Page 67 of A Chill in the Flame
Dwyn tiptoed into the house, following the guard from several paces behind. Harland was as fae as she, but his ears had been tuned specifically to hear his princess. He listened as he crept through the kitchen and into the hall, ascending the stairs. Dwyn waited until Harland had reached the door at the end of the hall, silently hugging the stairwell as his hand gripped the knob.
Dwyn watched as Harland leaned into the door and listened for a moment, hearing Ophir’s voice behind the door.He swallowed once before twisting the handle, opening the door to where Ophir was leaning against the desk in the room, a large, dark-haired man leaning onto the space next to her, his bodyweight on one arm as he pressed into her personal space.
Harland’s eyes widened. His mouth opened to comment, but before he could say a word, Dwyn was behind him.
She brought one hand over his mouth, the other to his throat. He crumpled before he had a chance to realize anyone else was in the hall.
Ophir was caught in the middle of her exclamation. She’d barely begun to gasp his name when she turned to Dwyn. “What did you do!”
Dwyn shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
Ophir crossed over to him, kneeling to check his pulse. Her golden eyes burned a molten shade of melted gold as she stared up at the siren. “What did you do to him!?”
“I stopped him from dragging you back to the castle.”
“I’m asking—”
“You’re asking what power I used?” Dwyn crossed her arms. “You’re asking if I called on a borrowed power? Yes. I did. I used a bit of his blood so that I could summon an unfamiliar ability. You want to know why I came to Farehold? It was because this is what I do. I’ve used the bloods—the lives—of others to tap into borrowed powers. The old gods spoke of ways to secure borrowed powers so that they were no longer…borrowed. It’s how they became the old gods. The legends say that they were little more than fae who’d elevated themselves to deities.”
“The All Mother—”
“This isn’t the All Mother.” Dwyn shook her head. “These are men, women, and fae who became gods.”
Ophir shook from where she knelt on the ground, hand still against Harland’s throat. She had run from the castle, but she’d never wanted harm to come to him. “And… You want to make stolen powers permanent?”
“Yes.”
Their eye contact was unbroken, underlining the honesty of her answer. She had not come to lie. Across the room, Tyr had remained completely still. Whatever Dwyn chose to say next could change everything for the man.
“What do you need from me? To use me like you used Harland?”
“Harland will be fine. He’ll wake up with a headache and little more.”
Ophir stood and stumbled to the middle of the room, backing toward the wall. Her face was painted with the night’s turmoil. Exhaustion mingled with her anger as she demanded, “What aren’t you telling me?”
Dwyn closed her eyes slowly as she lowered her arms. She leaned against the doorframe; Harland’s strong, powerful shape was little more than a pile of muscles and armor on the ground. “Don’t worry about Harland,” she said again. “What do you know of blood magic? What do you know of those who borrow power?”
Ophir shook her head wordlessly, but the movement of her hair and the set of her jaw indicated rejection rather than curiosity.
She went on. “Do you know of the Reds? I don’t believe they operate outside of Sulgrave, so there’s a chance nothing like it exists in the south. The Reds are a powerful arm of the church, serving the All Mother with their magic and swords alike.”
Ophir pulled in ragged breaths. Dwyn knew from the spark of recognition that she’d heard of the assassins trained to fight for the goddess.
“Your dog here was a Red.” She gestured to Tyr. “He might be best qualified to speak on the topic. The religious nutjobs are trained how to pull on unnatural powers. For example, a fae who has the inborn gift of changing the weather might be able to call upon the ability to influence moods or walk through dreams. These powerful fae know it’s a trade one makes at great risk. Nothing comes for free.Whatever you take, you must give. With the Reds, their own blood is the penance for the use of abilities that don’t belong to them.”
Tyr spoke for the first time. “It’s the price of magic.”
Ophir took another step backward. She positioned herself so that she was farther from each of them, creating a triangle with their bodies. “My magic…”
“Your magic comes at a price, too,” Dwyn said quietly. “Royal hearts are the most powerful, as they draw on the blood of their kingdom. You don’t have the heart of one fae, Firi; you have the hearts of millions. Sulgrave has no monarchs for this reason precisely. Our mountains are ruled by seven equally powerful Comtes, all selected democratically. Sulgrave didn’t used to be this way. We had an Imperator long ago, until it became clear that our royal family would face what Farehold is undergoing now. Our imperator’s final act was to step down after his royal children were served up like piglets on a silver platter. We’ve had no royal bloodline for a millennium. There’s no succession in the north. The southern kingdoms, however…”
Dwyn chewed on her lip as she looked at the princess. It appeared from the unsteady pulls of air that Ophir’s lungs would not fill completely. She trembled as she asked, “It’s true, then? That’s why my sister is dead?”
“Yes. They killed Caris for her power. They took as much as they could of her blood, and if they hadn’t been interrupted, I’m certain they would have harvested everything. They wanted her heart. Tell me: Caris was a virgin?”
Ophir’s face twisted in disgust at the question. “Why does that matter?”
Dwyn sighed heavily, but there was no use in lying. She spoke slowly, but none of her message came out with condescension. Dwyn was choosing each word carefully not because Ophir lacked comprehension but because understanding might be too terrible to swallow. “Because, once you’ve claimed your own autonomy, you’re more…yourself.Your willingness to take lovers brings you into your own body. You don’t belong to others, to society, to the kingdom…not in the same way she did. She was saving herself for others. She didn’t belong to herself the same way that you belong to yourself.”
