Thread of Frost

Ch. 11: That's Not Ryne Delafort

Something was wrong.

She dreamt of silver fish piercing water, their backs throwing off sparks under a foreign sun. A sliver of handmade lace. An anvil striking a sword. A burning tower. Once, Camille thought she saw the castle gardens, but then they were gone again.

She was lost in the dreams.

But the dreams weren't quite right. They were stitched together, the seams messy and rushed. She grasped at those seams. Pulled them apart. Her body lurched forward, tumbling through darkness, and then everything stopped.

Camille blinked.

She was standing on a drawbridge. A warm breeze tickled her hair, ruffling the curls escaping from her riding hat. Eris and another man stood next to her. Eris was affectionately patting a golden creature with large fangs. Sunhound, her mind provided, although she wasn't sure how she knew that.

She looked up.

Recoiled.

Two bodies hung from the castle gates. The older woman was dressed in a formal champagne-coloured gown; she had matted red hair, tangled like seaweed washed up on the beach. And the young man... the man...

Bile rose in her throat.

Dark hair fell into his eyes. He was dressed in his suit for the wedding — a navy waistcoat embroidered with silver stars and towers — although it was covered in dust. Ryne will be so mortified, she thought; he keeps his clothes in perfect condition.

But Ryne wouldn't care.

Ryne was dead.

Her head spun. She thought of when Ryne first became ill, how he'd hated the taste of the murtgrass-and-birch elixir. He'd pretend to be asleep until the healer left his room. Maybe he was doing it again, Camille thought wildly. Maybe Ryne was only pretending to be unconscious so he could eavesdrop on Eris.

She turned to Eris. "What happened?"

Her lips didn't move.

Camille's pulse picked up. She tried again, carefully sculpting the words like clay. "What happened?"

Nothing.

Eris was speaking with the stranger, holding down his top hat with one hand. His green eyes were bright in the sunshine. The Sunhound whined, nudging at his hand; Eris gave the hound a swift slap to the ear.

"Enough."

It took Camille a moment to realize that she'd spoken. Both men looked at her. She took a step forward, and the ground felt unsteady, as if she wasn't used to these legs. As if she wasn't used to legs at all.

"Tell me again," she heard herself say.

The stranger inhaled. "Again?"

"I wouldn't argue," Eris said, lazily pulling at the hound's ear. "Her Majesty doesn't take kindly to people wasting her time."

"Right." The stranger swallowed. "It's as I say, Your Majesty. I was having a drink in the pub — you know, the King's Head in Libertas — and my mate Stavie comes off his boat. 'You'll never guess what I just saw,' says he. And I say, 'what?'. And he says, 'Wait a second.' Then he goes to order more drinks, does Stavie—"

"Renfrew?" Eris asked.

The stranger paused. "Yes?"

"Get to the god damn point."

"Right." The stranger's throat bobbed. "So Stavie tells me that he's just sailed from the Gongo Islands. Transporting goats for the dragons, you see. And what does he see there?" He leaned closer. "Annalise Cidarius and Ryne Delafort."