Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 13: Snake in a Jar

Isolde couldn't breathe.

Halson wandered across the room, dragging a gloved finger over the dusty furniture. His crown glinted in the afternoon sunlight. He looked too big for this library, she thought, like a snake caught in a glass jar. The whole room seemed to shift around him: the silver-clad guards, the stacks of books, the hound drooling by the mountain of lemon cakes...

Nothing could escape Halson's pull.

Nothing.

And she, Isolde thought dully, had been a fool to think otherwise.

Julian started forward, his blue eyes blazing. "You bastard."

Two guards caught him around the shoulders. Julian's mouth thinned, but he didn't struggle; his eyes were locked on Roberge Lund. The older man shrugged.

"Nothing personal," Roberge said, waving a hand. "Just business."

Halson picked up the silver teapot, inspecting the spout. "Did you really go to the opera yesterday?" He lowered the teapot. "Incredible. Did you enjoy Gunnsdottir? He's one of my favourites."

Roberge cleared his throat. "The question of the bounty, Your Holiness..."

The words lingered in the air, thick as cologne. Halson set down the teapot.

"I'll see that it's sent to your account," Halson said. "Really, Lund, there's no need to look so worried. I'm a man of honour." He picked up a lemon cake. "Oh, and I'll have to kill Edgar and Devan for their treachery. I'm sure you understand."

Roberge made a choked noise. His hand — which had been stroking his hound's head — was white. The creature whined, butting its forehead against its masters' fingers, but Roberge didn't seem to notice. "That was never part of the deal."

Halson bit into the lemon cake. "I'm making a new deal."

Roberge shook his head. "Your Holiness—"

"I grow bored of this," Halson said, waving a hand. "Kill them."

Several guards rushed forward. Isolde's heart jumped to her throat. She raised her hands instinctively, her fingers trembling, and she balled them into fists. She wouldn't let Halson see that she was afraid, Isolde thought fiercely; she would go to her death with her head held high, looking him in the eye with all her rage and—

"Wait!" Julian lunged forward, struggling against the guards. "Wait."

Halson smiled. "Stop."

The library fell still. Julian was panting slightly, his harsh breathing filling the room. Halson looked faintly amused.

"Well, go on, cousin," Halson said. "The floor is yours."

"Let her go," Julian said, his eyes fixed on Halson. "Release her, and I'll do whatever you say. Whatever you want."

He was straining against his guards, his blue eyes wild. A lump rose in Isolde's throat. There's no point, she wanted to tell him. There's no point in begging Halson for anything. Isolde thought of the first day she'd met Julian, how he'd stood at the front of the Bardanian throne room, his cold blue eyes roaming the room. She'd been so frightened of him then. The King's Advisor. The puppeteer pulling the strings.

That man would have never begged, Isolde realized. Not for himself, at least.

But for her.

Julian would beg for her.

"Ah," Halson said slowly. "So you've learned to love something after all, Julian. What a pity that it's my wife."

"I don't belong to you."