Thread of Frost

Ch. 16: Halson

"Yes," Sister Tria said. "That's what I've always believed."

"And now?" Isolde asked.

Sister Tria held her gaze. Isolde thought of the frost-scarred fields, how they became littered with fox carcasses in the spring. That was the thing about pretty flowers, she thought: they were so often poisonous.

"You'll take Tilda and Sendra with you." Sister Tria's voice was firm. "There is no other acceptable option."

Isolde glanced at the carriage. "Fine. But in exchange, I want the truth."

"The truth?"

"About my parents," Isolde said.

Sister Tria's face didn't change. "I never knew your parents. A nun found you—"

"On the doorstep," Isolde said. "Yes, I know."

"No," Sister Tria said. "She found you in the woods." She paused, her eyes on the naked grey trees. "You were wrapped in a brown blanket, lying on a bed of pine needles. There were no footsteps in the area. The nun believed that you were left there by frost faeries. A Snow Child. That's what she called you."

A lump rose in her throat. "But you don't believe that."

"No." Sister Tria met her gaze. "No, I took one look at your eyes and knew what you were."

"And what's that?"

Sister Tria's voice was soft. "A daughter of the devil."

"Miss!" a voice called.

They both turned. A coachman in silver livery was waving, one hand pressed to his head to keep his hat from flying off. Isolde thought briefly of Bo, and the lump grew thicker. Would she ever see him again? No. Probably not.

"It's time to go," the coachman called.

Sister Tria stepped back. "Safe travels."

Isolde climbed into the carriage. Tilda and Sendra were still playing cards, cackling as they lay jacks and queens on the plush seats. Several caramel sweets lay on their skirts. The carriage lurched, and Isolde braced herself against the wall.

Tilda lowered a card. "Are you excited?"

Isolde blinked. "Sorry?"

"To meet the emperor," Tilda clarified.

Isolde stared. Her brain couldn't seem to process that Tilda was voluntarily speaking to her. "I suppose."

"I hope he's handsome," Tilda sighed.

"Well, I hope he's clever," said Sendra, laying down two cards. "There's nothing worse than a pretty book with no words in it." She splayed out her hand of cards, fanning herself. "What about you, Isolde?"

Isolde pushed open the curtain. "I hope he's kind."

She could feel the girls exchanging a look. Kind. Not a quality that most girls at the convent searched for in a husband. But if Halson was willing to gas his own citizens... Something grim settled in her stomach. Gods only knew what he'd be willing to do to her.

Isolde dropped the curtain.

The carriage rattled through Bardan. Isolde stared at her hands. She didn't want to look out the window and risk seeing the faces of hungry children. Girls and boys that she'd never be able to save from the weekly gassing. Unless...

A tiny crack of light yawned open in her chest. Unless she could convince Halson to change his mind. Unless she could convince her future husband that Bardan was full of people worth saving. That there was an alternative solution.