Page 19 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Eleven

Ophir plucked the apple from Dwyn’s hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Are you sure you don’t…” Dwyn attempted to argue. Her sentence drifted at Ophir’s serious look.

Dwyn folded her arms across her chest as Ophir disappeared around the corner.

She shrugged into the soft wool shawl offered to her as Zita interlaced their elbows and led her down the corridor and out the hall to what remained of the late-season gardens.

Ophir was glad she’d stolen the apple, if only for something to do with her nervous energy.

She sank her teeth into the crisp flesh, but nerves made the fruit taste like acid.

Despite the intense display in the summit, Zita seemed as unperturbed and graceful as ever, which only heightened Ophir’s tension.

The air should have been laced with ice, with the river, with the brisk, impending scent of early winter. Instead, the smell of oranges wafted gently from Zita. Hassain trailed several paces behind them. Perhaps if Ophir hadn’t known that Tyr was nearby, she would have been afraid.

“So, what did you think of the meeting?” Zita asked coolly.

Ophir sounded a bit like a whinnying horse as she exhaled with honest, thorough confusion.

“It’s interesting, the secrets we keep, isn’t it? Farehold sits on a throne of secrets. And then there’s you. But you don’t have any secrets, do you, Ophir?”

Ophir tripped mid-step. Her foot caught on empty air, too distracted by Zita’s question to manage a flat, straight path through the garden.

Did Zita know she could manifest? No. Impossible.

Did she know Ophir had murdered? No, she was supportive of Ophir’s path of vengeance.

What could she possibly be referring to?

“Suley hears thoughts,” Zita said, as if answering her stream of unspoken questions.

Ophir’s blood chilled. She coughed on her bite of apple, nearly choking.

Doing her best not to panic, Ophir sifted through the memory of the meeting, wondering what treacherous thoughts had given her away.

“So, what better way to get the kings of the continent thinking their darkest thoughts than to agitate them at your summit?” Ophir said slowly, understanding Zita’s performance in the room. Whatever Eero and Ceneth had thought in the wake of her words, Suley would surely report later.

“It’s an unfortunate gift,” Zita continued. “She hears them all at once. It’s like always being in a loud crowd. She hates cities, hates my palace, hates this castle. She calls it the noise. Everything is noise. But do you know what’s interesting about her noise?”

Ophir remained silent. Her secret was out. She was responsible for the ag’drurath. She’d created the ag’imni. She was the mother of monsters, the princess of demons, the reason for the blood and bodies that littered the streets of Tarkhany. Had she thought those things when Suley was around?

“You have an unseen presence,” Zita said finally.

Ophir’s muscles went rigid.

Tyr.

Suley had heard Tyr.

“Who knows of your hidden companion?” Zita asked.

Ophir shook her head mutely.

“Oh, don’t play coy. Suley is never wrong. I trust her with my life. A male voice—his male thoughts—hovered beside you. She said as much to me before the meeting began. Is he with us now? As we walk?”

Ophir wasn’t sure if she could speak even if she’d wanted to. Her tongue tied itself.

Zita stopped to appraise Ophir.

“Goddess, child, who will I tell? My very good friends in the castle? My close allies, Eero and Ceneth? Perhaps you were not in the same meeting just now, but I have not come to build bridges into the past—though I’d be lying if I claimed judgment had not been served to the parties in play.

I do, however, think that you might operate outside of Farehold’s customs. You’re a contrarian, Princess Ophir. Now, respect me enough not to lie.”

Zita held up a hand so that Hassain stopped several paces away.

She flicked her wrist, and the man took multiple steps backward, creating enough space that Ophir could rest comfortably in the knowledge that he could not overhear their conversation.

Ophir stood in the rapidly cooling evening as she met the expectant gaze of Tarkhany’s queen.

Finally, Ophir asked the air, “Tyr?”

A resigned male sigh came from the space beside her.

He squeezed her bicep, then dropped his hand.

He’d heard everything, of course. He didn’t bother with pretenses.

After a moment, the empty space between them said, “I’d never been detected before today.

I’ve also never met someone who could hear mind to mind. ”

Zita looked mildly impressed with herself as she asked the air, “And, Tyr, is it? Are you also from Farehold?”

“I’m from Sulgrave, Your Highness.”

