Page 35 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Twenty-One

For fuck’s sake . Harland jogged down the ornate runner in the corridor to catch up to his king.

Samael trailed half a corridor behind, not bothering to run.

Harland’s temper curled up his spine like a snake weaving itself around a staff.

He needed his king to take him seriously, but the man was impossible.

Ophir was the best of them, even if Eero refused to see it.

“Your Majesty.” Harland’s voice came out tight with stress. The lack of concern in Eero’s eyes only heightened his stress. “Something is wrong. Ophir declined our invitation to meet—”

“Ophir is temperamental,” Eero said. “She always has been.”

Harland’s lips pursed. He looked over his shoulder at Samael, who eyed him with cool evaluation. He pushed, “It’s not just that. We’ve tried to make contact with Raascot, with Tarkhany, even with her Sulgrave companions—”

“Cybele has it covered,” Eero responded.

The light caught against his golden eyes—as gold as the crown upon his head, as gilded as the royal irises that beamed from Ophir every time she looked at him.

He’d only looked into her crown-gold eyes once in weeks, though he knew he was to blame for the shift.

Eero moved swiftly through the halls as he led them toward the meeting. Their time for recess had come and gone. Three days had passed, and only one thing remained. Three kingdoms hinged on a final decision.

“Sir, with respect, your fertilization fae does not have it under control.”

“Don’t question me, Harland. My family has used her for generations. A baby can fix any doomed marriage.”

Harland felt like choking. He hated Cybele, from her tightly curled hair and her generous frame to her false smile and unconscionable power.

He hated his king for bringing her. He hated the man’s harmful, backward thoughts on the issue—though, given what he’d learned from Zita at the summit, perhaps Eero was more corrupt than he’d dared to imagine.

The only blessing the All Mother had granted was in allowing the useless woman to sit in her rooms during the final summit.

She’d played her role. She’d cursed Ophir.

If they had her way and Ophir used the wedding rings…

Harland shook it from his mind, focusing on his king. “Dwyn poses a far greater threat than—”

“Once my insolent child has that ring on her finger, Dwyn’s hovering influence will all but vanish. She will be checked by Ceneth’s calm temperament, and he will be beholden to his bride’s kingdom. It’s a perfect solution.”

Harland reminded himself that it was a crime to tell his king that any of Ophir’s insolence was clearly inherited. He itched for Samael to arrive and use his coolheaded privilege to hold Eero accountable. In the meantime, Harland emphasized, “I’m telling you: something is wrong.”

Samael caught up with them at last. Blue, evening light lit the level-headed advisor as he fell into step with them.

The king disregarded Harland entirely. He looked instead to the even-keeled Samael. “Settle an argument: Is something wrong, or is everything going according to plan?”

Samael didn’t avert his gaze as he said, “That’s a subjective question with an equally subjective answer.”

Eero’s eyebrows lowered. “Is something wrong for my reign as king and my power in Farehold?”

Samael looked up and to the side. “Probably.”

Eero’s mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Samael didn’t have to shrug. The relaxing of his face did it for him. He looked between Harland and Eero before saying, “It wasn’t necessary, Your Highness. You’ve made it clear you’re not receiving external advice at this time. You’re on the path you wish to be on.”

Eero was aghast. “You know I’d hear anything you had to say, Samael. It is your goddess-granted gift. Now, tell me: What do you say about this meeting?”

Harland gaped at his peer, unsure as to how Samael maintained such calm neutrality regardless of who cried out. He never seemed perturbed. Perhaps his gift for discernment comforted him, reassuring him that either the one screaming was wrong or that there was no use in worrying.

Samael merely looked at the king before saying, “Things are not stacked in your favor, Your Majesty.”

“That’s impossible,” Eero insisted. “I brought Cybele and the gifts for the wedding for exactly this purpose! Perhaps I didn’t go into the summit with cards, but by the goddess, I’ll leave with them!

Ophir will be forced to fall into line as soon as she’s wed.

We have it covered. We’ve thought of every conceivable outcome and acted to preempt it. ”

“If you say so,” Samael said, his tone making it clear he had no dog in the fight.

“The problem is Dwyn, isn’t it?” Harland needled.

Samael chewed on the question. “No. That said: she is a problem, and one that has not been solved, despite our king’s insistence that his ruse is foolproof.”

