relieved. Gale took the lead, shooting her a strange glance over his shoulder.
“Are you sure I didn't interrupt something?” he asked after a heartbeat or two.
A valid question. Particularly considering the ridiculously stupid glances mother and daughter tossed at him. Not to mention their blatant hints.
Ione opened her mouth to answer, but Aponi beat her to it. She gleefully leapt from Ione's ear to Gale's collar with an excited chirrup.
“They were talking about you,” she said fervently.
Which prompted Quetz's head wriggle out of Gale's shirt. The poor snake had been decidedly lifeless lately, probably more to do with the weather than anything else. Quetz was keeping to the confines of Gale's tunic, huddled up against his body warmth, and became quite surly if he tried to prod her out of her warm cocoon. But now, she came out in a rush of eagerness that was almost pathetic.
“Oh, really?” Quetz prompted as her human counterpart turned an inspiring shade of strawberry-pink that was the perfect counterpoint to Ione’s current color. “Tell me more.” She sounded positively gleeful.
“Or not,” Ione interrupted.
She reached over and carefully plucked Aponi off Gale's shoulder. She shook the butterfly delicately, like one would a misbehaving puppy.
“Since there's nothing to tell.”
Her warning was accompanied by a firm glare that demanded obedience.
Aponi sniffed and wriggled to get free. “Shy,” she sang, heedless to Ione's annoyance.
Gale coughed and didn't meet her eyes.
* * * * *
a/n: A cute, transitory chapter. Things heat up in the next chapter though, I promise! As always, comments and critiques are more than welcome. I hope you enjoyed!
Series: Infinity's End, Book One
Summary: Ione makes a difficult decision when her allies call for her imprisonment, forcing her to flee for her life. In the hands of the Theravada, she meets Gale Arlen, rumored leader of the rebels, and learns what it truly means to choose a side.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)
Chapter Sixteen
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Ione did think about it. In fact, she brooded on the matter for several days while cooped up in her room with the sniffles and a serious throbbing in her skull. It seemed that despite Gale's concerted effort, she still managed to catch cold after her dunking in the lake. Ione was miserable, and in her misery, she denied contact with all other human beings. Better to suffer in solitude than endure Kieran's idea of pampering.
She had visitors, true. But they always left quickly, just in case she was contagious. Gale stopped by often, and every time they spoke, Ione couldn't help but recall what Azriel and Kieran had said. And now that she was looking, she realized herself for the oblivious idiot she was.
Gale did like her.
While Ione would’ve thought that realization would make her uncomfortable, it didn't. In fact, it stirred all kinds of warmth and fuzzies that were not like her at all. A certain sign that she was sicker than she thought. Or perhaps she should attribute them to the hot, spiced cider Gale kept bringing her or the herbs that Kieran shoved down her throat if she so much as wheezed.
She quickly felt as if she were going stir-crazy, and so Ione devised a clever escape plan. Well, it wasn't clever so much as she got out of bed, wrapped herself in layers, and crept into the hallway with a stealthy glance around.
“Are you sure you're healthy enough?” Aponi asked, hovering around Ione's head with worried flutters of her wings and twitching of her antenna.
With her muffler, ear muffs, and tightly woven cap, there was nowhere for the poor butterfly to land. Unless of course she decorated the colorful puff of strings atop Ione's hat.
“I'm fine,” Ione muttered, feeling annoyance tick at her. She hated being coddled. “They're… overreacting. I barely even… cough anymore.”
“You're wheezing again,” Fenris countered with a pointed look.
Ione set her jaw firmly. “Only… a little.”
“Suit yourself.”
She planned to do just that. Sniffling and telling herself that she hadn't, Ione crept down the corridor and considered her destination. The training room was out. She wasn't hungry, and Kieran's lab had Kieran in it, so that wasn’t an option either. She supposed she could go to the library, but she’d spent the last week lying in bed reading. And quite frankly, the thought of looking at more books was enough to really make her ill.
