Page 46 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Twenty-Seven

“What did he want?” Suley asked, one brow raised in wry curiosity.

She’d let herself into Zita’s chambers in the moments following Ceneth’s departure from their private meeting.

The king of the north had dipped his head in acknowledgment, tucking his enormous wings in behind him to allow her to pass as she slipped from the hall.

The door was now locked and closed behind her.

Her queen rose from where she’d been sitting at her ornately decorated desk and poured a second glass of wine, extending it to Suley.

“Shouldn’t you be able to tell me?” Zita asked, words ripe with implication.

Suley stood on unsteady feet as she maintained her question.

Zita matched the expression. “Sit, sit.”

Suley obliged. Zita’s room was larger and grander than her own, but it was built from the same dark, crystalline stone that had captured the stars themselves.

Zita’s bed was larger, decorated with intricate wood carvings down each individual post. Warm furs covered every surface, just as they did in Suley’s room.

She suspected that their Raascot hosts were doing their best to compensate for the unfamiliar change in climate.

Even in the deepest regions of the north, the bright scents of lemons and oranges rolled off her queen, banishing the local berry-rich perfumes she’d noted on the fae residents of Gwydir.

A lit fireplace burned with red-orange intensity, banishing chills and shadows from the suite.

Suley took her first generous swig of her wine while she listened.

“Ever since Farehold’s wayward princess stumbled down our streets, life has grown curiouser and curiouser. Raascot’s valiant king succeeded in locating the lovely conjurer. Ophir is expected back in Gwydir at any moment. He’s just requested that Tarkhany take credit for her demons.”

Suley couldn’t contain her surprise. “Demons? Plural?” Horrid memories of a long-necked serpent clinging to the cliffs of her seaside village pierced her mind.

She saw the moon shimmer on its wings as the screams of women and children joined the swelling noise.

The terrible face of a winged, humanoid monster filtering into the rectangle of the open-air window she’d once possessed.

Suley shuddered before asking, “And why in the goddess’s good name would Tarkhany do that? ”

Zita’s amusement didn’t waver. “We’ve named the ag’drurath.

Its name is known. It seems that most of the demons have a similar skin—one more suited to the reptiles and amphibians of our warm climates than that of the north.

Ceneth is requesting continuity to help the people accept their existence.

The demons, in theory, could be native wildlife. ”

“Because,” Suley began slowly, “the people know nothing of Tarkhany, and we’re to exploit that ignorance. It’s an achievable goal, but why? How would it serve anyone?”

She watched as Zita’s smile widened.

“Everyone wins, dear Suley. Tarkhany won’t be bothered.

If the sands weren’t enough to deter them, the threat of monsters will keep one hundred generations of zealous, conquering foes far from our lands.

They’ve taken enough. With fear in their hearts and our name wiped clean from their mouths, they’ll take no more. ”

Suley drank deeply from her goblet as she considered the words. Fear could be a useful tool, particularly if the goal was to be left alone. “And how does Ceneth benefit?”

“He and Ophir plan to marry. He doesn’t need his bride-to-be stained by truth.”

“And Farehold…”

Zita’s laugh was a slow, amused purr. “I wasn’t wrong about her, my sweet Suley.

I do think Princess Ophir may be the key we’ve hoped for.

She’s no friend to Aubade. If taking credit for her monsters solidifies our friendship, then I do think we both win.

I was told that this will require our party to acknowledge bringing a hound from Tarkhany as a wedding present. ”

“A hound?”

“Mmm.” Zita nodded. “I suppose she is to return to the castle with some new abomination. Perhaps that’s an unfair categorization of the creature.

I guess all new things take some getting used to.

Did you ever see the Viscountess’s firstborn?

Quite the tiny troll, as are all infants.

I must say, I’m quite curious to see what Ophir’s made. It can’t be worse than a baby.”

Suley smiled at the queen’s joke but couldn’t bring herself to laugh.

She chewed on her lip slowly as her eyes unfocused.

She reveled in the quiet that stretched between them, savoring the silence between each heartbeat.

The only thoughts in her head were her own.

It allowed her to focus as she asked, “Did we know this was possible? That a typical fae might possess manifestation?”

Zita frowned, her face contemplative for a long moment.