“Because it is!” Eero stamped his foot. “A foreign witch arrived to influence my daughter? I will simply free her from the ability to be influenced!”

Samael leveled his gaze. “Powerful men who refuse to seek outside counsel must know what’s best. Perhaps their wealth will buy their desired outcome. Or maybe it won’t. I suppose we’ll see.”

“You’re at my side to advise me,” Eero snarled.

“What advice would you take, when it contradicts your desires? I suppose it’s too late for your sycophants to be present at the meeting.”

The king jutted a threatening finger toward Samael’s throat. “Be careful if you wish to keep your head.”

“As is your right, Your Majesty.” Samael was unperturbed, to the king’s speechless displeasure.

Eero turned on his heel as he stormed into the room. Samael’s face remained impassive in the face of the king’s agitation, but Harland knew this was why Samael hadn’t said more.

Regardless of what Eero said or did from this moment on, the die was cast.

***

“I don’t have to remain visible. I’ll come unseen,” Tyr said. He appeared to be trying to look relaxed against the wall, but everything from the flex of his shoulders to the tick in his jaw revealed his agitation.

“Don’t bother,” Ophir grumbled. They were less than ten minutes away from their final summit, and she was a restless sea before the storm.

He eyed her with extreme suspicion as she tossed gown after gown onto the bed.

Her fingers wrapped around a thigh-length sweater and a fur-lined pair of leather leggings.

He understood the warmth they served, but he couldn’t comprehend Ophir’s fashion choices.

He knew, however, the message she intended to send by forgoing pretty dresses in favor of the only pair of pants in her armoire.

She snatched a suitable pair of shoes. They were not the delicate shoes for princesses, not the heels for lovely evenings, not the flats for calm walks through the gardens, but warm, sturdy boots.

She slipped into them without saying a word.

She’d silently seethed since their revelation. Whatever she was planning, he wished she’d trust him enough to let him in.

“Ophir, if this is about Cybele, we should talk.”

She stopped amid her tirade, eyes flashing. She spun on him as she said, “Cybele is a symptom, not the disease. Eero is the sickness.”

He’d never heard her refer to King Eero by his name.

He wasn’t sure that he had the balls to call his parents anything other than Mother or Father.

He knew enough to tell that now was not the time to comfort her.

She didn’t need his head. She wasn’t interested in idle chatter or the mind-numbing games of marionettes and their puppets.

She needed his heart. She was intelligent enough to understand the way of the world, and she required only his validation.

He could share her fury, or he could leave.

“Do you know what you’re going to do in there?”

She finished tugging the sweater over her head. Locks of gold-brown hair sprang loose against the sweater’s neck, now coiling around her face. She glared at him. “Yes. Either he’ll admit his crimes to me or—”

“And if he does?” Tyr interrupted. “If he admits to everything? If he confesses? Will you forgive him?”

Her mouth bunched as if catching the forthcoming words like a net. She froze in place, fingers still deep in the thick sweater as she clenched them at his question.

“And what if the opposite? If he denies everything? I’m not going to tell you what to do, Princess, but for the love of the goddess, please tell me. What’s your plan?”

“They’ve bet their kingdoms on underestimating me,” she said, voice low. “My plan is to call their bluff.”

***

“You seem different.” Zita’s energy shifted as she surveyed her friend and advisor.

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather descended upon her.

She scanned Suley from top to bottom, eyes taking in the younger woman’s hair, her jewels, her clothes.

Everything was the same, yet… Her posture, the way her forehead had relaxed, and the gentle upward tilt to the corner of her lips suggested that something was off. “Suley, what’s happened with you?”

Suley gave an aloof smile. “Do you recall me asking to live in the Raasay Forest?”

Zita offered a slow, careful tilt of her chin.

“I was on to something. I knew Raascot would be good for my health.”

Zita wasn’t sure how to explain it, but she felt her entire body frown, from the knit of her brows and the bunch of her lips to the tension in her shoulders. Hassain paused at their side, a distant worry creasing his forehead. She barely spared him a glance as she examined the young woman again.

Zita tried to stop Suley before the meeting room, throwing out her arm. “Suley, what do you know?”

“Everything, as always.”

“Do you know anything that might change the outcome of this meeting?”

“Yes.”