So she wondered where to go.
“You look lost.”
To her credit, Ione only jumped two feet off the ground as opposed to the five her startled body had attempted.
“Sabriel?” she wheezed.
“Yo,” he greeted with a grin, lifting one hand. “Sneaking about are we?”
“I don't sneak!” she denied as she straightened.
He looked at her, staring pointedly at the scarf that covered all but her eyes, and the hat pulled low over her head.
She sighed. “Okay, maybe I was attempting to be a bit… sneaky,” Ione admitted, shoving her hands into her pockets. “And what are you doing?”
“Looking for you actually,” the man said with a softer smile and a tilt of his head.
Well, wasn't that convenient. If suspicious.
“Why?” And she couldn’t quite keep her misgivings from her tone.
His grin widened though. “You have a visitor.”
Ione was intrigued. Very much so.
“Who?”
“You'll just have to see,” Sabriel replied, one finger scratching under the edge of his eyepatch. “Coming?”
She had nothing else better to do. And really, it might be a nice change of pace. A chance to get away from Gale’s hovering and Kieran’s pouts and declarations of affection. Honestly, it was far too much like Souya for them not to be related somehow, someway.
Ione lifted her shoulders. “Might as well.”
Sabriel clapped her on the back, not that Ione could feel it through her layers, and directed her down an intersection. He chatted about nonsense things, something concerning the vegetable crop in their underground garden, and Ione made appropriate noises of feigned attention. She noticed that Sabriel was leading her deeper into Paragon, where the more barracks-style rooms were squared away. A fair few of the rebels resided like that, even though there was room for them to move elsewhere. Ione just figured that they preferred it for the company. Or perhaps from a more defensible standpoint.
Now more curious, Ione paid rapt attention as Sabriel somehow navigated the corridors that better resembled a series of doors with numbers on them – not unlike an inn – until they stood before number twenty-seven. Sabriel rapped his knuckles against the surface, and the door swung open before he even managed the third knock. Ione had a moment of recognition before her name was shouted in a ridiculously happy voice. And she braced herself for the inevitable impact. It came in a flurry of bouncy curls and arms wrapping around her.
“Ione!” Ophelia greeted, as enthusiastic as always.
“Ophelia,” Ione gasped, just as happy to see her but much more sedate in showing it. “How did you get here?”
“How else?” the red-haired woman asked, squeezing tighter if that were even possible. “Master Hadley invited me. He’s the boss here apparently. Isn’t that just strange? A nice man like him heading a rebellion?”
As she babbled on, all Ione could think about was how this wasn't safe. How Ophelia shouldn’t have risked it. How this could backfire in a potentially awful way. Even though she was glad to see Ophelia, she couldn't seem to force the proper words out.
“You shouldn't have come,” Ione had to say, trying to extract herself from the clinging hold. “It's dangerous. What if they find out?” She didn't even need to elaborate on who she meant. The truth hung tensely in the atmosphere above them.
Grinning, Ophelia's cheeks were flushed. “I was careful; I promise,” she assured and clasped one of Ione's hands between both of her own. “I had to risk it though. Hayden and I were worried about you. And of course, I had to see my mama.”
“Your definition of careful and mine differs. From now on, meet me somewhere else. Not here.” Ione sighed.
“If you insist,” Ophelia grudgingly agreed. “But is that all you have to say to me? After all this time?”
“It was only a few months or so.”
Maybe more. But who was counting really?
Ophelia pouted, and Ione felt the guilt crawl into her belly. The younger woman was her dear friend, and she’d risked too much to come here. Ione should be grateful, not chastising.
Her annoyance deflated. “I’m glad that you came,” Ione said instead and shouldn't have been surprised when Ophelia squealed and hugged her again.
Several minutes later, Sabriel elegantly bowed out, citing that it was “girl time”. Fenris trotted along after him, deciding that Anubis was certain to be far more interesting. Only Aponi remained and hovered over Ione like an overprotective mother duck.
