Page 106 of A Chill in the Flame
“Tyr came to the palace without me because he’s a dickhead. Please get rid of him. I have a laundry list of reasons he doesn’t deserve to stay. But in the meantime, you know me. I’m not one to be left behind.” She changed the topic, releasing Ophir in pursuit of a pitcher of water. She wrapped her fingers around a crystal glass and filled it to the brim.“So”—her voice stayed bright—“the buzz around the city is that some beautiful foreign princess is set to execute a traitor at dawn! You’re amazing. Tell me everything.”
Ophir couldn’t quite place the separation she felt. She rested a hand on one of the bed’s posts as if to steady herself. She looked at Tyr to search his face for an answer, but his gaze remained fixed on Dwyn. It was odd. He was usually so quick to insult her, to push back. Perhaps it was his expression that aided in her unease.
“Tyr?” Ophir prompted.
Dwyn stiffened, slowly turning to include the third in their conversation.
He inhaled through his nose before turning to face Ophir. A slow smile tugged his mouth upward, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wish I could say I was surprised to find her in the courtyard, but what did you compare her to? A venereal disease?”
Ophir fought the edges of a smile. “I’m pretty sure that wasyou.”
“No.” He pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking up and to the side as he moved forward. His smile grew with every second. “I’m confident you said it about her. You’d never say such a thing about me.”
Tension began to melt at their familiar banter. She missed them even when she hated them. They didn’t judge her. Dwyn was her advocate, her champion for chaos and violence. Tyr was markedly less supportive, but it was nothing compared to the bottomless well of disapproval that poured out from Harland every time he looked at her. And even though they’d followed her across the desert just as Harland had, their arrival was entirely different. They did not come with judgment or tradition or disapproval. They were here to support her to the bloody end.
Harland had chased her down because duty compelled him.
Dwyn and Tyr had followed because they were her friends. She learned something new when she looked at them. Despite her need to run, to hide, to push anyone andeverything away, the true friends were ones who looked “the monster of her self-loathing” in the eyes, planted their feet, and remained steadfast.
If she thought about it any longer, she’d begin to cry, and she had far too much to do to allow the emotion.
“Your room is fabulous, Firi. I’ve always said there aren’t enough pillars in Farehold’s architecture.”
“You’ve always said that?” Ophir quirked a brow.
“Ever since I developed the opinion, which was roughly ten seconds ago, yes, I always have. But my, the fabrics are so luxurious! The translucent curtains, the airy fashion within the palace, the chandeliers of incense and fae lights, everything in Midnah is so beautiful! Are there gardens? Can I see them? I want a tour. Wait.” Dwyn slowed. “Never mind. Now is perhaps not the best time. I guess I’m just excited to see you.”
Ophir wasn’t sure how to categorize Dwyn’s energy. She expected Dwyn to be angry with her, to resent her, to demand apologies and explanations. Instead, she wanted a tour of the gardens and six dresses in this style? It was unsettling, even if Ophir didn’t know why.
“Tyr?” Ophir called to him again, which irritated Dwyn to no end.
“Firi, stop. Forget about him.”
Ophir shook her head. “I’m talking to him, Dwyn. You’re not the only one I care about.”
Tyr’s eyebrows rose noticeably enough to set Dwyn ablaze. She snapped with an unpredictable thoroughness. She’d been a tinderbox ready to ignite, and this was the match she needed. With an uncontrolled rage, she spit out, “For fuck’s sake! You want to keep your pet, that’s fine. Let the mongrel stay. But I hate it, and I need you to like him a little less. It’s annoying.”
Ophir’s lips twitched.
“I’m serious!” Dwyn balled her fists in irritation. She thrust her finger at Tyr. “He and I have called a temporary ceasefire, so I’ll tell my archers to stand down, but you don’t have to like him. Stop showing him favoritism.”
“Dwyn, are you jealous?” he teased.
It was the wrong move.
“Jealous?” She sounded as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “He’s still in love with the memory of whomever he left behind in Sulgrave! I can’t be jealous of someone who doesn’t deserve your affection.”
Ophir stiffened. She didn’t mean to look at him with so much hurt, but she couldn’t help it.
“Excuse you?” Tyr asked, teeth clenched together in disgust as he stared daggers at Dwyn.
Dwyn crossed toward the middle of the room. Her words tasted of poison. “Stay! Clearly Ophir doesn’t want to get rid of you, and I’m resigned to give her what she wants because I care about her. You’re my horrible teammate, no matter how much I’d prefer to have you killed. So, stay. Be here with us, Tyr. Remain and learn and be a friend, but don’t continue this charade. This bit you do where you act like you like Firi, where she keeps giving you attention under this false pretense of yours? You came down from Sulgrave for another woman. Admit it.”
“I didn’t—”
“Admit it!”
The air had been knocked from Ophir’s lungs. She didn’t understand the gaping hole punched through her center at the thought that Tyr was here for another woman. Her world had been tipped upside down for months, each new horror worse than the last. She wasn’t sure how much upending turmoil she could stand before she broke altogether.
