Thread of Gold

Ch. 24: metal burned clean

Queen Brigid was in the bath.

At least, that's what her servant said before leading Camille up the stairs to the queen's private bathing chamber, where Brigid was indeed in the bath, her wine-coloured hair spilling over the edges of the white tub. The room smelled of peonies and lavender. One foot poked out of the frothy water, the toenails painted red.

"Oh, good. You're here." Brigid gestured to a plush settee. "Sit." She waved a hand. "You may go, Daneeria."

The servant — Daneeria, presumably — bobbed and departed. Camille stared at that single foot, fury knotting her chest. This was what Brigid had called her away for? To witness her in the bath? She watched as the queen grabbed a bar of soap, running it over her arms.

"You look flushed," Brigid observed.

"I was out for a ride," Camille said.

"I know. Hunting, wasn't it?" Brigid chuckled, shaking her head. "Such a quaint sport, but my son enjoys it. And it gets everyone out of the castle." She frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to sit?"

Camille clenched her fists. What she wanted was to take that soap bar and shove it down Brigid's throat. Fury and love warred in her chest, fighting for dominance.

Brigid had raised her. Had given her every opportunity in life. But in moments like this, she didn't see the woman that had taught her how to braid her hair, or who held her when she had nightmares. She saw only a captor.

Only a tyrant.

"Did you need something?" asked Camille.

Brigid soaped her arms. "You don't sound pleased to see me."

"As I said, I was hunting."

Brigid paused. "This is hard for me too, you know." Her blue ring flashed. "I never intended to love you, Camille. In that carriage, I swore I would use you only as a weapon. Only as a means to an end. But I love you as a daughter. You know that."

Camille waited. Brigid sighed.

"Ryne's rule is fragile," Brigid said. "His people are losing faith in him. Just today, two more families left the castle — and more will follow." She soaped her neck. "Elsie's murderer must be caught and punished. It is the only way that the courtiers will feel safe. And since the guards haven't arrested anybody, we will need to make someone confess to it."

Camille blinked. "You want to frame someone?"

"I want to put the matter to bed," Brigid corrected her.

"By convicting an innocent person."

"None of us are innocent," Brigid said. "I thought you would have realized that by now." She set down the soap. "I need you to implant the desire to confess into someone's brain. I wanted to wait until everyone left before speaking to you because I sense you may be..." A pause. "Resistant to doing so."

Camille's mind whirred. "Who is it?"

Brigid flicked water with her toes.

"Brigid? Who is it?"

"Isaac," Brigid said. "Isaac Webb."

No.

The world crumbled. Camille was sinking through the floor of the bathroom, sinking through the freezing tile and into someplace else. Some place darker. She gripped the vanity, her heart racing.

Isaac.

"No," Camille said hoarsely. "I won't do it."

"You must."