Page 20 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Twelve

Ophir’s throat constricted as a high, horrible sound sliced her courtyard meeting with the queen in half.

She and Zita whipped their heads toward the castle following a bone-chilling scream.

The bushes, the cloudless sky, the relaxing statues in the gardens fell away as her eyes fixed on the door that separated them from unknown horrors.

A thousand possibilities flashed through Ophir’s mind. Her first thought was a childlike fear: intruders, strangers, invasion. Her second was far more likely: they were living through the Sunrise Slaughter of Midnah all over again, and her creations were to blame.

“Hassain!” Zita called for her man’s readiness, but it was unnecessary.

The guard’s hand had flown to the hilt of his sword the moment they’d heard the scream. He took off toward the noise.

Someone else might have frozen, or hidden, or run away. Not Ophir. She rushed from the garden with the queen quick on her heels. They scarcely exchanged glances as they hiked their skirts and rushed over the stones. The single screams became two, three, dozens of voices reacting in horror.

“Stay back, Your Majesty,” Hassain urged.

Sedit ? Ophir prayed her hound hadn’t darted into the castle. She’d commanded him to stay away and would be horrified if her demonic beast had rushed in on the servants.

Hassain unsheathed his weapon and crouched, ready to strike, as he moved toward the impending danger.

Neither Ophir nor Zita, it seemed, was one to take advice.

They hurried behind the man. Ophir was confident she could handle whatever nightmare gripped Castle Gwydir, first with flame, then with everything she possessed.

It was challenging to run in skirts, but they rounded two corners and pushed past the door to the kitchen to see—

Shit .

Ophir skidded to a halt. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

A pot of stew bubbled happily over the crackling fire.

Half-sliced bread remained on the counter.

Piles of fruit and chocolates had been pushed to one side.

A single bottle of wine was tipped over, the berry-dark liquid dripping from the butcher-block table onto the stone floor, as if everyone had been halted in the middle of suppertime duties.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

The withered, papery husks of six servants littered the kitchen floor, mouths ajar in silent, frozen screams, eyes shriveled like grapes dried to raisins in the sun.

Their linen clothes clung to their limp forms, now three times too big for the skeleton-stretched skins they wore.

A plump, healthy human continued screaming, each sound as deranged as the one before it.

A fae male rushed to her side and pressed his hands into her temple, soothing the unhinged onslaught of wails.

She sniffled slightly as she sank to the floor, quietly clutching her knees to her chest.

Ophir knew only one culprit who left mummified husks in her wake.

Dwyn, what have you done ?

The princess turned and pushed past the gathering crowd of shocked servants, of agitated castle guards, and the jostling form of the king’s advisor as she stumbled toward her room.

“Princess?” Evander asked, eyes wide at her harried expression. He reached out a hand to steady her.

“Help the servants,” she said, pushing him to the side.

The man released her. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see such atrocities.”

She faced away, hoping he thought she did so in mourning. Yes, of course, she should have been upset by seeing dead bodies. She was meant to be a delicate princess, untouched by senseless brutalities and the horrors of magic. She was upset, all right, but not for the reason she should be.

Fury was her guide as she felt her way back to her rooms. She hadn’t spent much time out of them since arriving in Gwydir.

She also hadn’t left her room much in Tarkhany, or her one in Aubade after Caris’s death, for that matter.

Despite her insistence on introversion, she knew enough of the castle’s layout to storm back to her chamber.

She put as much distance between herself and the kitchen as she could before a low, firm voice halted her.

“Ophir, stop!”

She ran into a hard, invisible wall.

A male grunt mixed with her angry cry.

Tyr’s voice was tense and hurried as he begged her to listen. “Think about what you might be running into. If Dwyn—”

“She won’t hurt me.” Ophir shoved past Tyr.

He grabbed her wrist so hard that she almost yanked her arm from its socket in her haste to get away.

Tyr pressed, “You have to see what this means, Princess. Look at what she did. Maybe she won’t harm you, but clearly, she’ll hurt anyone else.