Zita made a curious face. “How interesting that you haven’t chosen to surround yourself with those who share your culture.” She folded her fingers in front of her. The studious look on her face suggested that she did, in fact, find it interesting. “Dwyn and Tyr arrived together, I assume?”

And, because no other answer would possibly be satisfactory, Ophir simply said, “Yes.”

“And,” Zita continued, “does anyone else in the castle know about him?”

Ophir chewed her lip. “No. Not even Dwyn.”

The queen’s expression was one of true shock this time.

Ophir dropped her voice. “Dwyn believes Tyr was left behind in the massacre in Tarkhany. They had a…falling out. It was easier this way. Not many people have the luxury of being able to remain unseen if others don’t want them around. I would prefer if you did not tell anyone.”

“Ophir,” Zita said firmly. “I’ve called a summit to discuss our endgames.

I’ll hear Ceneth and Eero, but they are men of our past. What is your desired outcome?

What do you want? Why agree to this marriage if you’re hell-bent on flying in the face of court customs—not that Dwyn isn’t terribly amusing, but you must have the wisdom to understand you can’t possibly keep her around you if you ascend to the throne.

And to find you have another companion lurking in the open air… Well, what is your agenda?”

Ophir bit into the apple once more. Its flesh was acrid and ashy—not in the way that a poisoned drink tasted amiss, but with the unpleasant flavorlessness that came from uneasiness and distraction.

She continued to chew, needing the time, craving the familiarity of a life before politics and plans.

Ophir would have been better off snagging a goblet and a bottle of wine.

The idea of intention and a plan for the future was something her mother had discussed with her in childhood—always to their combined frustration.

She wanted nothing. Not only did she not want the obligations of a monarch, but she was not even sure if she wanted to be a person.

An agenda was beyond her wants or needs.

She made an uncomfortable face, lifting a hand to cup her quickly reddening ears. Maybe she could use the temperature as an excuse to escape the conversation. Ophir frowned as she weighed her answer.

“Truthfully,” Ophir said quietly, “I never thought I needed one. Caris was the heir who mattered. She was groomed to rule. My task was simply to stay alive. I’d remain in Farehold doing goddess knows what until centuries from now when my parents were too old or tired to continue their reign.

Hopefully, by then, I’d be sensible. Besides, I’d have a firm ally in the north with Caris ruling.

That was the plan. After she died… My only plan has been to end the lives of those who took her. ”

“Vengeance and justice”—Zita tested the words—“are such slippery slopes, aren’t they?”

“The difference is in the eye of the beholder,” Ophir said.

“Do you know what I like about you?”

Ophir shook her head.

“I have waited for centuries for someone discontented with the status quo. And that’s what you are, Ophir.

How it reveals itself, I don’t truly care.

If you want to be a warrior for truth and make amends across the lands, then you have my blessing.

If you want to be an agent of chaos and burn it all to the ground, my support goes unchanged.

In fact, it may serve us all the more to break the wheel rather than patch a system built on the backs of oppression. Just, do me a favor?”

Ophir looked at the queen expectantly.

“Whatever you do…do something .”

***

Dwyn hated that Ophir had left her behind.

She didn’t know how to convince Ophir that she should be allowed to accompany her everywhere—from parties, to the bedroom, to important, clandestine political meetings—but there had to be a way.

In the meantime, she didn’t want to play nice with the advisors from Tarkhany.

When her annoyed expression hadn’t done enough to dissuade the fae called Suley from speaking with her, she spoke through her teeth, doing nothing to conceal her irritation.

“Look, it was nice to meet you, but I’m going to head back to my—”

Suley grabbed Dwyn’s arm. Dwyn was hit with the scent of cloves and a sharp wave of eucalyptus—Dwyn hated the plant.

She affiliated it with hospitals and sickbeds and death.

The scent was overpowering, dripping from the girl to accompany her intensity.

Though she spoke the common tongue, it was in a far more interesting accent than Zita’s as she asked, “Can you take it from me?”

Dwyn recoiled. “Excuse me?”

“The noise,” Suley pressed. “Can you take it?”

Dwyn tried to shake her arm loose, but Suley tightened her grip. She hated being touched. She didn’t even like to be bothered, let alone grabbed by a stranger.

Suley looked over her shoulder and dragged Dwyn around the corner to a small alcove. “You can drain. You can steal powers. You can—”

Dwyn’s irritation evaporated. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt true, paralyzing fear. The air left her lungs.

