Page 28 of A Chill in the Flame
Harland put his hand on the pommel of his sword just as he freed her. She sucked in a lungful of air as she tumbled from the hold onto her feet. Tyr’s hands balled into fists as a string of curses took over his every waking thought.
“Harland. How nice for the princess’s personal bodyguard to escort me.”
She said the guard’s title with too much vitriol as she shot a cold glare into the empty air, presumably at Tyr. He looked on with a curled lip. He hated Dwyn but didn’t think she was stupid enough to give him away. If she revealed his presence, he’d spill her secrets before she could blink.
Harland examined her.
“Something is wrong,” he said as he freed his sword from its sheath.
Dwyn’s expression changed in an instant. She was relaxed and confident as she soothed him. “No, no. It’s okay. I came back out here to practice a new technique with the water and just stepped inside. It’s rather wet out there. I’m sorry to havealarmed you. I assume you want to discuss our sweet Firi?”
He stared at her without moving for a long while.
“What? You’ve never happened upon a girl on a stroll before? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Tyr didn’t breathe as he watched the exchange. If Dwyn couldn’t convince the man there was nothing wrong, they’d have to kill him. He was certain she knew as well as he that Harland’s death would close more doors than it opened.Come on, witch. Do what you do best. Lie.
He exhaled as Harland nodded with unconvincing slowness. The guard said, “What happened on the cliff earlier—”
“Let’s not talk about it here,” she said hurriedly. She closed the space between them as she took his bicep in her hands. “Back to the room, shall we?” She urged him down the corridor, away from the threat that loomed just beyond the glimmer of sight.
Tyr remained at their heels, as silent as a house cat. He knew from the angered glare she cast over her shoulder that she knew he’d followed. She probably wished there was some way she could drown him while he trailed behind, but she could not fight what she could not see.
***
In just under a century and a half of life, Harland had learned that his gut was rarely mistaken. It had told him to put his name up for consideration when a position opened as Ophir’s guard, and he had. It had urged him from his bed in the middle of the night to tell him something was wrong, only to discover Ophir missing from her bed while across the castle, a servant rang the alarm bell that the numb, silent princess had been found in an alcove, hands stained with blood and dressed for a masquerade. Days later, he’d entered Ophir’s room to find his charge with a stranger—one who informed him that she had attempted to take her own life. And that same gut had looked at Dwyn with a distrust that refused to subside.
He led Dwyn to a rather plain guest room two halls overfrom Ophir’s room while he wrestled with his thoughts.
She leaned into the writing desk, wooden lip biting into her hip as she relaxed into its edge. She pouted. “Why so serious?”
He gave her an unhappy look, which only made her laugh.
“Such a frown, Harland. You look too much like those happy, golden hounds to get away with such an expression.” She smiled. Dwyn turned her back on him while pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the desk, which gave him a moment to gather what he wanted to say.
Trapped between impossible choices, he neither wanted to confide in Dwyn nor tell anyone else what he had witnessed on the cliffs. Ophir had created something from nothing, and the siren was the only other witness.
Manifesting was the power of gods. It was something that could not be taken lightly. Once the king and queen were informed of the princess’s gift, her life would never be the same. Given that she’d scarcely begun the healing process from a long and scarring trauma, he didn’t know if he could subject her to the changes that would ensue the moment the world knew what she was capable of.
Ophir was not the only worry on his mind.
They’d grown negligent toward possible threats within their own walls in their desperation to see the youngest princess heal. The monarchs, the guards, and all their security checks had been entirely too lax. They’d allowed a Sulgrave woman into their walls without truly understanding who she was or what she was capable of. Harland had known enough when she’d been the one who’d saved Ophir from her attempt to take her own life on the night of the party. When the fae had reemerged with her gifts of water and offered peace in a time of turmoil, it had seemed like Ophir had grabbed on to a lifeline.
His princess may very well be alive because of this siren.
The castle had accepted Dwyn’s presence readily. Some had even suggested that Dwyn had been sent by the AllMother to help save the princess from herself in the wake of the tragedy. Harland forced down his thoughts time and time again, fighting against the urge to suggest that the so-called blessing had been a little too convenient.
He continued to examine her as she plucked a leather tome from the writing desk and wandered toward an overstuffed settee. She draped herself over the piece of furniture with the contentedness and ease of someone who belonged.
In many ways, she looked like any fae woman with ink-black hair. She possessed the arched ears, the irises larger than any human’s, and the lithe grace that mortals failed to achieve. There were other things about her that gave him pause. Her irreverence, for example. Was it a trait of Sulgrave fae at large, and thus one he should adjust to, or was it a Dwyn-specific curiosity? Were her boldness, her flirtatiousness, her malice traits of a kingdom or the same flaws in personality that would have set him on edge, had anyone in Aubade possessed them?
He supposed it was his own fault for knowing little of Sulgrave. But, to be fair, no one knew much of the mountain kingdom beyond the Frozen Straits, save for the reassurance that they were neither immediate threat nor enemy to Farehold or Raascot.
The inhospitable stretch of ice and snow that separated the northernmost and southern kingdoms made travel between their distant, mountain kingdom nearly impossible. Trade was a doomed endeavor, as were diplomatic missions. Anyone who managed to make the pilgrimage in one direction didn’t dare risk their fate twice by returning. Dwyn’s foreign Sulgrave lineage had been curious, but not immediately problematic, nor cause for alarm. She had been odd in the way that all foreign customs and mannerisms were peculiar to someone who found them unfamiliar. Aside from her improper insistence of nearly constant nudity, the girl had been a rather lovely addition to the castle.
The Sulgrave fae was an asset in some ways, of course.For instance, Ophir slept more soundly as the nights wore on as long as Dwyn was present. The threat of burning the castle and those inside of it in their sleep seemed to be waning as long as a water guardian remained vigilantly beside her. Healing seemed as if it might be possible.
But then came the things that troubled him.
