Thread of Frost

Ch. 1: Be Ready

Sophie Holloway wrenched her sword from the creature.

The Sun Hound collapsed to the ground. Red spittle dripped from its canines, and the wound on her ankle gave a painful throb. She took a step back, watching as the hound exploded in a shower of golden goo; several droplets spattered her trouser leg. She sighed. Godsdamn it; she'd just done the laundry yesterday.

She leaned against a tree.

Her ankle began to burn. The creature wasn't poisonous — she'd fought enough hounds lately to know — but their teeth felt like sawing your bones off with a serrated knife. She needed to get bandages and a cold compress on it.

But how to get home?

She leaned over the cliff. A steep waterfall plunged toward the valley, unravelling like a spool of blue silk; houses sprouted from the banks like bulbous mushrooms. She'd climbed up here, although there was no way that she could scramble down the side of the waterfall with a busted ankle. And the only other route to Tarhalla was two miles south.

Unless she grew wings, Sophie thought. That was sounding like the best option to get down, so far.

"Sophie!" a voice called.

She turned.

A local village boy was running toward her, one hand pressed to his cap. Jasper, she thought; even from this distance, she could make out the splash of freckles on his face. He paused, red-cheeked and panting.

"I told you, Jasper," Sophie said, not unkindly. "Outside of the village, it's Mary"

"Oh. Right." The red deepened. "Sorry."

Sophie shifted her weight. "Did you need something?"

Her ankle groaned in protest. Jasper's eyes snapped to the wound — tattered, bloody, the skin flayed like spaghetti — and he gripped a tree.

"What happened to your ankle?" he asked.

She wiped her sword on her trousers. "Sun Hound."

"Here?"

Jasper looked alarmed. Not, Sophie thought, that she blamed him; the Sun Hounds had never come so close to Tarhalla before. Still. There was no point in giving the poor boy nightmares, so she shrugged.

"It was just one hound," she said. "Reckon it probably got lost."

The first part was true; the second part, not so much. But Sophie was used to operating on half-truths and omissions, so her voice came out even.

Jasper assessed her ankle. "Can you walk?"

"I'll be fine," Sophie said. "What did you need?"

"Oh." Jasper's eyes flicked to her face. "Habs is looking for you."

"He is?"

Surprise flitted through her. She had no idea why the burly ironsmith wanted to see her. In the six weeks that they'd camped out in Tarhalla, Sophie had visited the forge only once for a new sword. Habs wasn't an enemy, but he wasn't a friend, either; it wasn't like he fancied having a cup of tea and chatting about the rising price of muslin.

Then again, Sophie thought wryly, she didn't have many friends that wanted to chat about muslin. Didn't have many friends in general.

Unless you counted Henry.

But Henry was different.

"He said it was urgent," Jasper said.

"Right." Sophie assessed the trail. "Do you know the way there?"