Suley’s eyes widened, words skipping like stones over the surface of a pond as she asked, “She can’t be. That can’t be true. A manifester?”

Dwyn’s heart skipped arrhythmically. Her head spun. This had to be a dream. If she ran to the room, she could crash into bed and wake up from this nightmare. She tried once again to pull away from Suley, to run down the corridor, but the erratic fae dug in her nails more deeply.

“You’re considering killing me now, but the entire castle would know it’s you.

Yes, you’d be taken from Ophir’s side. Oh, you don’t think they could stand against you?

You’ve taken on many, I see, I see. You don’t know what I know, Dwyn.

There’s a neutralizer in Ceneth’s party, did you know this?

They render everyone worthless—little more than pretty humans.

No, no, not Onain. No, you haven’t met them.

Yes, you’d be useless. You wouldn’t be able to fight, or defend, or drain.

No, I won’t stop reading your mind. No—”

“Stop! Let me go!” Dwyn jerked, but Suley dug her nails in hard enough to draw tiny specks of blood.

“Take it away from me. Take the noise, and I’ll tell you something that you need to know.”

“What do I need to know?”

A slow smile spread across Suley’s face.

“Everyone is keeping things from you, Dwyn. Everyone in that room. Yes, even Ophir. But oh, goddess, it gets better than that. There’s a rather delicious secret or two they’re keeping from Ophir.

Three in that room know something that neither you nor Ophir know.

I will tell you the moment you take the noise from me. ”

Dwyn stopped trying to free herself. She studied the intensity in Suley’s eyes, truly absorbed the details of the woman’s face.

The jewels, the piercings, the hair, the tattoo—they’d drawn attention away from a crueler detail.

The crescent moon tattoo had been interesting from across the room, but now that she was up close, she saw the mangled scar tissue that the ink covered.

“Yes,” Suley said, hearing the question clang through Dwyn’s mind.

“I did that to myself. I’ve wanted nothing more than to be rid of this power.

It’s why I seek out neutralizers everywhere I go.

The quiet, the relief, the calm, even if it’s for one night and a lousy fuck.

I spent six years in the capital with a piece of shit simply because he had the ability.

For six years, I slept in silence. I had dinners with no noise.

I’ll throw myself at Ceneth’s neutralizer the moment we stop talking just for the chance at relief. If you can take it away—”

Dwyn had no snide remarks, nothing clever, nothing that would make this go away. Suley was right: killing her was the only solution, and even that was a nonsolution, especially if her queen and fellow advisor truly knew something that could be held over Dwyn.

In a rare moment of honesty, she said, “I don’t know if I can.”

Suley’s nod was fast and encouraging. “If anyone can, it’s you. Yes, I’ve seen. Yes, I see. You’ve done it all, Dwyn. I don’t care who you have to kill. Kill them all.”

The words could have been comforting on someone else’s tongue. In a way, this complete stranger understood her and didn’t judge her. This was the first time she felt fully seen, and it was terrifying.

A rare burble of panicked tears threatened to choke her. “I don’t even know what ability that is! Neutralizing is temporary! I’ve never heard of something like this. It’s—”

“Make me mortal,” Suley said, eyes wide.

Dwyn recoiled further. “I can’t!”

“If anyone can,” Suley emphasized, “it’s you. If there’s a solution, you can find it. I’ve seen what you’ve done. I know—”

Dwyn took a step back, moving out of the alcove and into the hall. “How can I even trust that you know anything? Why would I believe you? Clearly, you’re desperate. And not that I blame you, but desperate times call for—”

“I’ll tell you one now, a smaller truth now. Then once you believe me, you will take away the noise. Once you do, I’ll tell you the bigger truth. Yes?”

Dwyn’s entire face puckered in confusion.

“I hear you. I hear the problems. I hear your struggle. Agree to my terms, and I will tell you.”

Dwyn squeezed her eyes tightly to clear her head, then leveled her gaze. “Fine,” she said. “If you tell me something useful and honest, then I will do what I can to remove your ability. Once I do, you owe me your bigger truth. And if you lied, and there is no bigger truth—”

“Yes, you will murder me. I understand: you’re very violent,” she said dismissively.

“So?” Dwyn asked, voice dripping with impatience.

“Ophir was not alone in that meeting. A man was with her. Someone you know, I believe. Someone in the unseen space. Someone called Tyr.”