Page 11 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

“A true expatriate,” she murmured when it became clear she would get nothing more from him, as he was not her subject to command.

“Now, on the topic of expatriates, our dear Princess Ophir has marked up the map rather spectacularly. Which brings me to why I’ve asked you to visit with me.

” She eyed the men carefully before saying, “I’ve called a summit between the kingdoms of Raascot, Farehold, and Tarkhany. We’re to meet in Gwydir.”

Harland spoke first this time, asking, “Why Gwydir?”

The corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Because the door presently standing in my courtyard leads directly to the forest just beyond the city. I’ve never seen anything like it.

It took a few days for us to find someone who could speak to stone once we realized it had been obstructed from the far side, but once we sent men through, it only took a few hours to understand where they’d ended up.

Raascot’s wings do make it rather easy to put your thumb on geography, don’t they? ”

Samael confirmed. “Flight is the common gift among their people. Now, Tarkhany and Raascot have a direct line to one another? That’s remarkable.”

“It is indeed,” she agreed. “The summit is to take place in one week. I’d like you to accompany me to the meeting, and then, of course, you’re free to return with King Eero.

You’re guests of Tarkhany, so you may decline the offer and begin your crossing now should you wish to go directly to Aubade.

It will be shorter to wait one week and walk through a door than to spend two weeks on the dunes, but it is up to you entirely. ”

The men nodded thoughtfully, but she didn’t give them time to respond before she continued.

“My true question lies with the door itself. It’s well known that your princess conjures flame.

However, the morning of the execution, she was seen with a foreign woman that none of us had so much as seen in the palace.

If she was able to step into my kingdom—my home —without anyone seeing her, then I can only assume this is her gift. Do either of you know this woman?”

Harland stiffened visibly. She leaned toward him to press the issue, but Samael drew her attention away from the fair-haired man.

“She’s been Princess Ophir’s companion for the better part of a year. You know of the tragedy that befell the kingdom, yes?”

Zita did. The blood of Caris’s death had soaked the soils of the world.

“The companion, a Sulgrave fae called Dwyn, has an ability for water. She was paired with Ophir to spare us all from the night terrors and flames that were burning down the castle. It stands to reason that she steps through locations like a fold on a map. How else is one meant to cross the Frozen Straits?”

Zita looked from Samael’s relaxed posture to Harland’s still-rigid form. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Harland?” she asked.

He gave her the wide eyes of a sand mouse.

She tapped her fingers against the table once more before asking, “Do you have any feelings on this companion? This…Dwyn?”

“I don’t like her, Your Majesty.”

Zita allowed the pause between them to stretch like cooled honey.

He released a long, slow breath before saying, “I’ve served as Ophir’s personal bodyguard for many years.

I have a vested interest in her safety, a predisposition for suspicion, and a firsthand understanding of Ophir’s preference for unsavory characters.

I think Ophir would be better off without an unknown variable influencing her life, particularly as she’s meant to serve both Raascot and Farehold. ”

Zita chewed on this answer. She nodded with slow acceptance before eventually informing them that attendants would oversee their needs throughout the next week as they made plans for their summit.

She thanked the men and walked them out the door, parting ways so that they might return to their rooms while she drifted into the courtyard to stare up at the vast, diamond-studded sky.

***

“Lying to queens, now?” Harland whispered after they’d rounded a number of corners and returned to their rooms.

“You trust my judgment, don’t you?” Samael said in response, keeping his voice low, as most walls had ears.

Harland’s lip twitched. Samael played an unfair hand, as it was positively annoying to argue with someone whose gift was perfect judgment. “I’d be a fool not to.”

Samael shrugged. “Then don’t worry about it. Queen Zita would be no safer knowing the truth. It works against Ophir’s best interest if anyone knows she’s a manifester.”

Harland sucked a lungful of air. He’d tried, and failed, to keep Ophir’s gifts a secret. He should have known it would be impossible to hide anything from Samael.

“It doesn’t become you to keep things from me,” Samael replied.

“We both know that I’ll find out if it wasn’t something I knew already.

Additionally, we both know she’d be hunted and killed.

Or if she feels cornered, she may react in ways we can’t predict.

Given her breadth of power and the slaughter we saw the morning of the execution, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take, are you?

Besides, Ophir is far from the only threat.

The moment Dwyn knows she’s suspected, she becomes the single most dangerous person on the continent.

Right now, the only people who know everything are you, me, and Tyr. ”

“I don’t love that Tyr is included in that list,” Harland grumbled.

“Don’t let your affection blind you,” Samael chided.

“He clearly cares for Ophir’s well-being—” Samael paused at Harland’s reaction and pressed, “He does, Harland. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have come to us.

The man had no reason to risk exposing himself by divulging what he knew.

If he were entirely self-serving, you and I would still be on the outside looking in.

I can’t speak to his other traits, but he cares for Ophir, and having a man on the inside is what will keep the princess alive.

His ability to stay out of sight is astonishingly useful. ”

Harland hated everything.

He hated that sweat beaded on his lip even at night in the arid, desert climate.

He hated the heavy scents of oranges and limes everywhere he went.

He hated the white marble pillars, and the way that every corridor fell away to yet another open-air courtyard or garden.

He hated the marmalade in the cookies. He hated that Tyr had affections for Ophir—and worse—that she clearly returned them.

He hated knowing that Ophir was with Dwyn.

He hated that she was marrying Ceneth. And most of all, he hated that Samael was right.

Not only was there nothing he could do about it, but he was supposed to be grateful.

He’d be sure to find gratitude as soon as someone slipped through the stitches of events and took him back to the night he’d first helped Ophir with her bodice.

He’d be grateful if he could spare Caris her fate and keep Ophir in Farehold as the happy, carefree princess with no obligations or responsibilities, save for getting drunk on the wall with him.

He’d be grateful if the All Mother turned back the sands of time, and not a moment sooner.