Page 2 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

One

Castle Gwydir, Raascot

Ophir’s eyes flew open as unseen arms wrapped around her between the silken sheets, pinning her to a body.

She gasped against the sudden motion. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust before she could make out the shape of a woman silhouetted against the gloom.

Dwyn was turned away from her, draped in an inky pool of her own long, dark hair.

Ophir breathed in her crushed mint scent.

Dwyn was the only familiar piece of her surroundings. The rest was cold, dark, and strange.

She sucked in a surprised breath when she inhaled leather and smoke. Tyr was here.

She began to squirm, and his strong arms tightened around her.

“Shh,” he whispered. She scanned the shadows for the invisible arms that held her. His power was both blessing and curse. She’d understood why Tyr hadn’t wanted Ceneth to spot him, but she didn’t fully understand his insistence upon remaining unseen even when they were alone.

“I want to see your face,” she whispered, careful not to wake Dwyn.

“Trust me,” he said against her hair, breath warm on her ear.

He was firm: She couldn’t tell Dwyn that he’d come with them from the desert to the northern forest. Dwyn had slumped into unconsciousness in the chaos that was their escape from Midnah.

She’d remained dead to the world as Tyr had flung her over his shoulder and carried her through Ophir’s door to the northern kingdom.

By the time Dwyn had opened her eyes, Ophir and Tyr had discussed their next steps and come to an agreement.

Still, she ached to watch her fingers run through his dark hair, look upon his amused smirk, gaze into eyes as rich as the earth, trace lines along the gilded chisel of his jaw.

Ophir had taken numerous men and women to her bed in her time, all fawning and grateful to be there.

Perhaps she was beholden to his elusiveness.

In his absence, she was trapped, reliving the last time she’d fully looked upon him. She was flung back into her first days in the north as if experiencing them for the first time.

One week ago, she’d awoken in Midnah.

She’d stared down an ag’drurath. She’d watched a shapeshifter impersonate the Queen of Tarkhany. She’d tasted the barest edges of vengeance against her sister’s murderer. When chaos had descended, Tyr had begged her to make a door so they might escape.

And so, she had.

Raasay Forest, Raascot

The wind left her lungs as she sprinted from the hot desert air into freezing rain.

She was dressed for the dunes—a sheer gown that was soaked to the bone in an instant.

Her teeth chattered as she struggled to fling out her hand, spread her fingers wide, and manifest something, anything , given the terrible command she had of the power.

She envisioned a castle, a mansion, even a cabin, but only a rickety shelter sprung forth so they might escape from the storm.

She made a cot, a few tattered blankets, and succumbed to exhaustion before trying and failing to fix their surroundings.

Tyr plopped Dwyn’s lifeless shape on the cot as if glad to be rid of her.

Given his hatred for the siren, she supposed she had to be grateful he’d thrown her over his shoulder in the first place. Perhaps he knew enough to understand that she wouldn’t forgive him if he let her lose someone else. She needed Dwyn, for better or for worse.

The defeated growl that tore from her throat made her want to summon a hole to fling herself into if she couldn’t do anything right.

“You’re going to freeze to death, Firi,” Tyr said.

He knelt in front of her, tipping her chin to look up at his face.

His black hair was inky with raindrops that dropped onto the floor.

The sharp, angled tattoo cut above the soaked collar of his tunic.

He chafed her arms for warmth. “Summon your flame.”

“And do what?” she managed through her shivers. “Burn down the shack?”

He leaned forward and crushed her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. It was the only thing that kept her from falling apart. He had no wisecracks about getting naked for body heat or jabs about manifesters. He simply held her until she stopped shivering.

“Where’s Sedit?”

He pulled away but didn’t meet her prodding gaze.

It was big of him, she thought, given his feelings for the manifested canine.

He loved animals—a quality that had driven him to his murderous hunt for revenge over the fate of his hound—and her demons could hardly be considered living things.

His restraint on the issue was the only thing keeping him from being banished to the arctic downpour.

Ophir could cry over how much she missed her dog—the first and only good thing she’d ever manifested.

She’d commanded Sedit to remain in the forest, far enough from them so he would neither be persecuted nor rouse suspicion.

She should have been the one left behind to wander the desert, she thought. Not her creations.

Dwyn made the first noise she’d made in hours.