Zita’s fingers flexed at her side. She caught Hassain’s flashed expression from her peripherals as she focused her attention on Suley once more. In the distance, footsteps approached. They had fewer than thirty seconds before they’d be expected within the summit.

“And? Are you going to tell me what it is you know?”

Suley stared at her queen with unflinching neutrality.

“Suley! Does anyone else know what you know?”

“My friend, my queen,” Suley said quietly. “I’m not worried, because I’m here with you. Your first gift is that of shielding, is it not? Even your second gift… Well, today we won’t need that. Someone else will do it for us. If I were you, I would ready myself for chaos.”

***

“Ceneth, listen!”

The King of Raascot paused in the hall. He glared at Evander, gaze bouncing off the corridor’s stones as he searched for his other advisor. The distant sounds of voices bubbled from around the corner. Aside from the rugs, curtains, and windows, the hall was empty. “What? Where is Onain?”

“She met your medium.” Evander grimaced.

Ceneth glared. “She had no right meeting with the medium behind my back.”

“She has every right, Your Majesty. You trust her for her judgment,” Evander argued. “She would never do anything if she didn’t think it was in the kingdom’s best interest. And—”

“The medium doesn’t know anything Caris says,” Ceneth cut in curtly. “They’ve told me time in and time out that they’re little more than a conduit. They aren’t privy to our conversations. I don’t know why Onain would speak to them without my consent.”

“The medium went to her, Your Majesty. They said that every time you met with Caris, your late beloved has reiterated that the darkness drew nearer. The only thing that grew sharper was blackness. Those were your words, according to the medium. Their concern is with the fate of the kingdom.”

“Are you trying to tell me Caris’s wishes?” Ceneth bit, no kindness in his voice.

“Please, Your Majesty.” Evander’s pleas were reverent but desperate.

He positioned his body in the middle of the hall.

“What if this was the storm Caris foretold? What if the closer we drew to the meeting, the more certainty she saw surrounding its outcome? When Onain met with the medium, she came to the conclusion that there would be no peaceable resolution. She called for the meeting’s cancellation. ”

“I will not cancel it.”

Evander clasped his hands tightly behind his back.

“Six of your servants were murdered in broad daylight, Your Majesty. Your castle walls have been invaded. The lockdown has been ignored. The ambassadors and visitors have disregarded every precaution, each insisting they’re uniquely prepared to fight off a murderer.

The killer roams free. Onain understands this, and it brought her deep regret.

She wishes you would reconsider, but she knows you will not. ”

“And so she stays back? Then Onain is a coward and not fit to be my advisor.”

Evander lifted his hands as if to push back against his king’s chest. He stopped just short of making contact, saying, “You trust her for a reason, Your Highness. If you were guaranteed to lose a battle, would you be a coward for refusing to fight? It sounds like wisdom.”

“Evander, this is the most times you’ve used my royal titles in more than a decade. Speak plainly.”

“This summit will go poorly, Your Maj—Ceneth.”

“And?” Ceneth looked around. “The meeting is in five minutes. What would you have me do? You’re my advisor and my guard, Evander. Am I not safe in your company?”

“In Onain’s absence? I’d have you call Galena. You trust her gifts to neutralize those who might harm you, do you not?”

Ceneth frowned. “She’s not an advisor. Would I summon her and offend the monarchs from two of Gyrradin’s corners?”

“They don’t know of her powers,” he said. “They have no reason to believe her presence will be any different than having Onain beside you. They don’t know our customs, our people, our ways. To all outside eyes, Galena is another court advisor.”

“But with the woman there, I’d be calling a summit of humans,” Ceneth argued. “The monarchs, their escorts, the—”

“No one would use their abilities within a summit unless they meant harm. There is no need for magic at a meeting of the minds. It’s wise to have her at your side, Your Majesty…Ceneth.”

The king frowned. “Your skin won’t be impenetrable if she’s present,” Ceneth cautioned.

“I know. But it’s the right call.” Evander remained firm.

“Has Onain given her divine discernment on the wisdom of having a neutralizer present?”

Evander’s struggle to conceal his frustration was not subtle. He said, “Onain’s only position is that the meeting should be canceled. As I see it will not, please take my advice in her stead, and summon Galena.”

“Fine,” Ceneth conceded. “Call for her to attend. And do it quickly.”