Page 55 of A Chill in the Flame
“Sedit,” Ophir chided softly as the hound continued to look up at her appreciatively. His teeth were composed of rows of hundreds, if not thousands, of needles.
“And have you given any thought to Sedit’s breed?”
Ophir perked at his question.
“You’ve made…seven, now? Apart from Sedit, who clearly won’t be leaving your side anytime soon. I don’t expect you’ll be calling all of them Sedit.”
“Right, right. You are a rather vague hound, aren’t you…” She smiled at that. “Vague. Such a vague representation of a hound.”
“What are you doing?” Tyr furrowed his brows disapprovingly.
“Wait. I’m naming his breed.”
“I don’t like where this is going. Names are important, Princess. Names hold meaning and power. Don’t just—”
“Vageth.”
“No.”
“They’re vague hounds.”
“You can’t call it a—”
Ophir clucked her tongue as she cut him off. “If you invent a species, you can call it whatever you like. Would you like me to make another hound? Sedit could use a friend.”
Dwyn grinned at their exchange, lifting her head from where she’d focused on her nails. “Yes, please make another. Maybe it won’t be as docile as Sedit. In fact, do me a favor just for my own curiosity: focus on creating a vageth who wants to tear out Tyr’s jugular.”
“I don’t like that you’re already calling it a ‘vageth.’ That’s not a word,” Ophir retorted.
“Nothing is a word until you speak it into existence,” Dwyn defended, returning to her nails. “You wouldn’t know that, though, would you. You have no power for creation.What’s your power? Disappearing? Go ahead and utilize that.”
“And your power, witch? Water?”
Dwyn’s eyes narrowed. “You wish that was all I could do.”
Ophir looked up lazily. “Pick new fights. I’m bored of this one.”
She made a sharp noise, not dissimilar from a whistle, and Sedit was up on his sharp talons. She motioned for the hound to leave, and he was more than happy to head for the exit. Tyr opened the door and seemed relieved as the hound escaped into the woods to hunt whatever unsuspecting creature might await the thorny needles of his teeth.
Dwyn used the opportunity to cross the room and settle tightly into the space near Ophir on the sofa, lying down. She rested her head on Ophir’s lap and continued to pick at her nails. The princess ran her fingers absently through Dwyn’s glossy locks.
They’d come across a cabin that had not been left empty for more than a day or two. The freshness of the eggs gathered from the country home’s clucking chickens and the ripe fruits resting on the table assured them that its owner hadn’t been away for long. When no one had answered Ophir’s knock, she’d let herself in. Tyr had been prepared to shift into a less visible form, should it have been a farmer more comfortable with accepting women into his home, but no such extremes had been required of him.
“How far are we from Henares?” Dwyn asked.
Ophir sighed. “I have no idea. We took the most indirect route known to man. We followed no proper roads, we didn’t ask directions, we consulted no map—”
Dwyn set down her knife and sat up, twisting until she was eye level. The princess’s toffee hair was yellowed against the crackle of the fire within the hearth. The siren tucked her feet underneath her, cutting off Ophir’s train of thought.
“I have an idea.”
Ophir hadn’t meant to reach out and touch her, but her hand had moved of its own volition. She’d found the siren’sposture endearing. “You always have ideas.”
Dwyn’s teeth were white and clean in the firelight as she smiled. “This is a new idea.”
Tyr remained silent from the far side of the room.
“We haven’t made anything inanimate,” Dwyn said.
