Page 30 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)
Seventeen
“Interesting.” Zita smiled.
Suley followed her queen’s gaze through the arched window into the castle’s front gardens.
Zita had caught Suley riffling through the kitchen’s liquor cabinets, hoping for a way to quiet the noise.
Her meeting with Dwyn had only exacerbated her state of relentless agitation.
Zita had wrapped her fingers around a bottle of brandy and led them to a room off the primary dining area.
She’d tipped a shot of dark, sweet liquor into each of their hot teacups.
It was never too early in the day for a drink.
The northern wind had picked up, rendering the evenings too cold for time outside.
Besides, as Suley had pointed out, it was just as noisy in the garden as it was indoors.
Suley caught what Zita had spied between the iron lattice of the windowpanes.
Past the half-naked branches, beyond the dark stone buildings, and just over the black, idle river that separated the castle from the city, a man approached on foot.
No one accompanied him. While the streets were more or less vacant in the chill, she’d spent enough time in Raascot to spot the coppers and bronzes of its people.
The face approaching did not quite have the colorless skin of Farehold, the rich tones of Tarkhany, nor the light browns of Raascot.
“Is that him?”
“You tell me,” Zita responded.
“You haven’t seen him either?”
Zita tilted her head. “I’m told there was a Sulgrave man spotted at the Sunrise Slaughter, but as you’ll recall, it was not I who was present.
” Zita’s eyes narrowed. Suley heard the onslaught of noise as the queen saw flashes of Tempus in the orange, black, and white gown moments before the winged serpent had appeared to forever change the world.
Suley leaned her forehead against the cool glass. “He’s handsome,” she said idly.
Zita took a slow sip of the hot tea, enjoying the burn of the liquor and the warmth of the aromatic leaves.
Her gaze raked over the man in the distance before returning to the wine.
She blew out a puff of air before saying, “He has a stronger build than I would have expected. Most fae men are lithe for agility.”
Suley’s lower lip lifted, pouting slightly as she continued to watch him through the window.
Two Raascot centurions had exited the front gates of Castle Gwydir to meet him.
She watched the exchange, not caring what was spoken.
She watched the Raascot fae, one winged and one without the black, crow-like feathers, as they intercepted the man.
“You’d think someone who could step into the place between things would care more about being silent than having strength.
I can’t fathom his incentive for all those muscles. ”
Zita said, “Perhaps someone who relies on their silence for survival knows a thing or two about what it means to feel powerless.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it?”
Zita raised a brow.
“A princess of Farehold has abandoned her countrymen. Is it odd that she’s surrounded herself with people who aren’t her own? Do you think she’s defected to Sulgrave?”
“You know her thoughts,” Zita said. “You tell me.”
Suley had nothing to say. She couldn’t speak to the princess’s thoughts, or rationale, or of the company she kept. She asked, “What tale will they spin? On his arrival, that is?”
Zita lifted a shoulder. “Does it matter? I told the princess that you and I knew—no one else. To all the world, this man—one briefly spied at best—was left amid the calamity in Midnah. She decided of her own accord that it was best for him to step into the light. I’m curious to see how the castle will react to another foreign guest. It has its share of dignitaries from the continent’s corners as it is.
When it comes to Ophir, I don’t know what to make of her, but… I like her.”
Suley shifted her face slightly. She looked at her queen, resting her cheek against the chilled glass. She frowned. “I’ve heard the noise about Ophir and her sister. Everyone says the wrong princess died.”
Zita reclined against the wall and drained her glass—thirty silver crowns of burgundy liquid vanquished in three swallows. She made a satisfied noise before reaching for the glass once more, refilling hers nearly to the brim.
“ Everyone ”—her voice rested heavily on the word—“allowed the world to turn precisely as-is for six centuries. Perhaps everyone does not have an opinion worth valuing.”
***
“Dwyn. What a pleasant surprise to see you out of your room before lunchtime,” Evander said tightly. She drifted up to four men: three of Raascot lineage and one all-too-familiar Sulgrave face.
Dwyn flashed her sweetest smile. “I’m so glad you think so.”
Evander did an impressive job of maintaining a neutral expression, though his eyes betrayed his displeasure.
His posture remained rigid as he stood in the foyer between two of Raascot’s centurions and the man he perceived to be a new, unfamiliar addition to the castle.
He kept his hands clasped behind his back, ever the courtly advisor.
“I presume you two know each other?”
Dwyn kept her expression soft. “You presume correctly.”
She looked between Evander, the centurions, and Tyr, who was subpar at controlling his impatience.
He did his best to express stately sincerity, and his best fell short.
Dwyn recalled a poignant encounter where Harland had accused her of needing acting lessons.
She had half a mind to whistle for the guard now to have him weigh in on Tyr’s disappointing performance on the landing.
“We traveled together from Sulgrave,” Tyr said, delivery flat. “After the slaughter, I was surprised to find my companions had left. I’m grateful there was a direct link between Tarkhany and Raascot.”
Evander looked over Tyr’s shoulder, as if to peer through the trees and perceive the door that stood in the forest. He frowned. “What’s to keep everyone in Tarkhany from coming through the door?”
Dwyn scoffed, drawing their attention to her irreverent expression.
“The climate, of course. We’re already freezing, and it isn’t even true winter.
Do you think anyone from Tarkhany is going to want to step into the snow?
In their fair-weather fashion? Prop another rock against the door during the temperate months if it gives you peace of mind. ”
“You’re quite a bit farther north than us, are you not?” Evander asked.
“And far more powerful,” she said. “We mastered the climate long ago.”
He looked to Tyr for clarification, but Tyr did not contradict her.
The skeptical gaze hit her from two sides. Tyr seemed unsure as to why she was helping him. Evander maintained his walls of distrust. Fair enough, she thought. Evander was right to be wary.
Dwyn shrugged. “I was just headed out to see the city. Tyr, would you like to take a walk?”
Evander said, “Our guest has just arrived. There are meetings to be had, things to be discussed, and I’m sure he’ll want to settle in.”
“He’ll be free for all of those meetings when we return,” Dwyn dismissed.
“I’ll send a guard with you.”
“That’s quite all right,” Dwyn said. “We’re merely sightseeing.
I suspect we’ll walk along the river and be back within the hour.
I don’t know if you know this about Sulgrave, but our city is beautiful.
The mountains are to die for. I have no idea how Gwydir could possibly compare.
I’m just curious what Tyr will think! I’d love to wander Gwydir so that he and I can judge your capital in private. ”
Evander blinked.
Dwyn looped her elbow through Tyr’s arm and marched him beyond the castle doors.
She regretted not grabbing a cloak, but it was nothing she couldn’t solve within a moment.
The early evidence of winter came in the form of a few stray snowflakes.
A biting chill whipped her dress to the side, lashing her hair against her face.
Despite herself, she huddled into Tyr’s shape, hoping he’d block the winter wind.
She waited until their feet hit the bridge over the dark, slow-moving river before she allowed them to speak.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He kept his voice to a whisper despite their distance from the castle.
Dwyn scanned the smattering of faces that rushed in from the streets to escape the chill. Inclement weather aside, it was still a city. She huffed. “We made a deal,” she said. “And I’m here to make good on my end. Pick a civilian. It’s time to teach you how to drain.”