Page 72 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

Forty-Three

The maps were well named.

Harland had always suspected that the Unclaimed Wilds were full of mountain tribes and sovereign people.

He hadn’t believed them to be truly vacant.

An eternity of trudging through the forest without a single sign of cut logs, of smoky chimneys, of shelters, had led him to believe that the tattered paper map curling in Aubade’s war room had been right all along.

The moment he broke through the clearing, he understood what he was seeing.

The princess had made a shelter surrounded by ancient and beautiful trees.

His gaze snagged on a large patch of melted snow in the meadow, and he frowned.

Footprints had been stamped into the snow on either side, then stopped where the charred evidence of fire and the glistening traces of ice showed bits of the ground.

Ophir and Dwyn had fought. He could think of no other explanation for the singed ground and ice-slick remnants of water.

He shuddered to think of what a battle between them might look like as, though Ophir was the most formidable and powerful fae on the continent, she lacked something that Dwyn possessed.

Ophir was not evil.

Harland’s heart quickened. He scanned the clearing for other evidence of movement and finally landed on a single trail of footprints leading from the cabin and into the woods on the far side of the meadow.

The single set of tracks led him to believe that one had left, and the other had stayed behind.

The other scattered markings appeared to have been from an animal, as they were too wide and chaotic to have been created by a fae.

He paused near the tree line and listened, but he heard nothing.

Tyr hadn’t been to the cabin, then. Even with his gift to step into the space between things, he wouldn’t have been able to hide his footprints.

Harland wondered if he was around. He wasn’t stupid enough to call out to the man.

If Dwyn was angry enough to fight Ophir, then stealth may very well be their best and only asset.

Harland surveyed the woods, estimating just how large the clearing must be. It was practically the size of Aubade’s coliseum.

If he was going to go, it should be now.

Harland broke free from the tree line and sprinted for the cabin.

There was no wisdom in remaining out in the open for long.

He slowed his pace as he approached the cabin and pressed himself into the wall.

He snapped his mouth shut and breathed through his nose, forcing himself to calm down as he sidled along the wooden structure toward a warped window.

He slowly leaned in order to look into the structure and saw…

Harland was at the front door in an instant. He threw it open and met Ophir’s wide, startled eyes. At her side, a vageth jumped to its feet.

“Harland!” she gasped, muffling the sound as her hand flew to her mouth.

She looked up at him from where she sat on the ground in the center of the room.

Though the cabin had the basic amenities, when he’d spied her slumped on the floor, he’d feared the worst. She looked to the hound and put a hand on its hide. “He’s a friend, Sedit,” she whispered.

The demon continued to eye him suspiciously, but it rolled its limbs into a calmer state.

Harland slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He didn’t need Dwyn spying the open frame from across the meadow. Every precious second counted.

“Where is she?” he said, voice low to match Ophir’s.

Ophir looked at the fireplace, then back at Harland. “She’s getting firewood.”

“But you don’t need wood,” he said with a little hesitation. The fire that glowed and burned in the fireplace floated as if on the wick of an invisible candle. Ophir could hold the flame with her own intent if she chose.

“I know,” Ophir said bitterly. “And she knows. But I’ve been…noncompliant. She’s trying to prove a point by forcing me to not light a fire.”

“Forcing you?” Harland repeated the woods slowly.

Ophir’s shoulders slumped as her eyes returned to the ground. There was little to look at in the humble cabin, the bed and chair piled high with the dark cobwebs of strange, gauzy blankets. There were no decorations. There was no food. There was only Ophir and her animal.

“Ophir, let’s go. Make a door.”

She looked up at him hopelessly. There was no light behind her eyes.

“Let’s go, Firi! Make a door. It’s how I tracked you to the Straits. It’s how—”

“I can’t,” she said, then dropped her eyes once more. It took him a moment to realize she was crying.

He knelt beside her and caught her hands in his own.

“What do you mean?” But even as he asked the question, his thumb rolled over something cold and unfamiliar.

He looked down at the warm, delicate fingers and the metallic band cinched firmly to her the space between her knuckle and palm.

Horror stole his breath as his second knee met the floor.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He repeated his denial again and again.

Ophir said nothing. She brought her hands to her face to catch her tears.

“This can’t be true,” Harland insisted. “You can make flame! You’re doing it now! I’m sure you can manifest. I’m sure you can—”

Her face whipped up to meet his pleading eyes with a level stare.

She dropped her hands and gritted her teeth as she said, “I’m able to make flame because she’s allowing it.

It’s a false freedom, and she knows it. Her ability to beat my fire was the reason she was brought into my life in the first place. Water wins every time.”

“We’ll go,” he pushed. “We’ll go now, and we can find someone who can speak to metal to get it off your finger. We’ll—”

“She told me to stay put,” Ophir said, each word dripping with venom.

He dug his hands into his hair and got to his feet as he began to pace.

“But you can be separated, right? She’s gone right now to get firewood. She could leave and never come back.”

Ophir shrugged glumly. “From what I understand of their magic, I belong to her while I wear the ring, but she’s also bound to me.

I don’t think she could leave me. It wouldn’t have served Eero’s agenda if I could have commanded Ceneth to stay put and then I fucked off into the sunset. We’re tethered.”

“These blasted things are evil.”

Ophir looked at him until he couldn’t hold her gaze any longer. He understood the accusation. He’d known about the rings when he and his party had ridden north for Raascot. He’d said nothing when Ophir was set to be the wearer.

