Thread of Frost

Ch. 17: You're Really Very Lucky

"Why should I?"

Tilda sniffed. "If you're going to become empress, you should know these things. It's important to know about Loxian history."

"If I become empress," Isolde said, "I won't care about the past. It's the future that I'm concerned with."

She turned back to the book. She was dimly aware of Tilda muttering something uncomplimentary, of Sendra pressing her face to the cold glass of the window, but it was all faraway. A distant land. That was the magic of reading, Isolde thought; it became realer than real life.

There was a knock at the door.

Isolde pressed up on to her forearms. The knock came again, more insistent this time. Isolde glanced at her wooden leg; it would take a good three minutes to put it back on. She swatted Tilda's leg.

"Can you get that?"

The other girl looked horrified. "In my nightgown?"

Isolde sighed. Well. No help there. She pushed on to one leg, hopping toward the door. To his credit, the servant didn't bat an eye when she opened it; he just held out a silver platter with a note card on it.

"Begging your pardon, m'lady." The platter was shoved closer. "His Holiness requested that I bring this note to you."

Isolde blinked. "Now?"

It was the middle of the night. Or almost the middle of the night, anyway; Sendra was falling asleep on the window bench. The servant's face was impassive.

"His Holiness said it was urgent."

Isolde took the note. "Thank-you."

She shut the door. Tilda and Sendra rushed to her side, clamoring like dogs over a juicy steak. Sendra bounced up and down on her toes.

"What does it say?" Tilda demanded.

Isolde scanned the lines.

My darling—

Meet me at the chapel tomorrow morning at dawn. I leave for a six-week business trip just after lunch; I wish to marry you before I go.

H.

Isolde lowered the note. Her heart sprouted legs, crawling to the top of her throat.

"I'm getting married," she said. "Tomorrow."

***

The wedding chapel was small.

After, Isolde couldn't recall details of the ceremony. Were the walls egg white or pale yellow? How many people attended? She remembered repeating vows, but she couldn't remember exchanging rings. Tilda and Sendra wore silver gowns and crowns — a Loxian tradition, to confuse the evil spirits who the bride was — and people threw handfuls of rye and barley on them as they left the chapel.

"Catch them," Julian murmured, his voice warm and rough in her ear. "You have to catch them. The more you catch, the brighter your future."

Isolde held out her hands.

She caught only three grains.

Her bridal crown was made of bells; it tinkled as she walked.

They went back to the palace, where a breakfast feast was served. Halson sat at the head of the table. People stomped their feet, and the young emperor laughed and kissed her; he tasted of lemon and salt. Then he cut a slice of dursdenkake, an almond cake topped with icing and berries.

"For you," Halson said, holding it out. "My darling bride."

People applauded.

After breakfast, Halson led her into another room. The study was small, decorated with brown leather armchairs and a bookshelf. A wilting plant sat in the empty fireplace. Halson crossed to the sideboard, rearranging several glass bottles.