Page 121 of A Chill in the Flame
She’d done this. She’d done all of this.
She’d brought Caris to Berinth’s party.
She’d created the serpent.
She’d told the demon familiar to pursue Berinth and to do whatever it took to terrify Caris’s murderers once those responsible had stepped into the public eye. It had arrived to follow her command. And rather than fix it, she’d been utterly helpless. She’d been weak and worthless just as she’d been the night of the party. Only this time she didn’t have the rose-scented drug in her system to blame.
She had no one to blame but herself.
The weight of a soft, warm blanket draped around her shoulder as Tyr wrapped her up. She sniffled, opening her eyes to see him cover Dwyn, however begrudgingly. He wasn’t dressed particularly warmly either. She made a few more things, some that worked and others that didn’t. A shelter in the forest kept them safe from the damp, misty rain. A fireplace quickly burned it down as if it were little more than a tinderbox, forcing them to escape the shelter until she made a new one. It was a struggle to find the patience necessary to try again, but once they were under a roof and withinfour walls once more, she found a safer, more controlled way to manage her flame within a manifested structure.
She’d expected Sedit to be bothered by the chilly forest due to his amphibious skin, but he showed no signs of discomfort. Tyr had enough discomfort for all of them.
She wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling. Was he angry with her for the monsters she’d created? Was he disappointed in her for her failure to save others, for her inability to command or control her demons? Was he angry that they were now in the middle of a cold, empty forest with no idea where they were or where they were meant to go?
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly from where she sat on the small, oddly shaped cot she’d created.
He looked confused. Tyr left the fire, and rather than sit beside her, he took a knee in front of her. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ophir.”
She shook her head. “The monsters—”
He took her hand between his, looking up into her eyes from where he stayed on one knee. “This life you’re living is something that has happened to you, not something you’ve done. You’re doing the best with what you’ve been given, and it is not your fault that evil people have been put in your path.” He shot a pointed glare at Dwyn with his final word.
“You blame her for my manifesting, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“I blame her for a lot of things,” he said honestly. “But I don’t blame you. Not because I think you’re some innocent damsel incapable of being frustrating, or cruel, or shortsighted—”
“Is this a pep talk?”
“I’m not finished. Or selfish, or—”
“Okay, I think that’s enough from you.”
He smiled, and she returned it, even if it was neither warm, nor reached her eyes. “You’re your own person, Ophir. You have agency. You make choices and those choices have consequences, and I see why you want to shoulder that guilt.I understand why you think this is your fault. But there were puppeteers behind this, Princess. Whether Berinth and his crew, or Dwyn and her contribution to your manifestation, you can’t be blamed for things you were pushed into.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Well, I was inside of you less than twelve hours ago.”
She shook her hand free, and he grinned. That earned a real smile, even if it was accompanied by a disgusted eye roll. He got up from the floor and sat beside her.
“Will she be okay?” Ophir asked, staring at where the shadows from the fireplace moved over Dwyn’s unconscious form. They’d kept her wrapped in the blanket and close enough to the fire to stay warm, but she hadn’t moved once since the drug had taken her under.
He nodded. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine.” He looked at Ophir’s face, and seemed to understand that half of her fear had nothing to do with Dwyn, and everything to do with Caris, the drug, and the cycle of history and time as it collapsed in on itself. Once again she’d been defenseless as a man in power took away someone she cared about.
“I never want to smell another rose for as long as I live,” she said quietly.
“I’ll see what I can do about that. In the meantime, we need to be thinking of our next steps. We need to figure out where we are, what happened in Tarkhany, and whether or not there will be any retaliation. The king and queen of Farehold have been hunting you from the moment you slipped away from the castle. If your husband-to-be has any scouts out for you, we also need to have eyes on Raascot. Now that you’re filling the southern continent with unkillable demons, I’d suggest we go to Sulgrave, but…”
“The Blood Pact.”
“The Blood Pact.” He nodded quietly.
“Berinth is dead, but her real killers are still out there,” Ophir whispered. “I don’t think I have any other purpose, Tyr. I don’t think I can sleep, I don’t think I can breathe againuntil they’re dead.”
To Ophir, it looked as if his eyes had unfocused on a memory. It was lost on her that he was looking directly at Dwyn.
“I have an idea,” she said, sighing. “My ideas never work out.”
