Thread of Frost

Ch. 49: Hoarfrost Heart

"I'm only going to say this once," Isaac said. "It's really bloody cold."

Tristan lowered his steaming mug. A peppermint breeze whipped through the ship deck, scattering wooden crates and stray papers. Isaac was halfway up a mast, clutching a rope in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other; his black jumper was ripped at the shoulder, which could have been from either a sunhound, sparring, or pissing off Sophie Holloway.

Tristan frowned. "You brought a cloak, right?"

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I own a cloak?"

"I'm going to be sick," Owain muttered.

The other boy was hunched at the base of the mast, his red hair disappearing into a wooden bucket. Tristan patted him on the shoulder.

"We're almost there." Tristan looked up at Isaac. "Is this a masculine pride thing? Like you'd rather freeze to death than admit you're cold?"

"No," Isaac said indignantly. "I did own a cloak. Then I spent four months in prison."

Owain groaned. "I really don't feel well."

"I was imprisoned," Tristan pointed out. "Still brought a cloak, though."

Isaac's face changed. "Watch out!"

Tristan ducked. The boat rocked. There was a retching noise, and something warm splashed his shoes. A sour smell filled the ship deck. Owain was crouched over the bucket, his shoulders heaving. Tristan looked down at his shoes; they were covered in a substance that bore a terrible resemblance to tomato soup.

"Sorry," Isaac said. "I should have been more specific." He hopped down, clapping Tristan on the shoulder. "Tough luck, mate."

Owain made a noise. "I really loathe sailing."

"Can't you..." Isaac wiggled his fingers. "I don't know. Cast some fairy magic?"

Owain rested his head on the bucket. "No."

"Okay." Isaac held up his hands. "Just asking."

"Oi!" Sophie called. "You." She gestured to the stairs. "Can you move below deck? You're stinking up the ship."

She was standing on the quarterdeck, her hands aloft. Silvery strands slithered from her fingers, tumbling into the water. Tristan scanned the frozen surface. He knew that sea dragons and other creatures lurked in the depths, but so far, they'd seen only icebergs; largely due to Sophie's nightmare magic, presumably.

Owain's gaze was withering. "I don't stink."

"You could try being a cat," Tristan suggested. "Maybe cats are better sailors."

Owain rested his forehead on the bucket. "You know what cats aren't?"

"What?"

"Great swimmers," Owain muttered.

Tristan shook his head. "Nobody's going to throw you overboard."

"Oh, I don't know," Isaac said cheerfully. "I might consider it." He spun his binoculars round. "I have nothing better to do for the next ten minutes."

Owain groaned, leaning further into the bucket. Tristan looked down at his wet shoes and sighed. "Come on."

Owain didn't look up. "Where?"

"Sophie's right," Tristan said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Owain shook his head. "I might be sick again."

"Well," Tristan said, "at least you can do it from the comfort of your own bed."

He held out a hand. Owain looked up. His face was the colour of old parchment, and his forehead was slick with sweat. He must have decided that anything was worth a shot because he seized Tristan's hand, wobbling into a standing position.