Tyr looked over his shoulder, then back at Ophir.

“I’m going to need to shift back into the space between things before she wakes up,” he said.

“What?” Ophir leaned away so she could look at him fully. She squinted at him through the dim light filtering between the cracks in the boards. “Why?”

Tyr sucked in a breath. She didn’t understand his expression.

“So many reasons,” he said after several long moments. “I think we’re in Raascot. Based on the trees and mountains, I assume we’re just outside of Gwydir. You’re going to need Ceneth’s help. You’re his betrothed. He won’t want another man sniffing around you.”

Ophir was incredulous. “Neither of us want to be in this arranged marriage! He loved my sister. He barely tolerates me. The feeling is mutual.”

“He’s a monarch, as are you,” Tyr argued. “Appearance is everything. We can’t humiliate him by having a lover move in with you the moment you arrive at his castle.”

Ophir’s eyes became slits. “Dwyn and I have fucked,” she said. “Shouldn’t I get rid of her, too, by that logic?”

“Trade on their assumptions. Let sexism work in your favor so you don’t lose both of us,” he sighed.

Ophir could barely whisper the next two words. “Lose you?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m not going anywhere. But for all intents and purposes, I need to appear gone, and…” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if Dwyn can lie. She’s too blunt, too confident to play it close to the vest.”

Her eyebrows bunched. Something was odd about his delivery. His tone landed false, though she couldn’t explain why.

“You already have a mission for vengeance. You need to garner favor while you can if you hope to get away with whatever schemes will get you vengeance for Caris’s murder.”

Ophir struggled through his words. A headache bloomed as she tried to make sense of them. She drove her fingers into her temples to massage the tension, barely managing to shake her head.

While she tended to the throbbing between her ears, he added, “Can you say with certainty that Dwyn wouldn’t let something slip through a snide comment or sarcastic remark?

We have to assume his walls have ears. Dwyn and I would need to remain peaceable within Castle Gwydir or we’d raise suspicion, and the two of us have never gone an hour without fighting.

Could she be trusted to be convincingly amicable, no matter what happens?

Could we trust her acting skills under Ceneth’s watchful eye? ”

The pounding subsided as the topic changed back to Dwyn. Deceiving monarchs was an easy pastime. She understood the game.

Ophir’s face softened as she leafed through her memories. He had a point. She’d seen Dwyn and Tyr interact countless times, and the only constant in her life was how antagonistic they were toward one another.

Ophir shifted out from under Tyr’s hold and knelt beside Dwyn. The tips of her index and middle fingers found the weak pulse on the siren’s throat.

“She’s fine,” Tyr insisted.

But he didn’t know why she was so worried. How could he? She hadn’t seen Dwyn at all in the moments since Dwyn had fallen unconscious. Instead, she’d seen sister’s lifeless form. She’d smelled roses and tasted bitter drinks.

“There’s one more thing. I know this doesn’t need to be said, but you know what you are. I know what you are. The others…”

The swallow caught in Ophir’s throat. She was a manifester.

She’d created a venomous snake the size of a horse.

She’d made dripping black hounds, rotting horses, and a dragon and its rider that had thrust an entire city into a spiral of madness and death.

Anyone who learned what she was would be terrified.

“Who would I tell?” she said, heart aching at the question. Her sister was dead. She’d fled her family. Her only friends were inside this shack.

They were quiet until Dwyn showed signs of waking.

“Please don’t go,” Ophir asked of him.

“I won’t,” he said, still holding her hand as he disappeared before her eyes.

She steeled herself against the loss she felt, even knowing he was in the room with her.

She helped Dwyn into a sitting position, manifesting her new clothes, helping her warm by the fireplace she summoned.

Ophir told a flimsy lie about how she’d dragged her through an unknown door, and Dwyn was too groggy to question the story.

She slept. She woke. She planned.

Tyr slipped his hand into hers as they carved through the forest to let her know he was there.

She and Dwyn didn’t exchange more than a few words as they picked their way between the enormous fir trees.

She asked Dwyn if the siren could use a borrowed ability as a tracker, but Dwyn sadly informed her that she had nothing left.

Tyr tugged her slightly, and she turned her head to look through the empty space where he walked. He’d been right to get her attention.

“Dwyn?”

The siren stopped in her tracks. “Where the hell are we?”