Thread of Gold

Ch. 11: the hallow's eve party

His voice was light, but Ryne knew what he was talking about. That guard. Hunter. "You worry too much, Isaac. By all accounts, nobody touched Hunter. He probably took the nightmare somnium earlier in the day."

"There are plenty of ways to die," Isaac said, shoving another knife into his boot. "Nightmare somnium being the most unpleasant one. I do not think any sane man would choose to die of fear."

"You don't think he killed himself?"

"Do you?"

Ryne paused. He'd seen Hunter collapse into a rosebush, half-drunk out of his mind on spirits. And the man was a notorious gambler — he'd even won Isaac's best sword from him last month. Hunter had to have debts. Still. One look at Isaac's face told him it was best not to mention any of this.

"I was meant to be on duty that night, you know," Isaac continued, yanking on the straps of his boot. "But you were ill, and I didn't want to leave you. If I was there, maybe things would be different. Maybe Hunter..."

Isaac gave another savage yank on the straps.

"You cannot blame yourself," Ryne said.

"I know," Isaac said simply. "And yet I do."

Ryne sensed that the subject was closed, and he cast about the room for some other, lighter topic of conversation. He'd spent a lot of time in this bedroom, growing up, and it had changed little in the intervening years: a sturdy oak desk; the Webb family crest; a target for throwing knives....

The bed was neatly made. The clothes were always folded. Sometimes Ryne worried it was because Isaac thought Ryne would kick him out with little notice — just as his father had done at Highcliff.

Hang on.

Ryne frowned at the wall where the Webb family crest hung. Or used to hang — the spot was bare now, the wallpaper chipped and scratched with jagged white lines. As if someone had forcefully removed it.

"What happened to your crest?" he asked.

Isaac stiffened. "I took it down."

"Why?"

Isaac shrugged. "I fancied a bit of redecorating. Also, the crest makes an excellent frisbee for Shambles." He yanked on his jacket. "Shall we head to the tavern, then?"

"This has nothing to do with your request, does it? To go home?"

Isaac had asked for a few days off to go back to Highcliff Manor — an unusual event. Normally, Ryne had to force Isaac to take his yearly holiday. And even then, Isaac inevitably persuaded Ryne to come with him on a hunting trip instead.

Largely, Ryne suspected, because Isaac didn't trust any of his men to protect Ryne while he was gone. At least, not as well as he would do it.

"Of course not," Isaac said. "I just want to see my family. My brother's probably forgotten what I look like by now." He held open the door. "Now, let's go. Before Penny drinks all the good whisky."

Anna pressed her face to the window of the carriage.

Thatched-roof shops rattled by, leading them into the heart of Stillwater. Oil lamps cast everything in an eerie yellow glow. Rain haloed the wrought iron posts, swirling around it like flies. She could feel the carriage lurching and shuddering over cobblestones, and she thought of when Henry used to push her in a little red wheelbarrow, racing down to the bakery as Rourke jogged beside them.

"Rukka for your thoughts?"

She glanced up. Camille was sitting across from her, her dainty pearl gloves folded in her lap. Her blue halter dress glimmered in the lamps, only a shade lighter than the pendant that swung from her neck.