A muscle in his jaw ticked in frustration. He looked at the hellhound and said, “This is Sedit?”

She nodded, then waved the comment away. “I made another, but I sent it off when Sedit arrived. I don’t think Dwyn can tell the difference.”

“If Sedit is here, Tyr must be, also,” Harland said excitedly. “With the two of us combined—”

“Tyr left me to return to Sulgrave,” she said, voice as cold as the winter wind beyond. “He got what he wanted from his visit to the continent, and he left. He can drain now, just like Dwyn.”

Harland pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He went to the window to keep an eye on the meadow while they spoke. “He can drain? Like the siren’s stolen powers?”

“It can be taught,” she said bitterly.

“He’s in the Wilds, Firi. I saw him just two days prior. He came up from Gwydir with Sedit.”

She shook her head slowly, hair catching in the clean-burning firelight.

Her forehead wrinkled. “No, he left us in the woods after the ag’drurath.

Dwyn taught him how to drain, and when he got what he wanted…

” She let her words drift off. A new expression crossed her face.

“But why would Dwyn lie? Why would…” The pinched space between her brows relaxed.

She closed her eyes and looked at nothing.

“Because that’s what Dwyn does. She wants control. ”

“She’s wanted it ever since she killed Caris,” Harland said.

Ophir nodded. “I know.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “You know she’s responsible for your sister’s death?”

“Berinth killed Caris.”

Harland abandoned his place by the window and joined her on the floor once more, down on one knee. “Look me in the eye, Ophir. You are aware that Dwyn is behind the orchestration of Caris’s murder?”

Confusion sparkled through her golden eyes. Not confusion at his words, but at the energy and tone he brought. “Yes.”

“How long have you known?” he asked, cupping her shoulders gently on either side. “When did you learn this information?”

“In Tarkhany,” Ophir said plainly. “Dwyn told me the morning of the execution.”

Harland’s mouth dropped open. “But you kept her at your side! You continued to stay with her. She’s been with you since…” His words lost their trail. “How did she accomplish this?”

Ophir’s lower lip puckered in a questioning frown.

Harland reiterated, “How did she tell you in such a way where you’d have no emotional response?”

Once again, his thoughts vanished as something else took their place.

He pictured the blubbering captain on the ship.

Lord Berinth had been under a powerful hypnosis, one that had crafted his backstory, that had won others to his cause, that had thrown party after party to lure the princesses to his estate.

Once he’d accomplished what Dwyn had brainwashed him to do, her hold over him had snapped.

He looked at Ophir now, and rage swelled within him.

“That clever fucking bitch. Of course, if she got out ahead of the narrative, she would never have to be worried about someone spilling her secret. No one holds power over her if she’s not keeping the truth. ”

Ophir merely looked at him.

“Tyr is here. He did not leave you.” Harland was firm.

It wouldn’t serve either of them if he pushed Ophir to understand what Dwyn had done.

What they needed now was to get out of here.

“I don’t know what Dwyn has told you, but we’re going to get you out.

The rings have to work both ways, right?

You’re fused, and she can’t do things without your behest either, right? ”

He tried to get Ophir to her feet, but she tugged out of his grasp.

Hate dripped from her words. “No. It’s why Ceneth was to go first in the ring ceremony.

The first to put on this shackle is the victim.

The second is its master. This is how I’d be able to force Raascot to bend to my will, should I have wanted.

I could have had Ceneth and his people march against Tarkhany.

My father thought himself so clever, but that bastard wasn’t even the one pulling the strings. ”

Harland tried again to get her to her feet. When she resisted, he scooped her up.

“Put me down!” she demanded, instantly frantic. He attempted to ignore her, but she called her flame until he cried out in surprise and pain. Ophir thudded to the cabin floor and rolled to a halt. She shot him a frenzied look as she begged him to understand, “I can’t go anywhere.”

He looked at her speechlessly. He had no idea what to do.

His eyes went to the ring, then up to Ophir.

He reached for her hand, and she allowed the contact as he attempted to yank it off.

It didn’t move. It didn’t even twist or budge like any piece of jewelry crafted by man or fae. It was truly fused to her.

Ophir’s eyes widened. She grabbed Harland tightly, eyes darting between him and the sword.

“Cut it off,” she said urgently.

He blinked at her. “The ring?”

“My finger,” she said, voice hitching in hurried petition. “Cut it off, Harland.”

“Ophir, I—”

“Save my fucking life. Cut it off! Do it now before she comes back. I lose a finger, or I lose eternity to a witch! Don’t be a coward. I need this. I need—”

“Okay,” he agreed. He drew his blade as she slammed her hand against the ground and spread her fingers as wide as they would go. He looked between the ring and the grit and determination on her face.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Wait,” Harland cautioned. He slipped off the leather belt that holstered his blade and cinched it around Ophir’s tiny wrist. He used the edge of his blade to cut off a thick chunk of the leather and stretched it out toward her mouth. “Bite down on this.”

Her lips parted as she accepted the leather bit. She closed her eyes tightly as her entire body tensed in a flinch. She pinned her ring-bearing hand down with her free hand to prevent it from shifting.

“Are you ready?” he asked. It was more for himself than for her. He would cut off his own arm a thousand times before mutilating Ophir. He wanted to spare her from pain, to rescue her, to make her life better. He never could have foreseen what would drive him to lift his blade to her tender flesh.

“Do it,” she grunted through the mouthful of leather.

And just as Harland readied himself to push the blade through flesh and bone, the door to the cabin opened, and a bundle of firewood clattered to the ground.