Ione was dragged into the room that she came to learn was actually Antoinette's. Ophelia's mother was just as happy to see her daughter and couldn't stop beaming with pride, even as the three of them sat by a small table and sipped at tea in delicate little cups that Ione feared breaking. She was a bit sick of tea, but it’d be rude to refuse. So Ione nibbled on the lace cookies that seemed too fancy for actual consumption and pretended to drink every now and then. But the cookies did taste a fair bit like her mother’s, which was oddly comforting.
Really, Azriel had gone all out when he’d supplied this place. Why they even had half this stuff was a mystery.
“You're looking well, dear,” Antoinette murmured, making small talk as was polite when starting any conversation.
Though Ione could only wonder why they’d worry about politeness given the situation. This was her daughter, and Ione herself was known for her flagrant disuse of manners.
But Ophelia didn’t question that. She just positively beamed. Being in love suited her, Ione supposed. She and Hayden probably cooed nauseatingly sweet nothings to each other all day long and then through the night.
“Thanks, Mama. Master Hadley’s been treating me very well.” Ophelia sipped delicately and without a single slurp. “He keeps me updated on you guys, too.”
Ione munched on a cookie. “So he just outed himself to you? Or did you suspect something and corner him?”
Either way, Ione knew that Azriel needed to be more careful. If Ophelia had caught on, someone else might have as well.
“A little bit of both.” Ophelia shrugged and tugged a stray curl behind her ear. “Though he made the first move, I’d always thought something was a bit off around him. I'm his personal assistant, so I notice his absences the most. And really, he was gone at the weirdest times. At first, I thought that he might have a… You know.” She made a vague gesture and leaned forward to whisper, “A secret lover or something. I mean, he always came back really happy and smiling.”
Antoinette laughed into her cup. “It was a reasonable guess, love. Probably what most people think if they even bother to notice his movements at all.”
“But lucky it was you and not anyone else,” Ione commented with a vague frown.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Antoinette shook her head. “Lord Azriel knows of our relationship. It helps that she’s already talented on her own. He wanted to meet her on his own, and apparently, he liked what he saw. His offer for an apprenticeship, for being his assistant came straight from him. Nothing on my part.”
Blushing demurely, Ophelia still looked pleased with herself. “I'm happy because I can help now. I don't just have to sit on the sidelines and watch and wonder.”
“It’d be better if you stayed out of it,” Ione put in, reaching for another cookie. “Grayshire doesn't play around.”
“I know. That's why I came here,” Ophelia insisted, watching Ione hopefully. “They've been searching everywhere. Trying to find you. Trying to find who helped you. I had to warn mama to be careful. That she shouldn't try to leave anymore. It’d be safer if she stayed here and out of sight.”
Ione put her cup down and winced as it clattered loudly. “What about Hayden? He's the one who warned me in the first place?”
“I don't know.” Ophelia shifted uneasily at her own admission; her fingers scrubbed along the outside of her decorated tea cup. “I've noticed people watching him whenever we go out. But it could be my imagination. I mean, how could they know? We’re not exactly important enough to notice.”
A valid question. But then, Ione wondered how they’d found out about her and Fenris? Who’d seen what? Who’d talked?
“That’s the question indeed,” Ione murmured as she hid behind her cookie.
Ophelia bobbed in her seat. “The rumors about you are still going strong. Especially after what happened last week. Everyone's sure you're a rebel now. Maybe that you were one from the start.”
“I'm not. I wasn’t,” Ione protested. Rather weakly at that. “At least, I haven't decided anything. They attacked first. I was just defending myself. Defending Gale and the villagers.”
“Grayshire doesn't see it that way,” Antoinette inserted, calmly pouring herself another cup and plopping in two cubes of sugar. “No matter how you choose, you’re a rebel now, Ione. Even if you don’t say it aloud, everyone knows that.”
