Thread of Frost

Ch. 48: Can't Save Them All

She was writing a letter.

Camille leaned forward. Her blonde hair tumbled on to the desk, obscuring the name at the top. Sunlight spilled into the sitting room. She watched as her hand flew across the page; the freckle on her thumb was familiar, but the handwriting wasn't. This was Lucia's writing. The goddess's words were jumbled, half-smudged with haste.

—become apparent that the need is growing stronger. I am not at my full power at present. This vessel is unreliable, and I require something stronger. Something closer to my godly form. As my benefactor, I would ask that you begin construction on this before—

More smudged words.

—whether we can rely on the boy. You know him better than I do. I have put alternative measures in place, should he fail in his task.

May light be with you.

L.

Lucia held the letter over a candle. For a bizarre moment, Camille thought she might burn it, but the goddess merely scanned the lines and then slid the letter into an envelope, sealing it with wax. There was a knock on the door.

"Enter," Lucia called.

Eris pushed open the door. He was dressed in a black duster jacket, his boots gleaming. A top hat sat jauntily on his head. The air shimmered as Eris turned to close the door, and Camille realized belatedly that a slender blade was stuck through the hat.

"You asked for me, Your Majesty?"

Lucia held out the letter. "See this is delivered."

Eris took it. He glanced at the name, his eyebrow rising. "It will be difficult to get it to him. With the way things are—"

"I want it done today," Lucia said.

Eris turned over the envelope. "What does it say?"

Lucia folded her hands. "I don't see how that's any of your concern."

They observed one another. Eris's eyes were green glass in the firelight, burning with phantom flames. The Delafort eyes, Camille thought. Memories flooded her — Ryne slumped over a library desk, Ryne running a currycomb over his horse with tender hands — although they were fuzzy at the edges. She was forgetting the exact shape of his jaw, the sound of his voice when he was trying not to smile. The rest would go with time.

"No," Eris said finally. "I suppose not." He tucked the letter into his pocket. "The council is ready for you."

"Good," Lucia said.

They started down the corridor. Camille knew where they were going even before they reached it: the Chamber of Justice. The starry ceiling, the circular table, the lingering smell of incense... All of it was achingly familiar. Vulcan, Orin, and Eris took their usual seats. Halson's seat was empty. He must have returned to Lox, Camille realized.

Lucia sat. "The attack on Tarhalla. Someone speak."

Orin cleared his throat. "Twenty-six nightweavers dead. Fourteen other casualties. Our latest reports say that the nightweavers are fleeing in the direction of the Lox Empire. The faerie prince is accompanying them."

"Sophie Holloway?" Lucia asked.

Orin's mouth flattened. "She's alive."

Lucia leaned back. A servant boy — no older than nine or ten — was setting out glasses, and he fumbled slightly as he placed the goblet down. Red bloomed on his cheeks. He retreated hastily, hands tucked behind his back.

"Make her a priority," Lucia said. "Leaders are dangerous."

Orin nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"The Delafort girl?"