This wasn’t one murder. She killed six .

She is ready with an arsenal of powers, Ophir. Whatever she knows—”

“What is there to know!” Ophir practically shrieked.

She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he’d flinch away from her refusal to lower her voice.

“Dwyn knows you’re here. That’s why she did this.

We heard it from Zita herself. I left Dwyn alone with Suley.

What else could it possibly be? Those servants’ lives are on our hands, Tyr. If we had just told her—”

“It is not normal, it is not sane , to hear someone you dislike is present and go on a murderous rampage. She is unwell, Ophir. She’s dangerous. She—”

Ophir rammed her opposite hand against the empty air and connected with his chest. When he remained immobile, she shoved again. He was ten seconds away from becoming a gaping hole of singed clothes and blisters if he didn’t get the fuck out of her way.

“What, Tyr? What else could be worth murdering six of Ceneth’s attendants after several weeks of good behavior? She’s stockpiling. She’s fucking furious.”

“This is my fault,” he said quickly. “I’ll come in with you.”

“You’re right. It is your fault. If we had just told her, this wouldn’t be happening. You’re the problem, and you will not be a part of the solution.”

He squeezed her arm. “Yes, I will. She can’t hurt me. Anything she does to me—”

“Your tattoo? Yes, I know. I understand enough about your fucking blood gang.” Ophir shook off his touch. “But this isn’t about your safety. She feels betrayed by me , and she deserves to hear it from me. I need to make this right between us.”

Tyr made a surprised noise.

“What?” she bit.

“I just… I didn’t think…”

Ophir narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t think I cared about her? Why, because you and I sleep together? Don’t be possessive. It’s not a good look for you.” This time, when she stormed past him angrily, he let her by.

She’d been poised to look like a villain in Dwyn’s eyes after all the siren had done for her, and she resented Tyr for it more than she could say.

Ophir paused at the door to her room. Her fingers hovered just above the handle, gathering her breath.

After she rallied her courage, she pushed into the room to find…

nothing. Dwyn wasn’t on the bed. She wasn’t in the bathing room.

She wasn’t at the window, or at the desk, or hiding in a shadow. She was nowhere to be found.

***

Tyr watched Ophir’s posture change. She went from tense and ready for a fight to the sloped shoulders of disappointment. She’d wanted to find Dwyn. She turned from the room and headed back down the hall without another word.

Tyr knew better.

He slipped into her bedroom chambers before the door closed.

He’d barely rematerialized, still stepping out from the place between things when Dwyn descended on him.

Her dark hair billowed behind her like a goddess of the underworld.

Despite the early evening, she was in a nightdress that scarcely graced the tops of her thighs—perhaps the closest piece of fabric in arm’s reach before she’d torn off on her tirade.

The stark black tattoo crawled from her knee up her thigh, disappearing beneath the silky slip of fabric.

She raised her hand just in time for him to react.

Dwyn threw a ball of flame so large it filled the entire hall.

Tyr barely jumped into the alcove to avoid its inferno before she was upon him.

The fire glanced harmlessly off the stones and windowpanes, catching on the curtains and rugs until they were little more than smoldering ashes.

“Let me guess,” he said, gasping as he stepped out of the alcove. “Tracking, true sight, and flame?”

“Great job, dog. Three down, three to go,” she said through gritted teeth. Dwyn’s dark eyes glinted with the wildness of a rabid animal.

“Dwyn, hang on.” He lifted his hands as he stumbled to the side. Tyr had grown rusty. He’d relied so heavily on stealth that he wasn’t prepared to face anyone in combat. Especially not someone who would reflect his injuries. He couldn’t risk hurting her.

Fire sparked between the knuckles of her raised fist.

“They’re going to put the castle on lockdown after your rampage. The summit is at stake. Ophir will surely be met with suspicion. If you—”

She lifted a handful of fire and flung it for him once more.

“Dwyn! I’m not the only one you’re going to hurt if you keep this up!”

