Page 108 of A Chill in the Flame
Ophir repeated, “Apologize. You did this to hurt himbecause you were treating me like I’m a toy that only one of you gets to play with. That was cruel, Dwyn. Both to him, and to me. Now, tell him you’re sorry, and stop being a bitch.”
Dwyn inhaled sharply, searching Tyr’s face. She shook her head, black hair dancing around her shoulders like a ghost haunting her. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” Her voice dropped to the register barely above a whisper. “All this over a fucking dog.”
“Dwyn!” Ophir repeated.
She closed her eyes against the scold. She wouldn’t have let anyone else speak to her this way, but she had a vested interest in maintaining Ophir’s favor, and Ophir knew it. The room had seen Dwyn go all in when she should have folded. She’d gambled in an attempt to regain the high ground between herself and Tyr in the princess’s eyes, and she’d lost, badly. All of this and more was clear on her face. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t shame. It was the brand of regret that only came from someone who’d been punished.
Dwyn’s eyes dropped to the floor. Silence stretched between the three of them, triangulating their positions around the room while discomfort hugged its points. “It’s wrong, what they did to your dog. I’m sorry.”
“…and?”
Dwyn exhaled slowly. “And I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” She raised her eyes, then asked “But can you blame me? How was I supposed to guess this woman he was avenging was a dog? How could I—”
“Dwyn!”
“Right, right.” She returned her sights to Tyr, and for the first time, there was no hate in her large, dark eyes. They weren’t exactly kind, but a lack of enmity was a major improvement. Her posture softened as she did her best to conjure sincerity. “I’ve said and done a lot of things to you that I don’t regret. And I do still usually wish I could kill you. I think you’re the worst. But…I would have wanted to murder anyone who had hurt my dog, too. And I’m…” Shestruggled with the last word, rolling it around her tongue like a child unable to swallow their vegetables. “Sorry.”
“Wow, Dwyn,” he said, voice tart with vinegar. “That was convincing.”
“I tried.”
Ophir remained trained on Dwyn. “Well, could you try not being a bitch in the first place? I’m not trying to get rid of either of you anymore. It would mean a lot to me if you stopped trying to rip each other’s throats out. I hate to pull the trump card, but isn’t tonight supposed to be about comforting me? I have something of a major life event in six hours. I’m not going to get enough sleep as it is. Can the two of you try to hold it together?”
Tyr relaxed into the wall. This wasn’t a secret he would have shared willingly, Ophir knew, but it was out. They knew. Perhaps he understood that the same sensitivity that made him a target for three dead fae walking might very well be the same sensitivity that earned him judgment now, but he was who he was. It was injustice against something innocent. It wasn’t fair, and the men deserved to pay.
“Where’s Sedit?” Dwyn asked suddenly.
Ophir’s lips parted, mind flying to her own beloved hound. She pouted, looking around the room that was empty without her hound. “I didn’t think it would be safe for him in the city, but he crossed the desert with me. I hope he’s okay.” She winced as she returned to Tyr. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
He waved her away. “You don’t have to apologize for worrying about your…vague hound. I know you care about it, and I won’t get between you and your pet. Even if I do think it’s a nightmare embodied.”
Dwyn made it clear she was ready to stop talking about Tyr. They all knew it would win her no more friends if they remained on the topic. Her tone stayed dry as she spoke of Sedit. “If he’s anything like your snake, he’s going to be just fine.”
“What do you mean?”
They explained how they’d tried to kill her serpent, onlyto watch it knit itself together. Ophir was just as shocked to hear this as they had been to witness it. Dwyn began to make a comment about how, if Ophir made all the dogs, then Svea would still be alive.
Tyr looked like he’d been slapped.
“For fuck’s sake, Dwyn.” Ophir gaped at the woman.
Genuine regret rearranged her features. The joke had presumably been born of good intentions for winning favoritism, but it had promptly backfired. She was on a losing streak. Instead, she redirected to painting a very graphic visual of the enormous, black-blooded snake they’d tried to kill in the woods.
“But on the cliff!” Ophir protested. “Harland beheaded the thing. Didn’t he?”
Dwyn cast her an apologetic look. “We rolled it immediately into the ocean, remember? We didn’t give it the chance to self-heal. We could try a few experiments with one of your creatures if you want?”
Ophir recoiled. “Are you suggesting I make something just so we can cut it up? That’s sadistic, even for you.”
“It’s for science.”
“Science can wait.” Ophir sat down on the bed, the world’s gravity pushing down on her with exhausting intensity. “Do either of you need something to eat? Should I get anything? You’ll have to forgive me, but this is all uncharted territory. Tyr, I have no idea how to comfort you. Dwyn, you have been a bitch. He’s right. I don’t really know what to do or how to play hostess in someone else’s palace on the eve of my debut as executioner. I’m sorry if I’m not on my best behavior.”
“Were these not good?” Tyr picked up one of the half-eaten cookies. There was something off about his voice, though she assumed it was something to do with having his shattered heart strewn on display for all to see.
“They were fine. I just wasn’t sure if they’d all have the same filling. They do. I’m not in the mood for orange marmalade.”
No one knew how to proceed, but perhaps that was okay. Maybe there was no right way to act the night before one was set to kill a man. Dwyn sat next to her, looping her arm around the princess’s back. She ignored the idle chatter and returned to the pending execution. “Are you tired? Nervous?”
