Thread of Frost

Ch. 28: Bodies Are Like Flowers

This was new.

Camille looked around the room. She was standing in the west conservatory; sunshine streamed through the glass dome, illuminating potted orange trees, black-and-white tiled floor, and little iron tables. A sideboard groaned under platters of cold cuts and bread, nutty cheese and plump berries.

She looked wistfully at the croissants.

She missed croissants. Lucia ate the same meal every morning: half a grapefruit, with honey and salted nuts. Then she went for a swim in the bracing cold stream before meeting with Eris to pore over maps and battle plans. Sometimes Lucia would sit in the study and stare at the oil painting of all six gods and goddesses. Other times, she would find a spindle and weave bottles and bottles of dream somnium.

Lucia rose.

She was dressed in a black gown, her blonde hair — Camille's hair — pulled back in a silk ribbon. Lucia was nervous, Camille realized, although she wasn't sure why. They must be meeting with someone. But who? A friend? An enemy? Maybe it was someone she knew, Camille thought, her heart beating faster; maybe it was someone that could help her.

The door opened.

Eris stepped through. He was dressed in a smart navy-blue jacket, the collar flipped up to reveal a slash of silver. He bowed.

"Your Majesty," Eris said.

"Is he here?" Lucia demanded.

The goddess picked up an apple; it felt too smooth in her hands, round and waxy, like a pebble sanded down by water. Eris glanced at the door.

"He arrived an hour ago," Eris said.

Irritation flickered. "An hour?"

"He wanted to bathe first," Eris said. "It was a considerable journey."

Lucia pursed her lips. "Even so."

The door opened again.

Vulcan stepped through this time, breathless and slightly sweaty. There was a red smear near the corner of his mouth that could have been tomato sauce, blood, or a bit of dust. Eris smirked, producing a handkerchief.

"You have a little..." Eris gestured at Vulcan's face. "Just there."

Vulcan took the handkerchief. Lucia raised an eyebrow.

"Steak?" she asked.

"Servant girl." Vulcan's smile was vicious. "I became a little too... enthusiastic."

"I see," Lucia said.

Vulcan crouched down, reaching into the fireplace to adjust a log. Orange flames licked at his bare hand. Lucia looked away. He was a brute, but he would be useful; if there was an explosion — if the battlefield went up in flames — an Agnirian could change the tide of the war. A pity, Lucia thought, that Vulcan Agnirian possessed the intelligence of a metal spoon. But alas. These things couldn't be helped.

"Where's our esteemed guest?" Vulcan asked.

Lucia set down the apple. "An excellent question."

"He's right here," a voice said.

They turned.

A young blond man stood in the doorway. He was dressed in black furs and shiny boots, his hair meticulously combed to the side. He didn't bow, Lucia noted; just continued to lounge against the frame, studying her with abject curiosity.

She inclined her head. "Halson Dolphenberg."

"Your Majesty." Halson stepped into the room. "I enjoyed the bodies on the front gate. A very bold choice of décor."