“I have a plan,” she grunted. She flicked her hand at her side, but only a few sparks came from her fingertips. If her fire was wearing out, then perhaps her true sight was as well.

“The secret is out, Dwyn,” he said, keeping her at a distance.

“You learned this from Suley, right? I know. The fae hears thoughts. She informed Zita. She told everyone. But Dwyn!” He had to jump to stay out of range of her thrashing.

He shouted to get her to listen, saying, “Ophir is not at fault for this. She wanted to tell you! I made her promise.”

Dwyn gasped against another thrust fist.

“Ophir didn’t do this,” he said again, praying no one in the castle would hear.

“Explain!” She made another animal sound as she lunged for him, ready to tear out his throat.

Tyr flattened his back against the wall, waiting until she swung her fist. The moment he saw it descend, he dove out of the way, narrowing avoiding the strength she’d stolen.

His eyes widened at her recklessness. If she’d broken his skull, she’d be dead.

Could she truly be so angry that she’d sacrifice her own life for revenge?

His hand slipped against the arched windowpane, and he skidded out of its radius.

He couldn’t risk the tinkering sound of shattered glass if he hoped to keep them concealed.

“Because!” Tyr gasped, barely dodging her fist again.

He struggled to control his tone as he emphasized, “After you and I made our deal, I didn’t think we’d be able to keep Ophir in the dark, and I didn’t want her to have to see our glances.

I didn’t want her to feel like we were hiding anything.

She needs to know she can trust us, and that’s easier for her to do if she does it individually. ”

Dwyn froze, fist still raised. Her chest rose and fell with angry huffs as she stared at him, muscles still flexed in impending rage.

Her bare feet remained glued to the hall floor, lips peeled back in a permanent snarl, but she did not advance.

Her anger visibly sizzled and smoked out as she considered his words.

As her rage dissipated, it was almost as if he watched Dwyn shrink from the size of the mighty ag’drurath to her fae form, a full head and shoulders smaller once more.

“It seemed easier for neither of us to speak. I’m sorry, Dwyn. I spared us all from having to act.”

Her dark eyes rose to meet his. A distant, mistrustful flame reignited as she frowned, saying, “Except, Ophir was acting. She knew you were here.”

“All she knew was that I didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the castle. She’s innocent in this.”

He continued to watch her face as it twitched, emotions ranging from acceptance, to confusion, to anger.

He saw fury course through her in moment of realization as she used her forearm to pin Tyr to the wall.

She stood on her toes to ram her arm into the tender space against his jugular as she snarled, “You’re sleeping with her. ”

It wasn’t a question.

“She genuinely cares for you,” Tyr grunted against the pain in his neck, wondering how Dwyn wasn’t also harming her own windpipe with the pressure.

“Believe me, I wish she didn’t. I wish she couldn’t tolerate you.

I wish she thought of you as a friend or a distraction, but she cares for you, and I hate it, Dwyn. ”

Dwyn coughed, words strangled as if muffled beneath a pillow as she responded. “Come on, you sop. You do not—”

It was the only confirmation he needed. This hurt her every bit as much as it hurt him. He nodded slowly against the pressure on his throat. “I do.”

“You…you love her.”

Her shoulders slumped. She eased her weight off his throat as she sank onto the flats of her feet.

Her face continued to flash between conflicting emotions as she tore her eyes from him, staring into the depths of the blue-black stones of Castle Gwydir.

She pushed away from him at long last, standing in the middle of the hall.

“What do we do?” she asked.

He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t asking him. She didn’t give a shit what he thought. She merely talked to hear the sound of her own voice. She rolled the question over in her mind, testing its weight in her hands as she thought through the problems and their outcomes.

“We work together,” he answered with pained reluctance.

If it weren’t for the distant sounds of still-crying servants and the burble of evening, they may have been given over to the belief that they were alone in the world. They stared at one another for a long, long while.

“I won’t share her,” she said quietly.

He knew from her posture, her tone, her demeanor, that she understood.

“You don’t have a choice.”