Thread of Frost

Ch. 51: Beautiful and Blazing

People arrived in waves.

The Gongonians came first, their dragons falling to the earth like flaming stars. A young woman with a dark braid and a dozen golden bracelets dismounted first. "Seraena," she'd introduced herself, extending a hand to Isolde. "Let's try not to die this week."

The Zarobians were next. They came by ship, led by a steely-eyed woman named Kati. They arrived in colorful robes with carts of crushed spices, bandages, and herbs. Tents sprung up around the snow-covered field like winter flowers, and soon the fragrant smell of jasmine-scented curry drifted through the camp.

And then — unexpectedly — a third group arrived.

Isolde spotted them first. They came over the hill, a dozen shadows silhouetted against the frozen cliffs. A familiar-looking girl marched at the front, her white cap askew and a shovel tucked under her arm.

"Emily," Isolde breathed.

She'd rushed forward. Her former servant caught her around the waist, squeezing so hard that she felt her bones ground together.

"You came," Isolde said.

Emily's grin was feral. "Let's make that bastard pay."

Three days had passed since then.

Now, Isolde leaned against a table, her hands splayed over a diagram of trees and soldiers and dragons. The tent was hot and stuffy; half-drunk mugs of red wine littered the wooden table, along with knives and arrows. A dozen people crowded around the table, dressed in fur cloaks and gloves. Ryne Delafort tapped the map.

"Hillsbrook," Ryne said, turning to Kane. "You'll lead the aerial team under Seraena's direction. Winterthorpe, you're in charge of the archers." He nodded at Julian. "Penny and I will lead the charge with the foot soldiers. Together, we'll be able to decapacitate them."

Kati raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Ryne wiggled his fingers. Golden strands tumbled to the floor, slithering through the room like snakes. Kati muttered something under her breath that sounded distinctly like, ducking dayweavers.

Ryne fisted his hands. The strands disappeared. "Slaine and Althea—"

"Leading the medics," Slaine said, glancing at his sister. "Got it."

Ryne turned. "Grayson?"

Grayson crossed his arms. "I'm with the princess."

Grayson was leaning against the wall, his blond hair tousled from the wind. He looked harmless, Isolde thought, but she'd seen what happened when one of the soldiers got a little too handsy with Penny earlier. The poor bloke wouldn't be able to hear out of his left ear for at least a week. Penny — apparently thinking along the same lines — shot Grayson an exasperated look from her perch on a sofa.

"Okay," Ryne said. "Any more questions?"

Mack — one of the Gongonian fliers — raised his hand. "Who's going after Lucia?"

"Cidarius," Ryne said.

Everyone turned. Anna was sitting on an overturned crate, calmly peeling an orange. She didn't speak, but then again, Isolde thought, she didn't have to; everyone knew that Anna would be the one to wield God-Slayer. It was a redundant question.

"What about me?" Isolde asked.

She hadn't realized she was going to speak until the words were out of her mouth. A dozen heads snapped toward her, and heat rose to her cheeks. Even now, Isolde wasn't used to people staring. For years, people had averted their gaze — avoiding looking at her black eyes, or her wooden leg — but now they stared openly.