Page 23 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Fourteen

An iridescent black smudge in the gardens was all that remained of Ophir’s bloodthirsty moth.

She wondered where it had gone, or what it would do now that it was free.

She thought despondently of the vageth she’d set free, the serpents slithering along the coast, and the undead horse that wandered somewhere on the outskirts of the desert.

She trudged through the halls, her mind flashing to an enormous winged serpent and its twisted familiar before she slammed the door on the memory, and with it, the door to her bedchambers.

Some part of her knew that there were consequences to creation.

Some part of her knew that the All Mother would hold her accountable for the nightmares she’d released into the world.

She held the knowledge close to her chest, squeezing it into the space between her ribs as she tried to feel something about the morbid information. But she did not. Perhaps the part of her that was meant to care had died with Caris.

“Princess Ophir?” a muffled voice called from the hall.

She cracked open the door to see her usual attendant. She was too tired for politeness, so she offered only an exhausted, quizzical brow.

The woman had seen enough of Ophir’s antics to avoid ever being nervous or overly polite in her presence again.

There was an informality about the exchanges among attendants, guards, military, nobility, and everyone in between throughout the citizens of Raascot that Ophir would never understand.

The servant rested her hands on her hips as she said, “King Eero has requested your presence for dinner. King Ceneth has granted the use of his dining room. His Majesty will not be in attendance—this meal is only for the citizens of Farehold. Shall I tell him you’ve accepted his invitation? ”

It was the longest day of her life. She’d woken up naked beside Dwyn, then suffered through a summit, a clandestine meeting in the gardens with Zita, the discovery of six withered husks in the kitchens, and an encounter with her sister’s ghost. She wanted to tell the woman that no, she didn’t have it in her to suffer any further.

Then again, perhaps it was better to compile all of the unpleasantness into a single unbearable day rather than draw it out.

“When is dinner?” Ophir asked.

“One hour, Princess. Would you like me to lay out fresh clothes?”

Ophir looked at the bed. “No. I’m going to lie down until dinner.”

“In that case, I’ll knock when it’s time to head to the dining hall.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes,” the attendant said, “I do.”

The woman departed without further argument.

The attendant had been right. Ophir had promptly fallen asleep in her clothes without bothering to crawl beneath the covers.

If it hadn’t been for the incessant knocking, she would have slept through dinner.

The attendant let herself into the room after a minute of relentless pounding only to roll her eyes at the deep red lines of evidence that the creases in the decorative pillow had left on Ophir’s cheek.

The attendant had a brush in her hand and began smoothing out the stray hairs before Ophir was fully awake.

“And your companion is where?” asked the attendant.

Ophir yawned as she looked around. She remembered with a jolt of alarm why she’d gone looking for Dwyn in the first place.

Her meeting with Caris had had a drugging effect, wiping her memory of the unpleasantness of the day as she focused only on the rip in her chest that her sister had left behind.

The servant’s hands stilled in their urgent tugging as she sensed Ophir’s breathing change.

“Your Highness, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ophir lied. Dwyn knew. Dwyn had killed six servants. Dwyn knew about Tyr. Dwyn was furious, and she was loose in the castle. Dwyn was—here.

“Firi!” Dwyn said brightly from the door. She smiled sweetly at the servant. “May I have five minutes with the princess?”

“She is needed at dinner.”

“It’s only five minutes. I promise on the All Mother’s honor. Step into the hall, count to three hundred, and let yourself back into the room. Then you can escort our fair princess to wherever it is that her royal obligations have taken her. Okay?”

The servant glared. She looked between Dwyn and Ophir before making a small, defeated noise. She closed the door behind her as she stepped into the hall.

“Dwyn, I—”

“I was angry, but it’s over now. We’re all on the same page,” Dwyn said. “I definitely tried to kill Tyr. I may have overreacted.”

Dwyn flattened her palms at Ophir’s wide eyes.

“I was unsuccessful, obviously! We exchanged. I yelled. He explained why it was his stupid idea in the first place, and that you were not to blame. I was hurt, Firi, but I understand. I am sorry for killing… How many was it?”

“Six.”

Dwyn bit her lip. “That’s right. Sorry about that. I know they’ll be your subjects soon.”

