Thread of Gold

Ch. 9: fish on a hook

Camille could feel the blue stone pulsing at her throat as she hurried up the castle steps. Her legs operated like a wind-up toy, carrying her up to Brigid's quarters. Stop, she urged. Stop moving. But she might as well have been trying to prevent the sun from rising, or flowers from blooming in the spring. It was impossible.

The queen looked up as she entered, shuffling some papers on her desk. "Ah, Camille," she said. "You made it."

Like she had a choice. Camille dug her nails into her palms. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," Brigid said. "Close the door."

Camille did so. Fire crackled in the grate, throwing off heat. Still, Camille couldn't help but shiver as she sank into a chair.

"You took your time," Brigid said.

"I was getting ready for bed," she lied. "I had to dress. It's late."

"Good," Brigid said. "It's better that we do this at night when the castle is empty. Less chance of someone overseeing you." She leaned closer, and her red hair glowed in the firelight. "I want you to work on a council member tonight. A man named Dex Beauchamp. Do you recognize him?"

Camille nodded, her heart speeding up. Dex was the newest member of the council. A young man not much older than her. He was also Tristan's older brother.

"Ryne wants to introduce a bill," Brigid continued. "He is hoping to change the line of succession. If he dies, he wants the crown to go to Penny." A jolt went through Camille, but she kept her face impassive. "I need to know where Dex stands on the issue."

"You want to help Ryne pass it?"

"No," Brigid said. "I want to stop him. The crown is fragile enough as it is; there are plenty of people that think Ryne is too young to rule. If this law passes — if people even suspect that he is ill — then there will be an uprising. People will come for his throne." She rubbed at her eyes. "Go now, Camille. Send me a raven when it's done."

"Of course."

Camille curtsied, although it killed her. Killed her to bob her knees in front of this woman that was so many things. Her mother. Her queen. Her enslaver. She had traded one sort of prison for another, Camille thought, turning towards the door. A cottage filled with pain for a castle filled with secrets.

"Camille."

She paused. Brigid's face was unreadable.

"As always, I must ask you to keep silent about this. Tell nobody what I have asked you, or what you have done."

Her blue stone gave a painful pulse. "Of course."

"Good." Brigid waved a hand. "You're dismissed."

Camille shut the door, her hands shaking. She didn't know where Dex Beauchamp was in the castle, but it didn't matter — her blue necklace was tugging her along with invisible hands. Like a fish on a hook. Like a dog in a collar.

Camille found him in the library.

Dex Beauchamp slumped over a table, a sea of books spread out before him. His dark hair stuck up in clumps, as if he had been running his hands through it. He stiffened as she approached, his golden eyes — Tristan's eyes — widening.

"Flora? Flo, is that you?"

"No." She stepped closer. "It's Camille."

"Oh." Dex's face fell. "Sorry, I thought..." He waved a hand. "Never mind. Did you need something?"

She sat down awkwardly. They hadn't interacted before, Camille realized, although she had dim memories of Tristan playing the piano at First Frost as Dex sang beside it, a piece of red tinsel wrapped around his neck. He was seven years older than them, so he had always been superior to her. Untouchable.