She thought to protest further, but unfortunately, Ione knew that Antoinette was right. That didn't make her determination to actually choose for herself any less. Ione didn't want her future decided for her by Grayshire's statements. Azriel had promised she didn't have to fight, though Ione wondered how long she’d be able to keep that up herself. It wasn't in her nature to stand idly by.
“I didn't ask to be. I only wanted to protect the things that mattered to me.” Ione sank back in her seat. “Now, I'm not even sure what it was I was fighting for in the first place.”
Antoinette patted Ione gently on the hand. And seemed on the verge of doing more until she thought the better of it.
“I know, child,” she said instead. “I understand. It’s a harsh reality.”
Ione felt patronized, even though she knew Antoinette didn't mean it that way. It was her own sensitivity to the situation that aggravated her. So she changed the subject, though the new topic wasn't any less worrisome.
“Have you heard anything?” Ione put down her half-eaten cookie as her appetite completely left her. “About Malcolm's patrol, I mean. When I left, they were heading for the Flats. And from what I heard...” she trailed off, uncertain how much Ophelia knew.
Silence stretched thin around the table. And Ophelia now lost interest in the sweet tea.
“They disappeared,” she murmured. “About a week after entering. No one's heard from them since.”
Ione's heart dropped into her stomach, where it preceded to churn about. She felt as though the entire world had crumbled beneath her feet.
“Disappeared?” she repeated numbly.
Ophelia inclined her head, sympathetic and concerned. “All five of them, vanished without a trace. Grayshire claims they were attacked and killed by the rebels. But I know better. Master Hadley wouldn't kill without cause. And he and his men had no reason to be anywhere near the Flats. Or unless the Merihem did it…” She just shuddered at the thought.
“Theron must be pissed,” Ione murmured with eyes downcast.
She could just imagine his reaction. Especially at his only son’s death. He didn’t have a favorite child, but Malcolm did have a special place in his father’s heart as the only boy.
Ophelia shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the table. “Lord Wyndham’s in confinement.”
Ione's gaze snapped up. Even as her jaw dropped. Theron Wyndham? In prison? His grandfather was the Great Lord! The Duke! No one would dare!
“You can't be serious!” she all but shouted. “Duke Wyndham would never allow his heir to be imprisoned. He’d wage war on Grayshire itself.”
And as powerful as the old man was, he’d probably win.
“Unless,” Ophelia interrupted her happy fantasy, “his heir spoke ill of His Lordship and the might of the Brigade.” She shook her head. “Things are falling apart, Ione. It's all below the surface, and the general public doesn't know the truth, but it's getting clearer that the nobles’ hold is slipping. People are questioning. Lord Theron's punishment is only the beginning.”
Ophelia's words struck her like an anvil across the skull. Malcolm was gone, likely dead, and his father was imprisoned for speaking out about it. Antoinette could never return home. Hayden was likely being followed, just in case. And Ione's former teammates were probably under close scrutiny, too. She couldn't help but think that if Grayshire was so sure it was in the right, why was it acting so terribly?
“Let's change the subject, shall we?” Antoinette interjected then.
She likely found it as hard to breathe through the negative emotions and tense atmosphere as Ione. It was like wading through a humid summer afternoon while bogged down in winter furs – utterly stifling.
“We’ve finally met again after a time,” the matron continued. “Let's find a more cheerful topic.”
Ione felt like kicking out her feet beneath the table. But it was a childish thing to do, so she refrained.
“Such as...?” she prompted, forcing herself to sit up and pay attention.
A slow smile curled Antoinette's lips, and suddenly, Ione had a strange premonition. A fear for her own sanity. She recoiled in her seat and experienced an odd urge to flee. To run for her life. Maybe even her nonexistent virtue.
“Why you and that dear Gale, of course,” the matron chirped, seeming to overcome the tense atmosphere by sheer force of will alone.
