Reckless

Chapter 6 Part 2

Elizabethan England

Character POV: Ariadne

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I'm in the small cabin a few miles from the battlefield, where just the night before I had shared the bed with the very woman who has caused me to limp back here in defeat, my goals unmet. I shove my few belongings into a small chest, clamping it shut after. I whirl around, about to head out to the waiting carriage and Zebulun when she's suddenly blocking my path.

Aoibhe hasn't bothered to change her clothes. Blood still soaks through the hem of her close fitting dress, which itself is torn and revealing slight glimpses of her skin beneath. Her hair is a tangled and bloodied mess down her back, tangles and knots all woven through. She is panting, blocking the entire doorway, her blue eyes desperate. She scans the room, and the light clicks on behind her eyes as realizations sets in. "You were not even going to say goodbye," she whispers, her voice hoarse, and I try not to think of all of the sisters in arms she saw mowed down which caused it to become that way.

"Why should I?" I smile, the act more sharp than a blade and I see it slash her open, her eyes shuttering, as I shove past her. "It's more than clear enough where you stand. Which side of the line you'd prefer to be on. Your queen might as well have been crooning with victory on that field. She knew, too. But I was the last to know where your true loyalties lie, and to realize that this has all just been a fun little experiment for you, an excursion into the unknown."

"That's not true!" she protests, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor as she hurriedly tries to follow and stop me. I see her torn and ruined shoes in a heap by the door, the smear of blood on the ground from a wound to her foot, but I do not turn and ask after her. I push it from my mind as that ceaseless rage fires itself again within me.

I whirl on her as I snarl, "Yes, yes it is. You were never capable of coming out of Analize' shadow. Every moment we spent together was time stolen from your master, from groveling at her heel. You were never able to take a step into the light with me..."

"You're a vampire, you're incapable of stepping into the light," she mutters, trying desperately to change the subject and derail my train of thought. It does not work.

"... And I don't think we need to belabor the end. We all know what happens next." I look her up and down then, remembering the curves of her body beneath the shoddy shroud that covers her now, and then pushing it all away as I force the Aoibhe-- the Elizabeth-- that I knew away and replace her with the image of the second-in-command of my enemy. I smile at her as I say, "It's time to say goodbye. I'll see you on the battlefield."

"No more battlefields, no more suicide missions, no more witches sent to pyres and vampires staked in coffins," she shouts, forcing my steps to stop. I look back at her, to where she stands with her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her eyes are hard in a way I havent' seen since I dragged her out of a burning barn with a wrecked leg. Her voice is hard, no longer the voice of a lover, but of a leader, as she says, "You need to disappear. You and all of your people. Analize will never let you really have peace. I cannot escape my vows to her, but you are not her or me, and you can escape." Something shifts inside of me as I see her motivations clear. She rushes on, pausing beside me before she steps out into the night and into a life I cannot follow her into, saying, "I will not lose one person I care about at the hands of another. I will not watch you die, and I will not watch what happens to you when you win and there's nothing left of what I loved about you inside. So go, disappear, and live a life worth living. At least one of us will get that." She smiles weakly then, heading towards the door. She swings it open, pausing to look back just once as she adds, "I will not regret this decision. I will not go back on it. You're right about what has to happen. This has to be goodbye." A single tear beads down her cheek, and then she walks out, leaving the door open for me.

"Memories?" comes the deep voice, dragging me back from that dark place in the past, snapping me back to the present. Zebulun is looking over at me carefully, his longer hair and cape shed for the tailored suit jacket and pants as he points to the map ahead, the locations where Analize could be circled in red.

"Repeat what you just said so we can get on with it," I snap, not wanting to admit the sentimentality that just consumed me. There's no going back to the past, only going forward with the future. And right now, the future is a war that has to be carefully planned, each battlefield a stage and the cast needs to be carefully chosen to match the script I've planned for centuries.

He smiles at me, all lips no teeth, as he shifts to face me more fully. All of my hard edges, after centuries of working together, are nothing to him. His dark eyes connect with mine as he says, "As you well know, we need more than just blood to survive and continue our species. We need magic, or we'll all become mortals or worse: dead bodies. Now," he says, clearing his throat and turning back to the map, where there are also blue circles on it which he jabs his finger at, "we know the locations of the last remaining magical creatures. But there aren't enough there, and more witches haven't appeared. We're still down to three. So, all of that magic has to have gone somewhere. It's like energy, it goes to different places, but there is always the same amount of energy in the universe."

I nod a single time, showing him that I was actually paying attention this time, smiling sweetly at him as my anger starts to sharpen itself into a sharp knife. He reaches behind him, grasping ahold of a crystal glass filled with an amber liquid and plopping it down in front of me. "You're forgiven, you blessed creature," I mutter around the rip of the glass before I tilt my head back, shooting it straight back, and place the glass back down on the table in one fluid motion. The ragged edges of my brain begin to smooth, the rage dying down just enough that I can focus on the issue at hand. My eyes keep snagging on the red circles, where Analize may be, instead of the blue ones. I smirk a little as a thought bubbles up inside of my mind. "I know exactly what to do. I know how to get us set for life on magic, how to get my revenge, and how to send a message all in one."

"You're certain?" He interjects, brows scrunched together as he crosses his arms over his bulky frame with disbelief. "Because if this is just another way for you to try and persuade me into following you into hell, save your breath. You don't have to concoct a whole scheme to accomplish that. We can actually get to planning something useful if that's the case and commiserate over a bottle of Jack later."

I slap his arm playfully and his rough chuckle sounds in my ears, but I feel the threads of a plan coming together even as he grows serious and says, "Seriously, we cannot afford to fail this time, Ariadne. We also can't afford to waste resources or lives needlessly this time, either. There are so few of us left, not as few as the witches," he adds, seeming to think better of it, "but not enough that we can afford to waste lives."

"As though we ever could," I mutter, and he nods his agreement. I look up at him, finding his dark eyes already fixed upon me. "Trust me, Zebulun. I know what I am doing. By the time this is all finished, we will have everything we need to ensure our survival. All of the magic needed will be ours."

He nods, then mutters as I begin to walk away, "I may be an aromantic asexual, but I know you. And I know why you're doing this. Just remember to keep your wits about you and your objectivity sharp." I don't dignify his warning with a reply, or comment on how his lack of ability to attach romantically has been an incredible gain for our people. He has never been dragged in a different direction than from the vampire race and its best interests, from his leader, sire, turned friend.

But he's a fool if he thinks that a flash of her face through a window as she walk away, the shot of her ass sidling towards her car, would be enough to make me crumble. It's so mundane that it almost makes me pity the man. Centuries later, and there is a game to be played, a message to be sent. One note has been left, albeit a bloody one. It's onto the next.