Thread of Frost

Ch. 27: Humans Are Fickle

It was Wellow that spoke. "A favour."

"What sort of favour?" Isaac asked.

"An unspecified favour." The faerie prince smiled, a cat circling a mouse. "Granted at any time of our choosing."

Isaac crossed his arms. He was an idiot, but not that much of an idiot. "A specified favour granted in the next month."

Wellow's smile grew. "An unspecified favour granted in the next year."

"And this favour only involves me?" Isaac asked.

"Yes."

"Webb." Tristan's voice was low. "Don't."

His golden eyes were wary. Tristan was toying with a lump in his pocket, as if he half-intended to chuck the explosive across the bridge. Isaac looked at the lump wistfully. If only, he thought, you could explode the truth out of someone.

Alas.

Isaac turned back to Wellow. "I will agree to this favour so long as it doesn't lead to my death, bodily harm, or any harm to my future offspring." He raised an eyebrow. "A favour for a helpful answer."

Tristan's voice was tight. "Webb."

Isaac ignored him. He was becoming excellent at ignoring people. Wellow drew a knife out of his pocket. The same knife, Isaac realized, that Owain had: white bone with little golden stars and strange markings.

"You have yourself a deal," Wellow said. "Give me your hand."

Reluctantly, Isaac did.

The knife was quick and clean. There was a brief sting, and then blood welled up across his palm. Wellow cut his own hand and then clasped their fingers together; red and blue ran down their wrists, weaving a strange bracelet.

Wellow dropped his hand. "Choose your question wisely."

Blood dripped on to the cobblestone. Isaac glanced at Tristan. They needed to phrase this question exactly right. If they didn't...

Well.

Not an option.

His mind raced through possibilities. Do you know the location of God-Slayer? No. The faeries would say yes but wouldn't provide details. Tell us everything you know about God-Slayer. Not a question, though; would the faeries still be obligated to answer? Camille, Isaac thought, would know what to ask. Camille was good at these things.

A lump rose in his throat.

Isaac held Wellow's gaze. "What is the exact location of God-Slayer?"

A safe question. A specific one.

Silence fell.

Wellow and his brothers exchanged glances. The tallest faerie prince adjusted the sleeves of his tunic.

"I do not know," Wellow said finally.

The back of his neck prickled. "What does that mean?"

"Precisely what I said."

"He's telling the truth," Owain said, leaning against the bridge. "The blade was faerie-forged in darkness; it was created in the space between worlds. It is older than the gods themselves. At one point, the fae knew everything about the blade, but now..." He shrugged. "Its location is a mystery, even to us."

Isaac took a deep breath. That information, he thought, would have been particularly useful about three minutes ago. But never mind.

He turned to Wellow. "I want another question."