Suley watched as her queen relaxed into her chair, stretching the long column of her neck as she looked to the ceiling.

Unlike her own preferences, her queen had never been one for elaborate jewels.

The light caught only on the rich depths of her skin.

At last, she said, “I don’t think there’s anything typical about Ophir. ”

Suley couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice as she said, “Farehold was our undoing, and now we’re to expect its offspring to be our salvation?”

Zita laughed, but there was no joy to the sound. “Tarkhany does not need saving. But it deserves blood atonement.”

“I don’t understand. If you don’t want Ophir to fix things, what is it you want from her? From any of them?”

Zita set down her glass with a gentle clink and folded her arms gracefully on the table. “No, no. There is no savior in this story. Farehold may have brought us pain, yes. And now, at long last, it may bring the same suffering upon itself.”

“You want Farehold to hold itself accountable?”

Zita tutted her tongue. “Accountability is a luxury compared to what Farehold deserves. For too long has Tarkhany been called to action. I led my people to safety, then oversaw my kingdom as it rebuilt solely in the desert. I will never make peace with the loss of my ancestral home, nor will I take the weight of justice upon my shoulders. It is one ask too many. I want retribution, and I want them to be the ones who do it.”

“This is a shift, Zita,” Suley said. “Haven’t I heard you espouse the opposite for years? You rebuked your husband’s calls for revenge—”

“Well, my husband was an idiot.”

“And insisted you wanted justice,” Suley concluded.

“A lot has changed since the princess of chaos and creation stumbled into our lives. The law can’t reign unless we trust the morality of those in power. The only justice amid corruption is anarchy.”

Suley stiffened. She swallowed what remained in her goblet.

It wasn’t the sort of meeting for pleasant buzzes or drunken merriment.

She’d spent years draining bottles in hopes that it might dull the noise, but its only effectiveness had been in helping her sleep.

Her dreams had been the only true reprieve from the incessant sounds.

Now, a gentle vibration thrummed through her as the wine worked its way into her system, able to do its job without a competing cacophony of thoughts.

Zita leaned across the table to pour two more glasses from the pitcher.

“Speak your mind,” her queen said.

“It’s nothing,” Suley said quickly. “I just don’t know why we would count on Ophir to turn on her people.”

Zita brought the glass to her lips but paused for a long time. The queen held Suley’s eyes until she looked away uncomfortably. She shifted in her seat, aware that Zita took a sip from the goblet at long last. When she looked up, Zita spoke over the rim of her glass.

“That’s a lovely new cuff, Suley.” Something about Zita’s words rang with a vaguely ominous note.

Alarm flashed through her. She didn’t have time to fight the reaction as her eyes and nostrils flared. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

Zita jutted her chin slightly as she said, “You wore it right before the final summit. Now, I’d ask you to listen to Ophir’s thoughts to see if she’d turn against Farehold, but I suspect I know why you’d tell me that you’d have no input on the matter.”

“Your Grace…?”

“You’ve always called me by my name. Don’t stop now.”

“Zita, I—”

Zita set down her glass once more. “I don’t hold relief from distress against anyone, Suley. I’m disappointed that I created an environment where you felt you couldn’t share your victory with me.”

Suley looked at her hands only to realize she’d bunched the fabric of her dress tightly in each fist. She continued to look at her rings, each crease in her skirt, the way her fingers forced pockets of the material into irregular shapes and sizes between her tightly clenched palms.

“Is it the cuff?” Zita asked.

Suley didn’t insult her queen by asking for clarification. She forced herself to relax her hands, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her thighs. She watched as the wrinkles of soft fabric melted into perfect, seamless lines. “Yes,” she said.

Her queen remained perfectly poised as she asked, “Who in the castle came to your aid?”

Suley lifted her eyes slowly. She debated wisdom and folly, truth and deceit.

Honesty would mean every gritty detail, every dark secret, every evasion, and precisely how she’d come to learn that Dwyn would be capable of creating such a device, when truthfully, she’d told her queen only the broadest, most poignant strokes prior to this moment.

There was no honor in lying, nor did she think the Sulgrave siren had earned a moment of loyalty from anyone.

No promises had been made, and no oaths would be broken.

She sucked in a long, slow breath, and then she told her queen everything.