Ione stiffened. “What about us?” she said slowly, hands curling around her cup as Ophelia perked in interest.
“Oh?” the younger woman said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Do tell, Mama. Ione and High Lord Arlen?”
Antoinette smiled wickedly. “It's the sweetest thing since I first witnessed Hayden's shy circling of you, Ophelia. The way that boy dotes on her.”
“He does not,” Ione muttered through clenched teeth. She refused to admit that the tips of her ears were burning.
“He does,” Antoinette said with a key look at her daughter. “Ione suffers from denial. An unfortunate affliction in the young sometimes.”
Ophelia giggled and prodded at Ione with the tip of her foot. “I never thought I'd see the day when you were shy,” she teased with a knowing wink. “It's cute.”
“Ione is oblivious,” Aponi chirped, speaking up for the first time and only to repeat what she’d already heard before.
What was it with everyone and trying to sledgehammer her with Gale's crush lately? Would she have to suffer through more people pointing out the obvious to her? Would it be Grayson next? Talya? Ishmael of all people?
Perish the thought.
“Well, my girl, what do you think of him?” Antoinette pressed. She seemed to delight in Ione's squirming.
“He's a good man,” Ione replied vaguely, giving the matron nothing to work with rumor-wise. The last thing she needed was to add fuel to the flames, the veritable gossip firestorm. “He’s intelligent and strong. A man to be admired.”
Ophelia burst into laughter. “We're talking about a possible boyfriend, Ione, not someone with a bid for leadership! You make it sound like you’re campaigning for him.”
The brunette sniffed. “Those are important qualities.”
“And yet, they don't answer the question,” Antoinette pointed out with a chortle of her own, taking a cookie for herself and biting down.
Ione edged ever so slightly away from the two predatory redheads, going after the truth like a wild dog went after a bone. The urge to escape attacked her again, and Ione sniffled, wondering if she could fake a sudden onset of her cold.
But the sound of someone knocking on the door saved Ione from a terrible fate. She seriously wanted to kiss whoever had interrupted. Perhaps go further with her gratitude if they were male and cute enough. Unless it was Ishmael, of course. He was still too young. Or Kieran since that was wrong on so very many levels.
“Come in!” Antoinette called merrily, disturbing Ione with her high spirits.
Ione surreptitiously wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. It felt like it might’ve been leaking, but no that was just her imagination. Or perhaps her desperate attempt to escape had manifested as an imaginary worsening of her symptoms. If this rescue failed, she’d have to resort to plan B.
The door creaked open then in an ominous fashion. And as if Diana and Kaiyu were both conspiring against her, the object of their conversation poked his head through the crack and peered around.
“I'm not interrupting, am I?”
Ophelia broke into twitters. “Of course not, Lord Arlen. What brings you here?” she positively simpered, casting eyes in Ione’s direction with no subtly at all. “Come to join us for tea?” She nudged the empty seat that was oh so coincidentally next to her friend.
He looked like the proverbial deer being stared down by a hungry wolf. Gale's own gaze skipped over and over the three women. As if he knew the topic of discussion and was mortified by it.
Hell, Ione herself was mortified by it. And that usually took a lot.
Gale nibbled his lip. “I was looking for Ione actually.”
And that was something he really shouldn't have said. It only made mother and daughter share a deliberate look.
Ione had the idea of sinking into her chair. Except that meant she’d be stuck here in this room with these two mad women, which didn't sound appealing in the slightest. In fact, she was on her feet before she even realized she’d made the decision to move.
“Not more medicine is it?” she asked, firmly telling herself that she wasn't fleeing.
Gale shook his head, lips curling toward a grin. “No. I think Kieran's inundated you with enough already. Anymore and you'll turn into an herb yourself. Or some type of syrup.”
“Thank Kaiyu for that.” Her tongue helpfully recalling the bitter and tasteless medicines her uncle had forced on her. “A spar then?” she questioned hopefully, well remembering how out of practice she’d been against Faye.
