Thread of Frost

Ch. 17: You're Really Very Lucky

"He's so handsome," Tilda sighed.

She was leaning out of a palace window, her white nightgown spilling over the window bench. Sendra held on to her waist. The castle was lit by torches at night, and the frozen glass seemed to glow with cold flame; somewhere outside, people were still shouting and singing and carousing. Isolde flipped a page in her book.

"Oh, my gods." Tilda drew back abruptly. "He's looking at me."

"Who?" Sendra craned her neck. "Halson?"

"No, you nitwit." Tilda swatted her arm. "The emperor's advisor. Julian."

Sendra jumped on to the window bench, pressing her face to the glass. "No, wait. I think he's looking at me now."

Tilda scowled. "No, he's not."

"He is."

"He's not."

"He—"

"Can you keep it down, please?" Isolde asked. "Some of us are trying to read."

She was lying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, the flames warming her back; her wooden leg was propped against the grate. Tilda had declared the limb unsightly, offering to hide it behind a plant pot. Sendra had suggested it could double as a fireplace poker (Sendra had failed most of her final year exams). Isolde had ignored both of them. This, she suspected, would become a trend.

Isolde flipped another page. Tilda hopped down from the window bench. She frowned at the book, taking in the title: The Duke's Dark Desires.

"You shouldn't read that profanity," Tilda said. "It'll rot your brain."

"Too late." Isolde flipped a page. "I'm already well-corrupted."

Tilda's eyes widened. "You've already...?"

Tilda trailed off, glancing at the bed. It took Isolde a moment to understand what the other girl was getting at. Heat flooded her cheeks.

"No," Isolde said coolly. "I haven't. Not that it's any of your business."

She turned back to the book. Tilda perched on the edge of the bed, her legs swinging. "The emperor is handsome, too. You're really very lucky, Iz."

Isolde looked up. "Iz?"

Tilda shrugged. "Friends must have nicknames for one another. And we're friends, aren't we?"

"If I recall correctly," Isolde said wryly, "you already did have a nickname for me. Mould-ah."

Tilda flapped a hand. "A childish thing of the past."

Isolde turned back to the book. The devious duke was currently transporting a young maiden on horseback, and having some rather naughty thoughts about the woman, her thighs, and riding in general. Tilda plopped down on the carpet.

"Will you speak to Julian for me?" She kicked a white slipper in Isolde's direction. "Put in a good word?"

Exasperation filled her. "Why bother? Aren't you going to set your sights higher?"

"Higher than Julian Winterthorpe?" Tilda collapsed on to the carpet. "You do know who he is, don't you?"

Isolde glanced up. "I really don't."

The other girl frowned. "Come off it."

"Can I go back to reading now?"

"He's cousin to the king," Tilda said, ignoring this. "They grew up together at the palace. Julian's father owns most of the southern part of Lox." She raised an eyebrow. "You really didn't know that?"