“The castle is freaking out, Dwyn,” Ophir hissed. “Everyone’s on the fritz. I was nearly forced back to my chambers on lockdown for my own safety. I can’t imagine what the other ambassadors are facing. I assume this dinner I’m about to attend will be surrounded by a dozen guards.”

“A lot of guards?” Dwyn chewed on the consequences. “That can be difficult to get around, but I’m sure I can manage them.”

“The answering guard is not the problem!”

“Oh, right. The security is a challenge, and I’m sure it’s made the summit more difficult. But the problem is because…”

“They were innocent people,” Ophir said through clenched teeth.

“Right.”

“If I may.” Tyr’s deep voice sounded from near the door as he stepped into sight.

Ophir’s heart lurched. She resisted the urge to run to him.

Though he’d been with her, she hadn’t seen his strong arms, his broad chest, his sly face in weeks.

“I’m sorry for putting you in the position to keep my secret, Firi.

Dwyn understood that I thought it would be easier to hide my presence from Ceneth and the castle if I wasn’t making both of you lie. ”

Dwyn hissed. “As if I can’t keep a secret.”

“Yes, but, we…fought it out,” he said.

Ophir’s eyes widened further.

“We’re both fine,” Dwyn said seriously. “And we can talk about it more, but clearly you have somewhere to be. Where are you going?”

She looked at her feet as she said, “My father has requested my presence. It’s only Farehold’s party.”

Dwyn frowned. Without missing a beat, she said, “Tyr, go with her.”

They blinked, startled, at Dwyn’s request.

“I can do it,” Dwyn said, “but if I step into the place between things and my borrowed ability runs dry in the middle of dinner, we might have a rather uncomfortable conversation ahead of us. You shouldn’t go alone.

” She turned to Tyr and pursed her lips, tapping her fingers impatiently against where she’d folded her arms over her chest.

Tyr was quick to agree. “Yes, of course I’ll come. Is that okay, Princess?”

Ophir made a face. “You have never once asked my permission before invading my privacy.”

“You’re exactly right,” he agreed. “No reason to start now. And unless my ears betray me, your attendant is just about to hit two hundred and eighty-five seconds. Let’s get going.” He took a backward step into the place between things.

Dwyn closed the space between them and snatched Ophir’s hands in her own.

She didn’t bother to look at where Tyr undoubtedly hovered.

Dwyn gave her a squeeze just as the attendant opened the door.

Ignoring the woman, Dwyn stared deeply into Ophir’s eyes as she said, “I truly am sorry for how I erupted. I was hurt, and I have a propensity for being a tad…reactionary. I’ll be here when you get back, but I just want you to know that it’s okay. Nothing has changed between us.”

She brushed Ophir’s lips lightly with her own before stepping away.

Ophir blinked in surprise.

“Princess—” came the attendant’s impatient voice.

Ophir walked wordlessly into the corridor and followed the woman to the dining room. She wasn’t surprised to be the last one to arrive. Punctuality had never been her strong suit.

“I expected armed guards,” she said. “Is no one concerned?”

“The attendants? They were just servants, Ophir,” King Eero said by way of greeting.

Everyone at the table stood as she entered.

She scanned the room that she’d visited only a few times during her stay in Gwydir.

The dining room was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows in beautiful glass arches with iron detailing on one wall, and the blue-black labradorite on its opposite walls.

Her eyes went first to Harland, then to her father.

She noted Samael on her father’s opposite side, and the same unknown woman beside the place setting that had undoubtedly been made for Ophir.

“Come here, Ophir,” said her father.

She approached him gingerly.

King Eero wrapped her into a hug. Despite the awkward angles of his uncomfortable arms, ones that had never been familiar with hugging his daughters, he said, “I’m truly sorry for everything. I’m especially sorry for how that meeting went.”

She had nothing kind to say nor anything clever at the ready, so she remained silent.

She peered over the shoulder of the hug to see Harland waiting behind him.

Her father released her, and she took a step toward her chair.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or irritated that she’d been seated beside Harland.

Last time they’d spoken, their words hadn’t been pleasant.

Their final morning in Tarkhany, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye as he’d sipped on the rose-scented poison.

He’d been unconscious before she’d escaped through the door.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Firi,” he said quietly.

“Given the murders?” she asked as he pulled out her chair.