Faye...
No, best not to think of that right now. Ione didn't want to drown herself in guilt; she couldn't let it consume her. Even if it did strike in the dark of night when she was weakest. And even if she dreamed about frigid waters enclosing her head and arms, hands scrabbling at her for help.
“Not exactly,” Gale went on with another charming smile.
Wait? Charming?
“I have to head out to Sunehaven,” Gale continued, seeming to not notice the strange panic that skittered across Ione's face, “and I thought you might want to come.”
Charming?
“Would I ever.”
Ione barely restraining herself from leaping across the room. Paragon was stifling in the winter. With rebels blasting heat in their rooms all over the place. But still freezing hallways. And all the windows and doors pulled tightly shut.
It didn't matter that the last time she’d left, both she and Gale were nearly killed by the Brigade. And Ione had nearly drowned under a frozen lake. She’d rather do anything than stay here. Enduring Antoinette's insinuations and Kieran's excessive pampering.
Ione was already at the door before her manners remembered her. “Ah, sorry. I don't mean to cut our visit short.”
Ophelia waved her off with a knowing wink. “It's fine. I need to spend some time discussing the wedding with mama anyway.”
The wedding? What the hell...
Oh, that wedding. Ione felt like an asshole for forgetting that Ophelia and Hayden were engaged and due to be married soon. In the spring even, a mere three months away. Ione didn't know if she'd be able to attend or not. Something that galled her immensely. Ophelia was one of her dearest friends, and thanks to Grayshire, Ione couldn't even attend her wedding.
Bastards. The lot of them.
“Soft colors and no sparkles.” Ione made a face. Well aware of Ophelia’s design sense, sure that the wedding was to be tacky in all the wrong ways. And Hayden was far too indulgent of her whims. “Keep me updated.”
“Yes, ma'am. You go have fun now.” Ophelia saluted her in a manner vaguely reminiscent of what they’d learned at Conservatory.
Ione spluttered.
“When you're ready to leave, find Sabriel. He'll escort you back,” Gale put in. He shot Ione a confused look, probably wondering why her face was a lovely shade of sun-kissed tomato.
More polite goodbyes were made before Ione thrust herself into the freedom of the corridors, feeling as if she could finally breathe again. The door closed behind them with such a sense of finality that Ione was relieved. Gale took the lead, shooting her a strange glance over his shoulder.
“Are you sure I didn't interrupt something?” he asked after a heartbeat or two.
A valid question. Particularly considering the ridiculously stupid glances mother and daughter tossed at him. Not to mention their blatant hints.
Ione opened her mouth to answer, but Aponi beat her to it. She gleefully leapt from Ione's ear to Gale's collar with an excited chirrup.
“They were talking about you,” she said fervently.
Which prompted Quetz's head wriggle out of Gale's shirt. The poor snake had been decidedly lifeless lately, probably more to do with the weather than anything else. Quetz was keeping to the confines of Gale's tunic, huddled up against his body warmth, and became quite surly if he tried to prod her out of her warm cocoon. But now, she came out in a rush of eagerness that was almost pathetic.
“Oh, really?” Quetz prompted as her human counterpart turned an inspiring shade of strawberry-pink that was the perfect counterpoint to Ione’s current color. “Tell me more.” She sounded positively gleeful.
“Or not,” Ione interrupted.
She reached over and carefully plucked Aponi off Gale's shoulder. She shook the butterfly delicately, like one would a misbehaving puppy.
“Since there's nothing to tell.”
Her warning was accompanied by a firm glare that demanded obedience.
Aponi sniffed and wriggled to get free. “Shy,” she sang, heedless to Ione's annoyance.
Gale coughed and didn't meet her eyes.
a/n: A cute, transitory chapter. Things heat up in the next chapter though, I promise! As always, comments and critiques are more than welcome. I hope you enjoyed!
