Thread of Frost

Ch. 30: A Damning, Indisputable Thing

Slaine ignored this. He'd taken to ignoring her quite a lot, actually, Anna thought with amusement; they'd had three sessions together now, and he was growing immune to her particular brand of bullshit. Good for him.

"You know what I mean." Slaine rolled up his trouser legs. "You can find other ways to fill your time."

"Like what?" Anna pushed through the water. "Checkers? Embroidering handkerchiefs? Recreational drugs?"

"I was going to suggest research," Slaine said.

She took another step; her lungs burned. "I like working at the shipyard."

"If you like living," Slaine said wryly, dangling his feet in the pool, "then I'm afraid the two are incompatible."

Anna paused. "Was that a joke? I've really changed you, Slaine of Zarob." She adjusted her ponytail, water droplets sliding down her wrists. Her lungs screamed in protest. "Anyway, Althea's healing potions are helping."

Slaine reached out. Anna swerved, but he was too quick; he winced as his hand brushed her shoulder. "Gods. Remind me to increase your dosage."

Anna pushed off the wall. "You know what would make me feel better?"

"What?"

"If Zarob allied with us," Anna said.

"We don't—"

"Choose sides?" Anna interjected. "Take a political stance?" She reached for the orange juice, watching as water droplets condensed on the glass. "I think you'll feel very differently when Lucia begins bombing your city."

Something flickered across Slaine's face. "It's not my decision."

She sipped the orange juice. "Then whose decision is it?"

"We make decisions by consensus."

Anna set down the glass. "The healers, you mean?"

"Everyone at the citadel," Slaine said. "Healers, gardeners, cleaners, cooks, artists..." He leaned back on his hands. "Everyone must be in agreement."

Anna tipped her head back. Pink-and-blue mosaic tiles speckled the ceiling, forming a picture of a young man lying on a bed, his face twisted in anguish. Parthos — the god of healing — tipped a goblet towards his mouth. Slaine had explained that the god was healing the young man, although Anna wondered if that was true. The goblet looked like it was filled with thornberry leaves, which were poisonous in large quantities; a final act of mercy, perhaps.

Anna turned. "Call a meeting." She pushed through the water, breathing through the icy fire in her lungs. "Please. As a favour to me."

Slaine watched her progress. His brown eyes were troubled. She knew that Slaine couldn't see her, but he'd explained that he could tell where she was by the sound of the water parting, the way it shifted around her. When you can no longer see the world, he'd said, you learn to listen to its melodies.

"That's enough for now," Slaine said. "You're exhausted."

Fire spread through her chest. "One more lap."

Slaine sighed. The sort of sigh, Anna thought, a parent gave to a petulant toddler protesting bedtime. "You're very persistent, aren't you?"

"Only when I need to be."

"Fine." Slaine rubbed at his face. "I'll convene a meeting tomorrow and present your case. But," he added quickly, clearly sensing her eagerness, "I make no promises. We oppose violence and genocide, but we haven't taken a firm political stance in thousands of years; I doubt our minds will change now."