Thread of Frost

Ch. 33: A Good Day

"A cat!" Rosie cried.

The younger girl clutched the animal to her chest. The cat gave Isolde a long-suffering look that indicated he would have preferred to be left in the palace kitchens.

"Can I keep him?" Rosie asked.

"Of course you can," Isolde said. "What are you going to name him?"

Rosie didn't hesitate. "Julian."

"Julian?"

"Yeah." The younger girl kissed the cat's forehead. "I like his ears. They're so floppy."

"Why are you going to name your cat Julian?" Isolde asked.

Her voice came out sharper than she'd intended. She looked at Julian, who was crouched by a table, patiently showing the young boy how to grip the wooden sword. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he demonstrated a swing.

"I like Julian," Rosie said. "He brought me a bracelet last week."

Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Did he?"

"Yeah," Rosie said. "And he always makes funny drawings for us." She set down the cat. "Do you want to see?"

The younger girl turned, marching up the stairs. She didn't look back. What a thing, Isolde thought with amusement, to be so certain that you were going to be followed. Must be nice. She kicked off her shoes — towering heels that were clearly designed by someone that hadn't factored in a prosthetic limb — and gave chase.

Rosie led her to a small room. It was a converted attic, Isolde realized, littered with old paints and canvases and white sheets; she had to duck to avoid smacking her head on the ceiling. Rosie stabbed a finger.

"You see?" Rosie asked.

Isolde swallowed.

Dozens of drawings were pinned to the wall. Doodles of cats reading a newspaper, scribbles of an irate doughnut chasing a carrot... She removed the nearest one. A young boy was fighting an army of flesh-eating gryphons; it was a scene from The Great Tales of Sir Gulaine, she realized, but where the boy starred instead of a knight.

Isolde lowered the drawing. "Jules did all of these? My—?"

She caught herself. My Jules, she'd been about to say. Rosie plucked a drawing from behind a shelf, holding it out.

"This one is my favourite," Rosie said.

Isolde's stomach tightened. The cartoon woman was holding a bow, her eyes narrowed in determination. Wisps of blonde hair fell about her face. Julian had written a caption at the bottom. A good day.

"Wow." Isolde's throat was dry. "It's very realistic."

Rosie glanced at the door. "Can I go downstairs and play with my cat now?"

"Yes." Isolde pocketed the drawing. "Yes, let's go."

Rosie thundered down the stairs. Isolde stood at the top, barefoot, holding her shoes in one hand; her golden skirts cascaded down the sweeping stairs in a waterfall of silk. Julian stood at the bottom. There was an odd look on his face as Isolde approached, but it vanished the moment they locked eyes.

She drew a breath. "Did you—?"

"We have to—" Julian began.

They broke off. Isolde's smile was sheepish.

"Sorry," Isolde said. "You go first."

The drawing felt like a hot coal in her pocket. Julian rubbed at his chin. There was something about his face, Isolde thought, a shard of ice crystallizing in her chest; he looked different than she'd seen him before. Nervous.