Thread of Frost

Ch. 25: Are We Guests or Prisoners?

This, Isaac thought, was a very strange interrogation.

No shackles. No sharp weapons. No "I-will-kill-everyone-you-love." The small cottage was yellow and cheerful, draped with handknit blankets and tasselled throw cushions. A table groaned under a massive cake. The room smelled of cheese and onion. Next to him, Tristan was stirring a cup of tea with a silver spoon; Owain was happily lumping dollops of sugar into his own cup.

"Tea?" Sophie asked.

She was leaning heavily on her cane, holding a silver teapot in the other hand. Isaac had the feeling that either object could become a weapon if it suited her.

"No, thanks," he said.

Sophie poured some tea. The fragrant smell of jasmine floated up, as well as something he couldn't put his finger on. Rosemary? Lemon? Arsenic? He waited until Sophie turned and then lifted the cup to sniff it.

"Sensible," Sophie said, without turning. "But if I wanted to poison you, I would have put it on the door handle." She poured tea into Tristan's cup. "Most people touch their mouth eleven times an hour."

Slowly, Tristan set down his biscuit. Owain looked at the door as if it might jump off the hinges and bite him. Sophie slipped past Henry — who was cheerfully wiping down a large kitchen knife splattered with what Isaac hoped was tomato sauce — and into the next room. She emerged moments later with a towering platter of...

Isaac blinked.

Good gods. What was that?

"Cake?" Sophie asked sweetly.

"No, thanks," Isaac said.

"Here." Sophie set a thick slab of the orange monstrosity on to his plate. "In case you change your mind. Again, not poisoned."

Isaac looked down at the cake.

The cake stared accusingly up at him.

He picked up his fork. Ran his fingers over the prongs. Set it down. Picked it up again. Imprisonment, Isaac thought, had not been good for him; he felt the sudden urge to run laps around the house, to push himself so hard that his lungs burned.

Not that it took much to exhaust him, these days.

Isaac flipped over the fork. "I don't understand."

"Which part?" Sophie asked.

"When does the torture come in?"

Sophie served another slice. "Some people would argue that eating Henry's onion cake is a form of torture."

She winked at her husband, who smiled. Isaac looked down at the fluorescent orange cake and wished he'd never come here.

"I'm the King's Shadow," he said.

Sophie set down the cake. "I'm aware."

"You hate me."

"That's true," Sophie said.

"So why are you doing this?" Isaac demanded. "The cake and the tea?" He twirled the fork again, turning it over in his hands. "Bribery? Negotiation tactics? Lulling us into a false sense of security?"

Sophie settled into the farthest seat. "I told you. Anna trusts you, and I trust Anna. Simple as that."

Isaac paused. The simplicity of the words hit him, and it made him feel... well. Oddly sad. It must be nice, he thought, to have that sort of blind faith in someone. He'd put that sort of faith in Ryne once, and it had bitten him in the arse.

Ryne.

A fresh wave of pain washed over him. The realization still hit him like a sucker punch straight to the throat, knocked the air from his chest. Isaac dug the fork into his palm until the skin broke. Blood welled up in his fist.