Thread of Frost

Ch. 36: Bruises That Hurt

Isolde stared at the basin.

The white porcelain was speckled with blood. She glanced at her face in the mirror: bruised, swelling at the cheek, her purple mark burning in her forehead like a midnight star. She'd need a healing draught. And powder, Isolde thought tiredly, wiping the blood from the basin; she'd have to ask one of the servants. Someone discreet.

She turned from the sink.

Halson's jacket hung from the back of an armchair. He'd forgotten it when he'd stormed out of her room. Isolde ran a hand over the soft black fabric. Such a lovely garment, she thought, for such a hideous man.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Isolde?" Julian. "Are you in there?"

Isolde swallowed. "I'm busy."

"This will only take a moment," Julian said.

"I'm already undressed." Isolde leaned against the wooden dresser, closing her eyes. "Can it wait until tomorrow?"

Candlelight flickered in the window. She could hear the last of the party guests spilling into carriages outside, their boots crunching in the snow. Someone was singing drunkenly and off-tune. Something heavy slumped against the door; Julian must be leaning on it.

"I saw Halson," Julian said. "He looked upset."

Isolde's cheek gave a painful throb. She needed that healing draught. "He's had a long day of travelling. I suspect he's just tired."

"Please let me in," Julian said.

"Why?"

He sighed. "It's important."

Isolde turned to the window. "Go away, Jules."

Her lip was swelling up, turning hot and puffy. When Julian spoke, she could hear the frown in his voice. "You sound strange."

"I'm fine," Isolde said.

There was a pause. Julian's voice turned decisive.

"I'm coming in."

Isolde flinched. "Jules, don't—"

There was a crack.

The door swung open. Isolde stared at the window, her heart thundering. She could just make out Julian's form in the glass; his dark hair was messy, and he was still dressed in his white collared dinner shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He shut the door.

"Isolde," Julian said softly. "Look at me."

Hot tears stung her eyes. "Please go away."

"Turn around," Julian said.

She didn't move. Julian drew closer, and she could smell winter air and honey-roasted nuts clinging to his shirt. He must have gone outside to see off the guests. He rotated her chin, and Isolde allowed it, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Julian inhaled sharply. "Burning stars."

"It looks worse than it is," Isolde said.

Julian's voice sounded odd. "Did Halson do that to you?" He must have read the answer on her face because he exhaled. "That son of a bitch."

She looked up. "Julian—"

"I'll kill him," Julian said, and his voice was calm. "I will kill him."

He turned for the door. Fear spiked through her, and Isolde gripped his sleeve.

"Jules, don't." Her voice trembled. "You'll make it worse."

"Have you seen yourself?" Julian's voice was harsh, and she flinched. "Fuck — those bruises..." He closed his eyes, as if he was struggling to regain control of himself. "I've spent my whole life training with soldiers. I know the difference between accidental bruises and bruises that are meant to hurt."