Page 5 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

“Yes, it’s not the communication that’s troubling me,” she said, pinching off a glare.

Tyr had the impression that she was both disciplined enough to control her emotions, and important enough to not tolerate perceived disrespect.

“What I fail to understand is why we’re hearing from Tarkhany for the first time in six hundred years.

They abandoned their coastal hold without contest to the usurpers five centuries before my time, and their inactivity within my life has more or less precluded our consideration of them as a superpower.

If it weren’t for our sources in the region, I wouldn’t even know if Zita were still on the throne.

Explain to me what Ophir has to do with Tarkhany.

Why was she there? Why are three kingdoms holding a summit after all this time? ”

Tyr held his breath.

He had to believe that the summit was not the result of Harland and Samael betraying Ophir’s gift to the queen.

Last he spoke to them, the three were in Palace Midnah, and they’d reached a consensus on Ophir’s gifts and the dangers of manifestation to understand the consequences of Dwyn’s manipulation.

If King Eero’s advisors had counseled Queen Zita of the true state of affairs, they may have forced everyone’s hand.

Tyr waited on bated breath, praying that nothing would confirm his fears.

Evander’s shoulders slumped. “Why don’t we send messengers to the corners of civilization and see if Sulgrave and the Isles will join us while we’re at it?”

The man paused to appreciate the sorrow in his joke.

Tyr found it quite funny, too, as it were.

Crossing the Straits would have been impossible if he hadn’t possessed a gift that had allowed him to stow away, undetected, with the only capable crew in Sulgrave.

No, there would be no representative from Sulgrave at this or any meeting, and they were all better for it.

“Does this change things?” Evander asked. He looked at Onain seriously.

She folded her arms across her chest and sank into one hip.

She stared down at the map for a long while before saying, “We should move forward with the summit, and welcome the princess. She arrived as a drowned rat, not as a clandestine spy. My primary concern comes not with her character, but with her mode of travel. She’s covering a lot of ground in an unprecedented amount of time.

We know Ophir wields flame. What of her Sulgrave companion? Could this be the fae’s gift?”

Evander rested his chin on his fist thoughtfully. “Traveling through space like it’s a folded map? I’ve never heard of such a gift.”

Onain didn’t appear perturbed as she said, “I wouldn’t immediately meet the companion with distrust. New gifts are discovered every day. And as we know—”

“There are no dark gifts—”

“Only dark practitioners. Yes, sir.” She looked around stiffly before asking, “Will His Majesty be joining this morning?”

Evander’s expression softened. “You know he doesn’t want us to call him that.”

Her spine remained rod straight. “I’m aware.”

Evander expelled a long puff of air. “I know you have your reasons. We all understand that this is your gift… Even if we don’t understand .

So, I won’t press you further on the issue.

But no, Ceneth won’t be joining us. This morning was just for me to catch you up to speed before the castle rises so that you have everything you need to…

make decisions. Once the world knows Ophir is under our roof, there’s sure to be an uproar.

I believe he’s already informed Aubade’s king.

We needed to get ahead of the turmoil of the day.

It was important for me to hear firsthand that you don’t feel she’s a threat.

I’m sure as the next few days progress, you’ll be summoned. ”

“I’ll be ready.” She dipped her head.

Evander made a sympathetic face. “You could make yourself more at home at the castle.”

Onain shook her head, and he didn’t press her on the issue.

“Is that all, sir?”

He patted his leg before rising. “It’s all until we know more. Or, unless you come to a different conclusion. Of course, if you feel anything—”

“I will let you know,” she supplied.

Evander led them from the room. Once again, Tyr scarcely slipped out before the door closed behind them. Onain stiffened again at his nearness but did not press the issue.

“What was that?” Evander asked.

Tyr took a noiseless step into the far wall.

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself over.”

Evander looked at her gravely. “Onain, with you, it’s never nothing. Please, speak your mind.”

She appeared to chew the inside of her cheek.

“What I mean to say is, it’s nothing I can name.

Something is off.” She looked up at Evander’s concern, then returned her gaze to the middle distance.

“Nothing regarding Ophir, so far as I can tell. I appreciate your belief in me. When I have firm details, I will inform you.”

“I—and Ceneth—have bottomless faith in you, Onain. Please, feel at home here.”

“I do consider Raascot my home, sir,” she said.

But his answering look of disapproval over the cordial term implied that no, she had not yet made this her home, wherever she was from.

Tyr couldn’t imagine where that might be, if not here, though he supposed she could have been born in Farehold.

Perhaps it was a mystery for another day.

He watched as she gave a tight bow and departed.

Evander loitered for a moment, waiting for her to leave before he walked down the corridor.

Tyr trailed him only to find the man had simply returned to his rooms. He didn’t follow the advisor into his chambers.

He saw enough from the unmade bed, the half-drawn curtains, and the bare back of a sleeping partner to know that Evander was returning to the comfort of his sheets.

The door clicked behind him softly, and Tyr didn’t bother to wait around.

He wandered down the hall to see if Onain was anywhere to be found, but the castle was too big, too sprawling, to pick up where he’d left off.

Through the arched windows of the corridor, the first piercing orange lights of day breached the shelter of distant stone buildings and stung his eyes.

The world would wake and ready itself for the day.

He briefly considered returning to Ophir’s room, but if the rest of the world was stirring, then Dwyn would be waking, too.

He couldn’t risk being around the witch any more than necessary if he hoped to stay concealed.

Dwyn had barely tolerated him before. She’d skin him alive if she realized he’d been present without her knowledge.

After their fight in Tarkhany’s dungeon, they’d struck a bargain.

She’d teach him how to drain, and in exchange, he wouldn’t tell anyone that she’d orchestrated the downfall of kingdoms. He hated her for it, and by extension himself, for not forsaking his mission against Svea’s killers to slay Dwyn before she knew he was present.

Tentative alliances could be easily shattered by soured tempers, and he didn’t trust Dwyn any farther than he could throw her.

He amended to himself that he could probably throw her even farther than he could trust her, given that he didn’t trust her at all.

His thoughts were interrupted by the scents of sizzling breakfast meats and the waft of fresh biscuits from a distant kitchen.

He decided that whatever he had to learn, it could be learned on a full stomach.

He’d be no use to Ophir if he died from starvation.

Even well-fed, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d learn.

For now, he’d play the waiting game—but he’d play it with a mouth full of bacon.