Thread of Frost

Ch. 54: Pillar of Flame

Kane stepped forward. "Leave her alone, Annie."

"Flint." Anna sucked in a breath. "Your arms."

"I've had worse," Kane said, which was, of course, a lie. They all knew it. Nothing burned like dragon fire.

"She's retreating," Seraena said numbly.

Her eyes were on the ice cliffs. Lucia's forces were pulling back, marching in a neat line towards higher ground. She could just make out Lucia at the front, her face tilted up against the cold wind, white-blonde hair whipping against her cheeks.

"I don't understand," Seraena said.

It was the second time she'd said the words today. Burning anguish was chasing away the numbness, like feeling coming back into frozen fingers. She wished it would stop. It was better to feel nothing at all, Seraena thought dully, than to feel this.

Anna's face changed. "She's toying with us."

Kane frowned. "Why?"

"Because she can," Anna said simply.

Seraena watched as Lucia disappeared into the fog. She wondered if it was boring being immortal. Perhaps this was the closest to humanity that Lucia had experienced in eons; perhaps the breath of death on the goddess's neck was as enjoyable as picking at a scab.

Kane drew his sword. "Should we follow?"

Anna's mouth was thin. "No. We don't have the manpower."

Kane didn't look away from the retreating forces. "Then what should we do?"

Anna's eyes were dark. "Pray."

***

Anna limped towards the tent.

The sun was setting over the ice cliffs, turning the sea into liquid gold. People sat around their makeshift camp, murmuring over tin cups filled with soup. She could see Slaine and Althea and Isolde darting around the campsite, applying poultices and bandages. Somewhere, Julian was dealing with the bodies.

Anna staggered towards her tent. Her lungs burned with the effort of remaining upright, and a splitting headache had started at the base of her skull. Once, she'd been able to fight for hours without tiring.

But things were different now.

She paused, her hand resting on the tent flap. Seraena and Kane stood several tents over, half-obscured in shadow. Seraena was murmuring something, fiddling with her dark braid; the torchlight picked out the golden thread woven through it. Kane leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Even from this distance, Anna could see the angry red burns on his forearms, and her stomach tightened.

"He'll be okay," Ryne said.

Anna didn't bother to turn. She'd already known he was there; she seemed to have developed some horrid internal compass that served only to identify Ryne Delafort's location. "She was careless today."

"She's grieving," Ryne murmured. "Some pain is immeasurable. Words haven't been invented to describe it yet."

True, Anna thought. But still. "Rulers can't afford to act impulsively."

"She's new," Ryne said. "Give her time." Anna's head gave a painful throb, and she looked away. Ryne exhaled. "How bad is it?"

"Manageable," Anna lied.

Ryne pushed back the tent flap. "Let me look."

Anna pulled a face. She didn't have the energy to argue, however, so she followed him into the tent. Ryne set God-Slayer carefully against the wall, turning to gather a selection of potions and draughts. He didn't meet her eyes as he laid them on the bed, reaching to unscrew the nearest pot.