Page 38 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Twenty-Three

The dust had settled, but the rubble remained.

The tide of chaos refused to ebb.

Harland’s forehead remained creased in worry. He closed his eyes as he began, “The healers say—”

“This isn’t about the healers,” Samael said calmly.

In the days following the destruction of Castle Gwydir, it had taken every man, woman, and volunteer to piece together the castle wing from its rubble.

It was three days into efforts to repair and recover before Hassain had fully healed and it was revealed that he could speak to stone.

Zita had consented to his volunteering for Gwydir in spite of the Farehold presence.

The party from Farehold inquired as to whether or not they should pay their respects at Evander’s funeral, but they were asked to remain in their chambers for their day.

Grieving his memory was for his people and his family, they’d said.

“Did you know this would happen?” Eero asked Samael. “Is this what you were speaking about so opaquely? Is this why your sister was not in attendance?”

Samael showed no capacity for worry. He said, “I told you that things wouldn’t turn out in your favor. They have not. I believe that means both my advice and predictions continue to be sound.”

Eero and Harland looked at Samael with a mixture of panic and frustration. The three men, still bandaged and healing while the tonics worked through their system, sat around a low-lying table in the wing of the castle that had been allotted to them.

“But the oracle—” Eero countered.

Samael waved a hand. “May I, King Eero?”

Eero’s expression crumpled. “You may.”

A rare hesitance crept into Samael’s voice. “You may not like what I’m about to say.”

“Speak your piece. We are in this position because of my hubris. Ignoring your wisdom was my great mistake.”

Samael met the king’s repentant gaze as he said, “I’m calling in our life debt.”

Eero’s lips parted. The air escaped the room as the king focused on his advisor.

“Now? When I need you most?”

Samael was unmoved. “I believe this is my purpose. Not only can Ophir manifest, but we’ve seen how her manifestation leads to destruction in Tarkhany and Gwydir—and those were just two events for which I’ve been present.

She sent her dragon south to Aubade, which means your people will face her wrath in the days to come. ”

Eero’s voice was numb. “Tell me what to do.”

“I cannot better the continent while serving you, Your Majesty. There is neither wisdom nor honor in allowing this to go unchecked. If I have a purpose in this life, I know it now. Judgment has led me to this calling. You can’t be responsible for checking your daughter.

She is your blood, and it wouldn’t be right to call upon you to do what it takes.

Ceneth can’t be responsible for stopping his bride.

Tarkhany has a laundry list of reasons to hold a vendetta against Farehold.

The nightmare that’s befallen the continent cannot be contained by any one of the kingdoms.”

Eero mumbled something about not understanding, but Harland fell to a single knee.

“Don’t make a scene, Harland,” Samael said.

Harland whipped out a dagger and locked eyes with Samael. “Swear something to me.”

Samael pursed his lips. He urged Harland to stand, but the man refused.

“ Swear it!”

“What?” Samael bared his teeth, revealing his fangs for the first time. He was rarely one to be caught off guard. They’d never seen him openly angry before this moment. Harland, on his knees, eyes wild with desperation, seemed to be his tipping point. Behind him, Eero remained in shocked silence.

“Make an oath with me. Make it now.”

“Stand, Harland.” Samael glared, temper showing beneath his facade of calm. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. I’m doing what must be done.”

Harland pressed the dagger into the meat of his hand. Blood trickled down his wrist. “Make an oath with me, Samael. Make it before our king releases you. Don’t hurt Ophir.”

Samael inhaled sharply through his nose. “Harland—”

“Swear it,” Harland begged again. “You’re right, Samael.

Your gift has brought you here because this cannot go unchecked.

Kill her monsters. Do what three of the continent’s kingdoms cannot.

Undo the blight she’s bringing upon the land.

Don’t allow her to destroy the world. Protect the citizens.

Monitor the magical imbalance. I honor it all, Samael.

