Thread of Frost

Ch. 46: Broken Toys

"You see, my darling," Halson continued, "you were right about one thing. Those people are suffering. There are too many mouths to feed, and not enough food to feed them with. And now you've driven them into one place for me." He smiled at her over the wineglass. "Convenient, isn't it?"

"Please," Isolde whispered.

Bo. Rosie and her cat. All the people she knew, the people she called friends. The room full of drawings and dreams. It all whirled around like a carriage wheel, spinning around and around in her mind. Halson moved closer.

"I met with your friend this morning," Halson said. "Bo, is it? He was all too eager to tell me about your little flower shop. He was so grateful that we'd agreed to help him that he cried." He laughed. "Truly touching."

Isolde's throat was tight. "Don't hurt them."

"It's too late," Halson said. "I've given the order." He drained his wine. "They'll all be dead within the hour."

Something in her broke. "You asshole."

Isolde lunged. She was going to tear him apart. Scratch his eyes out with her bare hands, rip his beating heart from his chest. Red blurred her vision. Steel arms caught her around the waist, and Halson's voice was low in her ear.

"Such filthy words from such a pretty little mouth."

She shoved at his hands. "Get off me!"

"Oh, dear." The words were a purr. "We're going to have to teach you some manners."

Her head cracked against something. The desk? Pain exploded in her temples, sending stars scattering across her vision. Halson's hand pressed into her neck. "Submit to me."

Isolde twisted. "Get off!"

The hand grew stronger. "Submit."

Isolde spat. The spittle struck Halson in his left eye, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. His eyes were so dark that they looked like coal. "Fine. We'll do it this way, then. I don't mind." His voice was hot in her ear. "I like it when you struggle."

He seized her dress. For the first time, Isolde felt a flash of fear.

"Stop," she croaked.

Halson tore off the dress, forcing her onto the desk. Isolde lashed out.

"Stop."

Halson pinned her hands down. Primal fear flooded her. Isolde smashed her head into his shoulder, and Halson laughed.

"Please."

Her voice broke. There was the sound of a metal buckle coming undone.

"Please," Isolde whispered again.

Isolde closed her eyes. Everything came in shattered fragments: the winter wind rattling the window frame, the sour smell of red wine, the burning wick of a candle. Her pulse was loud and terrible. She was suddenly back on the table in the convent, the terrible sound of a saw grinding at her leg. There had been a candle burning then, too; the cloying vanilla scent had lingered on her skin for days.

A thick hand grasped her throat.

The breath disappeared from her lungs. Isolde choked, and black spots danced in front of her eyes. The rattle of the window grew louder; she had never realized the sound could be so grating. Halson's breathing was low and harsh in her ear.

Isolde closed her eyes.

She could recall retreating into herself at the convent too, crawling into the darkest, smallest recesses of her mind. Phantom fire burned in her leg. Isolde could hear a branch scraping the window, and the sound felt like a saw. Tria's face loomed over her, her eyes burning like blue fire. I will chase the devil from you, the older nun was saying. I will remake your body, starting with your leg—

Her leg.

Realization struck Isolde, so fierce that a sob caught in her chest. Her beautiful, dangerous glass leg. Her hands scrabbled for a button, and a slender blade shot from her ankle. Isolde didn't let herself hesitate. Didn't wait. She reared back, stabbing Halson in the calf.

The emperor roared.

He stumbled back. Isolde shoved him, sending him toppling backward; Halson smashed into the desk. Glass bottles shattered on the floor. Red liquid soaked into the rug, and Halson raised his head, his gaze like hellfire.

"You bitch," he breathed.

Isolde turned, wrenching open the door. Halson raised his voice.

"Guards!"

Two men shouldered into the room. Isolde stumbled back. They'd been so quick. How had they been so quick? She hadn't seen anyone earlier, hadn't realized they'd be standing so close. A guard grabbed her shoulder, and she cried out.

Something smashed into the guard's head.

The guard crumpled. A familiar dark-haired young man stood behind him, breathing hard. His dark hair was mussed, his blue eyes wild. A bruise bloomed on his cheek. Isolde watched, frozen, as he stepped toward her.

"Jules?" Isolde whispered.