Thread of Frost

Ch. 39: Storm Break

Althea stood in the doorway; she was breathless and wearing only one sock. Slaine stood behind her, his collar damp with sweat.

Althea paused. "Oh. Sorry. Are we interrupting?"

"Oh, gods." Slaine looked horrified. "What are they doing?"

"Making out," Althea said.

Anna took a step back. "We weren't."

Althea raised an eyebrow. "You definitely were." She turned to Slaine. "They look guilty. Trust me."

Anna sighed. "We were just talking."

"Are you sure?" Althea asked. "You look a little..."

She circled her finger in a way that could have indicated exhaustion or a rabbit riding a bicycle. Anna crossed her arms. "Did you need something?"

Althea dropped her hand. "The storm's broken."

A tiny, hopeful thing bloomed in her chest. "It has?"

"Just now."

Ryne rose. "The boat—"

"It's ready." Slaine smiled. "You're going home."

***

Anna sprinted to the shipyard.

Clear blue sky stretched out overhead. Hot air balloons speckled the sky like splotches of paint on a canvas, and glass bridges glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Anna was dimly aware of her lungs burning, of her muscles screaming at her to stop, but she didn't slow. Slaine would admonish her later, she was sure, but she didn't care; she had to get to the boat.

They could sail today.

She skidded to a stop outside the shipyard. Ryne slowed, looking irritatingly composed; he was wearing a low-slung cap over his eyes, and a brown cloak covered most of his body. You almost couldn't tell it was Ryne, Anna thought. Then again, that was the point.

"Ready?" Anna asked.

Ryne nodded.

She pushed open the door. The ship's chestnut hull gleamed in the light, and its white sails unfurled like wings. The words Star Treader were written on the side in golden letters. Ryne took a step forward, his eyes roaming over the boat.

"You did this?" Ryne asked.

Anna shrugged. "I mostly filched lemon biscuits from the break room."

"Don't be an arse," a voice called.

They turned. Griffin — the master shipbuilder — was striding across the shipyard, wiping his oil-stained hands on a white cloth. Anna raised an eyebrow. She'd seen Griffin wipe his hands on a variety of things, including a banana peel and a matchbox. She'd been convinced the man didn't know what a handkerchief was.

"You see that hull?" Griffin nodded. "Annie built most of it."

Anna turned to Ryne. She could think of at least ten jokes off the top of her head, most of which pertained to bringing a lifeboat. But Ryne was looking thoughtfully at the ship, his eyes shadowed by the cap.

"I'm not surprised," Ryne said. "Anna is very good at anything she sets her mind to. Dancing, thieving, drinking..." His smile was wry. "The list never ends."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't forget being charming."

"Well," Ryne said. "That really depends on your definition."

"Sir!" a voice called.

They turned. A young redheaded man was jogging across the shipyard, knocking over silver wrenches and wooden crates. Griffin gave a long-suffering sigh that indicated this was not the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last

The young man stopped. "Did you hear that—? Oh."

He fell silent, his eyes darting nervously to Ryne. Griffin clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Joseph. What were you going to say?"

The young man shook his head. "It can wait."

"We're amongst friends," Griffin said.

"Oh, Annie." Joseph blushed. "Sorry. Didn't see you there." His shoulders relaxed. "I've just been to the docks; some boats have just come into the port. Rumour has it that wool prices are about to spike."

Griffin's mouth twitched. "Fascinating."

"And Emperor Halson has taken a wife." Joseph dropped his voice, glancing around the shipyard. "Apparently she's a nun."

Anna whistled. "Scandalous."

"And," Joseph said, warming to his audience, "someone attacked a village in Wynterlynn. Burned the whole thing down. All the villagers are fleeing. Targalla? No." His brow knit together. "Something like that."

Something cold clenched in Anna's stomach. She looked to Ryne, but his cap was too low to see his eyes. "What did you say?"

"Oh," Joseph said. "Wool prices are—"

"Not that." She couldn't keep the urgency out of her voice. "The bit about the village."

"Well, the sailor said..." Joseph shifted his weight. "But it's probably not true, mind. He sounds a bit mad."

Anna balled her hands into fists. "Joseph."

"You don't get much sunlight on those journeys," Joseph added.

"Joe."

"And you only eat salted cod." Joseph wrinkled his nose. "Do you know how bad salted cod tastes after six weeks?"

"Joe," Anna said.

Her heart was rocketing in her chest. She was suddenly very aware of the smell of wood chippings, of the cool breeze filtering in through the open barn door. Joseph — who looked slightly alarmed by her outburst — cleared his throat.

"Right," Joseph said. "You know the mad queen? The one that killed the Delafort family and seized the throne? The sailor reckons she's been possessed by a goddess. That goddess wiped out the whole village. And the people fleeing are..."

He paused, staring down at his shoes. Anna narrowly resisted the urge to shake him.

"Are what?"

Joseph dropped his voice. "Nightweavers."

"Did he say anything else?" Anna asked.

Joseph shifted his weight. "I really reckon he was nuts."

"Joseph." Anna caught his arm. "Please. It could be important."

Joseph looked down at where her small fingers touched his bicep. The colour in his cheeks deepened. "Well, the sailor said his mate owns this pub in Aberthay. Sort of near Libertas, you know? Port city. Anyway, all these nightweavers came into the pub and wanted rooms for the night. One of them — some young bloke — placed an order at the bar. Said they were all sailing for Lox. He seemed really excited."

Anna's heartbeat was almost painful. "Did the sailor say what he looked like? The young man in the pub?"

"That's the thing." Joseph frowned. "The sailor said the bloke looked proper odd."

"Odd how?" Anna asked.

"Well," Joseph said, "apparently he had golden eyes."