I concede to every bit of it. Do what you must, but don’t hurt her. ”

Samael pursed his lips. “But—”

“Do what you must!” Harland repeated, hazel eyes alight with an inferno as if he’d borrowed Ophir’s gift for flame. “But don’t hurt her.”

Eero looked between the men, then to his feet. “I second Harland. I have no more heirs, and it appears I never may. Make this vow, and I will release you. Do not hunt my child.”

Samael looked up with something akin to disappointment.

It was not Ophir’s father who argued on behalf of her life.

The king stared mutely at the exchange happening before him.

If it weren’t for the crackling fire within the hearth catching against Eero’s eyes, there would have been no evidence that the king was alive at all.

“What do you propose?” Eero asked quietly. “And what does it have to do with my life debt?”

It had been three days since an entire wing of the castle had been laid to waste by Ophir and her dragon.

For nearly as long, Samael had remained a silent sentinel.

He’d never been exceptionally conversational, but this particular brand of silence suggested that other workings had gone on behind his eyes.

Now, on the end of the third day, he announced his plan.

“Your Majesty, I cannot act without bias in pursuing your daughter’s creations while I serve beneath you. I cannot remain a servant of Farehold.”

Eero’s brows knit. He asked, “Do you seek to return to Raascot?”

Samael’s frown deepened. “Raascot is not home. Neither for myself nor Onain. We’re here to serve the realm.

I’ve spoken with my sister, who has served an advisory role in Gwydir longer than I have in Aubade.

The world changed with the flick of Ophir’s wrist, Your Majesty.

We agree, this is not a job that can be done with bias to kings or masters. ”

“Say what it is you intend to say.”

Samael straightened his shoulders. “I’d request a reprieve from kingdoms and alliances.

I will serve neither Farehold nor Raascot—no agenda, save for the well-being of the continent.

” He turned to Harland. “We know of at least two of her dragons and at least two humanoid demons. Has she made anything else, to your knowledge?”

Harland closed his eyes. He didn’t look at his king before nodding in honesty. Yes, she had. No, Eero would be neither thrilled nor impressed that Harland had hidden such an integral piece of information from him.

“Do you have any idea as to her rate of creation?”

Harland shook his head sadly. “She began manifesting before she ran.”

“Manifesting,” Eero repeated quietly from his chair.

“And the dagger?” Samael arched a brow.

Harland pulled the dagger out of his palm.

Scarlet droplets ran down his arm, soaking into the cuff of his sleeve as he extended his hand to Samael.

“Serve no king. Do what you must, you altruistic bastard. But don’t hurt her.

Do this and I’ll spend every day until the end of my days ensuring that you’re able to perform your calling. ”

He extended the dagger to Samael.

“Truly? You would call for us to exchange blood?” Samael looked to Eero.

Eero said, “Take this vow, and I release you.”

Harland ignored their king entirely. He pushed out a rush of air through his nose before saying, “There are few moments in life that require a certain solemnity. This is one of them.”

Samael looked between the blade, his kneeling friend, and the man who’d been his king.

If the All Mother had put him on the earth for one reason, it was this.

He knew in his marrow that no one else would extinguish the blight on the land unless he rose to the occasion.

Wisdom told him this was the best deal he would be offered to fulfill his calling.

Samael accepted the dagger. His gaze remained on Harland’s as pain shot through him.

Hot rivers flowed from his hand, wrapping around his wrist and dripping onto the ground at his feet.

He allowed the blade to eat into his flesh, slicing into the meat of his palm before he clasped hands with Harland.

Their blood mixed as they sealed their promise.

“As long as you don’t hurt her.” Harland flexed his fingers, pulling Samael in closer.

“I’ll do what must be done.”

***

“Your Highness!” Harland cried after the northern king at the gates of Castle Gwydir. He’d scarcely caught the disappearing silhouette of Ceneth’s form as the winged king of Raascot slipped behind the front gates. “King Ceneth!”

