Thread of Frost

Ch. 46: Broken Toys

"I know who Julian is," Isolde said.

Her mouth felt dry. Halson swirled the wine.

"Good," Halson said. "I have business that needs attending to. Julian will act on my behalf during negotiations."

Her heart sped up. "Julian's your advisor."

"I'm aware," Halson said. "I appointed him."

"Surely you want to keep him close."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

Silence fell. Halson sipped his wine, apparently content to let the quiet stretch out like taffy. Isolde felt as if her heart had transformed into a pustule, too delicate, too raw. She braced her hands against the desk.

"I only meant..." She could fix this. Surely. "Wouldn't it make more sense for someone else to go? A diplomat? Or— or a member of your council?"

Halson waved a hand. "My council is filled with idiots and drunks. And Julian is very motivated to keep me... happy."

"I should go with him," Isolde said.

Slowly, Halson lowered his wine. "You?"

Her heartbeat was a drum in her ears. "Wouldn't it be good to have a member of the Dolphenberg family there? As a show of power?" She splayed her fingers. "A crown in their courtroom. Imagine it."

"What I imagine," Halson said, his voice soft, "is that my cousin will tiptoe into your rooms at night." He set the wine down. "What I imagine is that he'll climb into your bed. He just can't help himself."

She looked away. "I wouldn't—"

"Wouldn't you?" Halson murmured. "Silly darling." There was the scuffle of footsteps, and then his hand brushed her cheek. "We've had this conversation before. It didn't end well, remember?"

His thumb flicked over her bruise, and Isolde flinched. Halson's blue eyes glittered like chipped glass. Something sour burned in her throat. She wondered how she'd ever found him handsome. He was like a snake, Isolde thought, all beautiful, supple armour and flat behind the eyes.

Halson leaned closer. "My cousin will never love you."

Isolde closed her eyes. "You don't know him."

"Don't I?"

Halson stepped back, his cloud of aftershave lingering like smog above a city. When Isolde opened her eyes, he was back at the desk, pouring more wine.

"As a child," Halson said, "Julian had a whole room full of toys. Wooden horses, tin soldiers, little dragons that breathed flame... he would beg my father to bring a new one back every time he went away."

Halson took a long sip. "He never wanted the most expensive or the shiniest toy; he just wanted a new one. And he would play and play with that toy until it broke, and then he would move onto the next one." His blue eyes were winter ice, the coldest part of the freeze. "That's all you are, Isolde. You're Julian's latest toy. And when he grows tired of you, he'll cast you aside, just as he always does."

Isolde bit down on her tongue. Her eyes burned, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her voice came out steady.

"Is that all?"

"No." Halson swirled his wine. "I've considered your request to turn the East Wing of the palace into a poorhouse, and I've decided to take an alternative route."

Something cold slid down her spine. "What do you mean?"

"More gassings," Halson said.

"No."