Thread of Gold

Ch. 12: the king's toy

Camille paled. "Shut your mouth, Elsie."

The girl's smile widened. "Oh, I've seen whose mouth you like to think about. Does he know you think about him in bed? Does he—?"

"Shut it."

"Let the healer go, Camille," Tristan drawled, "or I'll make you let her go." His golden eyes were hard. "The king's new toy has a lesson to learn."

Ryne stepped forward. The entire tavern fell silent. "Get on your knees, Tristan."

"Excuse me?"

"Get on your knees," Ryne said softly, "and crawl to Anna."

Shock lanced across Tristan's face. "No. I won't."

Ryne's jaw tightened. Golden threads slithered down from the lamps overhead, twining around Tristan like a glittering cocoon. Tristan let out a shout, struggling against them, and the threads wrapped tighter and tighter, suffocating him. Then they vanished. Tristan blinked like a sleepwalker awaking from a dream.

"Anna." Tristan's expression was dreamy. "My gods. Anna."

He surged towards her. There was something wrong with Tristan's face, Anna realized, her blood running cold. He was looking at her tenderly. Almost lovingly. A dopey smile stretched across his face, threatening to split his face.

"No, you want to crawl to her." Ryne's voice was tender as a caress. "Get on your knees and crawl, Tristan. You want to kiss her feet, don't you?"

"Yes," Tristan whispered, sinking to his knees. "Yes, I want that."

Ryne smiled and horror surged through her. Stars above. Ryne was the one doing this. He had cast a web from more than five feet away. The fire was fading away — whatever nightmare somnium Tristan had used, it was weak — but it was replaced by an icy chill.

Ryne was powerful.

Really powerful.

"Ryne," Isaac said, thunderstruck. "Ryne, stop it."

Ryne ignored him. "Crawl."

Tristan did so. He scrabbled across the dusty floor, ignoring the rusted nails that pricked his hands, breaking the skin until it bled. Behind her, Camille had gone limp. "Ry, stop. What on earth are you doing?"

Tristan lay his head down by Anna's feet. Warm lips brushed her toes, and a barmaid made a choked noise. Elsie looked like she might be sick. But Ryne just kept watching with those same hard green eyes.

"Now beg her," Ryne said calmly. "Beg Anna for her forgiveness."

Isaac's face drained of blood. "Ry."

"Beg her, Tristan."

"Please," Tristan gasped. "Forgive me." There were tears in his eyes, turning the gold to molten liquid. "I'm so sorry. You're the best thing in this world, and if you don't forgive me... I can't stand it." His hand found a knife on the table. "Say that you forgive me, Anna. I can't live with myself if you don't. I can't—"

"Ryne!" Isaac gripped his shoulders. "You've made your point. Now stop." He shook him. "Stop."

Ryne staggered backwards, as if Isaac had slapped him. The spell broke, and Tristan dropped the knife, staring at his empty hand in shock. He knelt on the dusty floor, looking up at Ryne with an expression of total astonishment. He looked very young. Young, and a little lost.

"Ryne?"

"The thing about my toys," Ryne said, his voice dangerously low, "is that I'm very protective of them. And I don't take kindly to other people playing with them."

And with that, he stalked out of the tavern.

This, Camille thought, was terribly awkward.

Camille stared at the tavern door. Most of the crowd had dispersed, now; Ryne and Isaac had stormed out first, then Anna had vanished. Penny had muttered something about needing air. Tristan had gone after her, and then Grayson. None of them had come back.

Leaving only her and Elsie.

Well.

Camille wasn't about to put herself through that. She gathered up her shawl. Normally, she'd make up some polite excuse, but given Elsie's behaviour this evening, she didn't feel all that bad about leaving. She rose from the table.

"You love him, don't you?"

Camille paused. Elsie's blue eyes glittered.

"No, don't answer that; I can see that you do. I thought it was a silly little crush at first, but it's more than that, isn't it? It's your deepest desire. Your deepest secret."

She stiffened. "If you tell him—"

"Where would be the fun in that?" Elsie's lips curved. "I'll enjoy dangling it over your head far more. We're going to have such fun, you and I."

Camille gripped her shawl. Once again, she was painfully aware of how beautiful Elsie looked; she was wearing a short black dress this evening, her tanned legs on full display. Several men were gazing admiringly at them. Elsie didn't seem to notice.

Then again, Elsie was probably used to the attention.

Camille swallowed. "I can see why he's so captivated by you. You're beautiful, and you're sophisticated. You're popular." Not like me, she thought. Not like I could ever be. "Do you love him?"

Elsie's smile slipped. "That's none of your concern, Ash Princess."

"Don't break his heart," she said. "That's all I ask."

Elsie cocked her head. "But you're hoping that I do, aren't you?" She leaned forward. "You're hoping that I break his heart, and you'll be the one to pick up the pieces. Saintly little Camille Dufleur."

Her cheeks burned. "I never said that."

"It won't work, you know." Elsie's smile turned smug. "Pushing him out of my bed won't be enough to bring him into yours."

Camille felt the words like a slap. Elsie pushed back from the table, pausing. Her breath was warm on her neck. "Oh, and for the record, Isaac's wonderful in bed. It's a shame that you'll never get to experience it."

And with that, Elsie sauntered out of the tavern.