Thread of Frost

Ch. 20: A Song of Blood

A lump rose in her throat.

After dinner, Slaine showed them to their bedrooms. Anna changed into a nightgown that Althea had left her — a silky green thing with thin straps — and then collapsed into bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind whirled with ship repairs and ancient curses and malevolent goddesses.

At some point, her eyes fluttered closed.

And that's when the nightmares began.

Eris. The tower. Burning. And pain, always so much pain; it tore at her back with vicious teeth. She could hear Tristan's broken pleading, hear the laughter of the guards. And those same words swam in front of her hazy vision: Vox es nuqum.

I am nothing.

The brand pressed in deeper. Anna screamed, reaching for her knife. Where was her knife? She slashed out, trying to stop the pain, stop the burning—

"Cidarius! Cidarius."

She bolted upright. Her body was trembling, her sheets soaked in sweat. Specks of silver shone in the moonlight. She must have cut her hand somehow, Anna realized; she was bleeding all over the bedsheets.

"Was it the tower?" Ryne asked.

He sounded calm. Ryne was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a pair of loose cotton trousers. No shirt. Moonlight curled around the hard planes of his chest. He really had put on muscle, she thought; it made him look older than eighteen, somehow. More like a young man than a boy.

Ryne handed her a glass of water. Anna took a long sip.

"Did anyone else hear me scream?" Her voice came out hoarse.

Ryne shook his head. "Everyone's in midnight prayer."

She squinted in the darkness. "Did I knock something over?"

"I'll get it," Ryne said.

He knelt beside her bed, and then held something silver out to her. Her knife, Anna realized; she could see the motto engraved on the side. Only in darkness can we see the stars. She took the weapon, wiping it on the bedsheets.

"Thanks," she said.

She waited for it to feel strange. Strange that Ryne Delafort was voluntarily handing her a knife. Strange that he trusted her with it. But it just felt like Ryne, kneeling by her bed, his hands steady and sure. Perhaps that was the strangest feeling of all.

Anna looked down at the knife. Her blood was crusting on the blade, turning a dull silver. "The ship. Do you think—?"

"Someone blew it up on purpose?" Ryne asked. "I don't know."

"There's only two of us."

He sat on the bed. "We're good fighters."

"Not me," Anna said, because it was true. "Not in this state." Her smile was grim. "And they know that."

Ryne frowned. She could see him turning over the possibilities in his mind, analyzing it like a chess board. "I don't see why they'd want us. Unless..."

"They're working for Lucia," Anna finished.

"Exactly."

They surveyed each other. Something crackled between them, a sort of intangible understanding. A song of blood called to her, Anna thought, just as it called to him. They were the only people that could hear the sweet violence of it, the clash of iron and stone. Or maybe just the only people that obeyed it.

That drew closer to hear more.

Anna looked away. "I can't live like this anymore. Every night that I go to sleep, I worry that people will hear me scream. I've seen people look at me a million ways before. With fear. With anger. With dread. But the one thing they've never looked at me with — the one thing I can't stand — is pity."

Her heart was pounding. Ryne stood, and a knot formed in her chest. She'd said too much. She should have kept her mouth shut. Showing vulnerability, Anna thought, was a weakness; how could she have forgotten that? Ryne opened a window, and his dark hair fluttered in the night breeze.

"I can train you," Ryne said finally.

Anna blinked. "What?"

He turned. "Your nightmares are about the tower, right?"

She held his gaze. "You know what they're about."

Eris. Always Eris. He would laugh or sneer or slash at her skin. But the worst of all, Anna thought, were the nightmares where he worked dream magic on her. When Eris could crack open her mind and make her do whatever he wanted. Kiss him. Kill someone. Get on her knees and beg like a dog.

She was totally helpless to resist.

Ryne's green eyes were polished coins. "I can work dream magic on you. You can learn to fight it off. Nobody will be able to do that to you again."

Anna picked up her water. "Sophie's trained me to resist magic before."

"Did it work?" Ryne asked.

Anna paused, the glass raised halfway to her lips. If it was anyone else, she thought, she would have torn off their head for that question. The subtle jibe. The cheek. But Ryne provoked for a purpose, not for sport, and so she considered this.

"No," she said. "I suppose it didn't."

Ryne nodded. "You can fend my cousin off. You just need practice."

Anna took a sip of water. "You know what they call you, don't you? The Master of Hearts. I never put much stock in the title until you made me fall in love with one of your guards. It was impossible to fight you off. You're powerful." She set her water glass down. "More powerful than I expected."

Shadows flickered in his eyes. "I had to do it."

"I disagree," Anna said. "But I can see why you did."

Ryne turned away. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

He braced himself against the window ledge. Green veins jumped in his arms, and his shoulders were stiff. Something in Anna's chest tightened. She was used to seeing Ryne look different ways — bored, furious, lazily amused — but never this. Never unsure of himself. It didn't suit him, she thought.

"Okay," Anna said.

Ryne looked at her. "What?"

"Okay," Anna repeated. "I want you to train me."

Ryne leaned against the windowsill. "If I use my magic..." He crossed his arms. They looked like thick ropes these days, Anna thought, the sort that sailors used down at the docks. "There's a chance that it will drain you. I'm not sure how the curse works."

"Does it matter?" Anna asked. "I'm dying anyway."

His mouth tightened. "Good point."

"We'll begin tomorrow," Anna said. "Meet me in my room after dinner. And Delafort?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"This doesn't mean that we're friends."

Something dark flickered across Ryne's face. "No, I'm in full agreement. We could never be friends, you and I."

"No," Anna said. "Never."

Her chest tightened. Anna looked down at the knife again, the way it shone like polished bone in the darkness. Her family. Her life. Her legacy. Her parents had died to protect their kingdom; now she had to protect it for as long as she could.

No matter the cost.