Thread of Gold

Ch. 5: until it bleeds

The thought made her body go cold.

She sized him up. Ryne was at least six inches taller than her and well-built; she could see the muscles straining under his tunic. But he was leaning against the door in a way that suggested he needed it.

Good.

Anna could take him. Grab that sharp letter opener off the table and drive it straight through his stomach. Then his heart.

Could she do it quick enough, though? Kill Ryne before he made a sound, use his key to grab the map, and then dart out the window?

No. Anna was good, but not that good. Besides, Ryne might not even have the key on him. It was too great a risk to take.

Which left only one option.

"I'm a healer, Your Majesty." She bobbed a curtsy. "They sent me to inspect you."

Anna prayed that she was right. Prayed that Ryne truly was injured, that she had read his body language correctly. If not, they would jail or kill her in the next two minutes. The young king frowned. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Like what?"

"That." He nodded at her white dress. "You're not in the royal livery."

"I spilled tonic on it," Anna lied. "And I don't have a spare." She kept her eyes trained on the floor. "I've only recently become employed at Stillwater Castle, Your Majesty. My things haven't arrived yet."

The truth. Sort of. Anna forced herself to remain calm, even as her entire body was shaking. Not with fear, but with rage. At this man that had waltzed into her castle and stolen her crown. Her usurper. Who she had bowed to.

Bowed to.

Magic sang in her veins. She could feel the pressure building, feel the black, gaping void expanding inside of her, like the darkest part of the night. Begging for release. But she kept her eyes fixed on the carpet, just as a good, deferential servant would.

Ryne didn't move. "You can tell my mother that I don't need help." Boots hit the floor. "Now, or ever."

Anna waited.

"Well?" His voice was sharp. "Off you go. You're dismissed."

Anna bobbed another curtsy. She forced herself to walk out the door, focusing on the stone floor. On anything but Ryne or that silver letter opener, gleaming with bright temptation.

***

Camille had forgotten how much food there was at the banquet.

Wooden tables groaned under slow-roasted chicken, crispy bacon, curried parsnips and a creamy mash that tasted of saffron. Green peas swam in a pool of browned butter. The smell of smoked meat filled the room, making Camille think of the forge and her father's anvil, scattering fiery sparks.

She had also forgotten just how many people could fit into the Great Hall. Seven hundred people crammed onto wooden benches, their chatter mixing with the violin music. One footman had the foresight to throw open the large glass doors, and some tables spilled out onto the stone patio. Moonlight coloured the guests silver, as if they'd been dipped in shiny paint.

Elsie was among them.

The other girl was holding court at the largest table, her red gown like a splash of blood. Several young men gathered around her, boasting and arguing over who got to cut a slice of ham for her. Next to Camille, Isaac was pretending not to watch her.

But he was.

Isaac was always watching Elsie.

Camille turned away, a lump in her throat. Penny nudged her elbow. "Don't be sad," she murmured. "Elsie is vile."

Heat crept into her cheeks. "Stop reading me, Penny."

"I can't help it."

"Still."

"You're too good for him, anyway," Penny said firmly, taking a bite of chocolate cake. Penny made it a rule to always eat dessert before dinner. "And I don't mean in station. I mean in personal merit."

"Who's Camille too good for?" a voice asked.

Her head snapped up. Isaac was watching them curiously, a chunk of bread dangling from his fingers. Those fingers had gripped Elsie's waist just a few hours ago. Her embarrassment intensified.

"Nobody," Camille said quickly. "I—"

"A stableboy." Penny smiled. "She's been sneaking out to meet him."

Camille gaped. "I have not!"

"I'm with Cami." Isaac chuckled. "There's no way she's having an illicit affair."

Her embarrassment gave way to irritation. Camille picked at her food. She had a very precise way of eating: the chicken, the parsnips, and then the peas. Everything done in a clockwise direction. Neat and orderly.

"This might be difficult for you to believe," Camille said, "but some men do find me attractive."

Isaac ruffled her hair. "That's not what I meant, Cami. I only meant that you're too well-behaved for that. The perfect daughter. The perfect princess."

Camille frowned. It was a compliment, she supposed, although it sounded horrid when he phrased it like that. "I'm not a princess."

"Close enough."

Camille sighed. She wished she was seated beside someone else tonight. Anyone else. She glanced at where Ryne was sitting further down the table, cutting his meat into small squares. He wasn't eating much, but he looked better. Healthier.

Thank the gods.

"Captain!"

They all looked up as a young guard approached the head table. Isaac sat up straighter, flashing a charming smile. "Tarquin. I was going to come find you. Fancy another game of cards after dinner?"

Only years of good breeding stopped Camille from rolling her eyes. Isaac was a ruthless cutthroat at cards, collecting rukka and jewels the same way that a spiderweb collected flies. But Tarquin's face was grave.

"Not tonight," Tarquin said. "I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, but there's something that you ought to know, Webb."

Camille watched out of the corner of her eye as Tarquin leaned down, whispering something in Isaac's ear. The smile slipped off Isaac's face. His gray eyes darkened, like smog hanging above a city, and she thought once more of the forge, of the way that the chimney would belch great black clouds.

She leaned closer as Tarquin left. "What is it?"

"It's Hunter." Isaac gripped his fork. "One of our guards. He's dead." He looked up, as if he'd only just realized to whom he was speaking. "Don't repeat that, Cami. I shouldn't have told you."

"He's dead?" Camille was aghast. "How?"

But Isaac turned away, and a moment later, Camille saw why: Queen Brigid had entered the Great Hall, her red hair gleaming in the candlelight. She sat up straighter. 

It was time for the names of this year's successful candidates to be announced.