Ceneth paused in the last dark-gray lights of dusk. He made a show of attempting to conceal his displeasure at Harland’s arrival, but his best was not enough. He snarled at the guard.

“I’m busy, Harland.” Ceneth looked back at the woman who’d been at the meeting. Their voices stayed low as she helped him cinch his weapon’s belt. This was something that an attendant should be doing, not someone the king considered an advisor.

“She shouldn’t have been able to do that,” the one called Galena was saying quietly.

Harland had heard her say a variation of this lament for three days as she remained in her shell-shocked state.

Every thought that passed her lips had been filtered through mourning and self-flagellation.

Thanks to Galena’s presence, Zita had been unable to call her shield.

Evander’s skin had been little more than flesh.

They’d heard it from her mouth and seen it on her face: she’d never be able to forgive herself for the mortality she’d brought into the room.

Ceneth looked to the neutralizer. “No one should be able to do what was done in that room. It’s manifestation.”

Galena shook her head. “She shouldn’t have been able to do anything. Why would everyone else’s abilities be rendered useless, save for hers?”

“Because,” Ceneth said, grunting absently as he continued to work on his hardened armor and the weapons at his side. He didn’t look at them as he said, “Manifestation is not magic.”

“Sir?”

“It’s godhood.”

“Is…” Galena struggled to keep up. “Is this the explanation for the six dead bodies within our walls? Another creature of hers?”

Ceneth’s noise was unintelligible, yet unmistakably translated as: How the hell am I supposed to know how far this bullshit extends ?

The king’s eyes flashed back to the guard. There was no kindness in his question as he asked, “What is it, Harland? Why are you here? Hasn’t Farehold done enough?”

Harland eyed Ceneth, from the fighting leathers and the weapons to the hat, gloves, and winter boots. “You look like you’re going to battle.”

“Very perceptive.”

Harland’s words came out breathlessly. “Samael is asking to defect. His sister, Onain—”

“I know who his sister is.”

Harland bit down his reaction. He didn’t have time to luxuriate in surprise. Onain had clearly deemed that more relevant within the walls of Gwydir than Samael had amid Farehold’s party. “Has she spoken to you?”

Ceneth glared. “Yes.”

“And?” Harland prompted.

“And they’re right—that’s their gift, isn’t it? It’s hard to argue with someone whose goddess-granted ability is unimpeachable correctness.”

“Is she defecting with him?” Harland asked, shock coating his voice.

“She is.”

His eyes widened. “They’re positioning themselves against Ophir.”

“They’re positioning themselves against evil ,” Ceneth snapped.

“But—”

Ceneth stepped away from Galena. She dipped her chin, tucking her wings behind her in cordial submission. Harland knew nothing of the woman, but he understood everything of guilt. He had a feeling she’d spend her days trying to absolve the events of the summit.

“There’s a pair of mountains on our southern border that have remained unpopulated.

The territory has been under dispute for some time.

If Eero is amenable, I’m happy to concede it to their efforts.

Zita has already agreed to their use of her man and his ability to speak to stone.

It’s as good as done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, now is not the time. I have business to attend to.”

“Wait!” Harland reeled in surprise. Ceneth had treated the request for a neutral territory as if it were nothing.

He’d reacted to the concept of Samael’s demon-hunting league like it was little more than a fanciful idea.

“I made Samael swear not to hurt Ophir. I was going to ask Onain to do the same, if they are to work together…” Harland observed the man’s holstered weapons for the first time.

He caught not only the daggers strapped to each forearm but the sword belted to his hip.

“But perhaps there will be nothing to fight if you’re off to harm her. King Ceneth, please—”

Ceneth turned without speaking. He began walking toward the river. Harland jogged to keep up, voice hitching into desperation as he asked, “If you aren’t going to hurt her, then where are you going?”

Ceneth’s eyebrows arranged themselves in a hard, stoic line. He bent his knees to launch into the sky as he muttered, “To find my fucking fiancée.”