Page 87 of A Chill in the Flame
“That’s a terrible impression of me.”
“It was spot on, and you know it.”
“Could you expand your power, if I didn’t have the ability to step into the place between things? Could you shape-shift both of us if you needed to?”
She sucked in a thoughtful breath. “I’ve never tried to do it to someone else, but probably. It’s not a good idea, though. We can’t pick miscellaneous civilians and take their identity. We don’t know who they are, or their reputation, and we’re on a specific mission to get close to a princess. It was fine in Henares when I just snagged the closest village girl’s face to get supplies. It wouldn’t serve us if we become commoners who are no better off than we were before. At least if we’re ourselves, maybe we’ll get dragged to whatever authorities as intruders, who’ve probably seen a very pale princess wandering their streets. All that to say, yes. I could. I can do anything.”
“It’s amazing how you manage to stay so humble.”
“It really is, isn’t it?”
He tugged on Knight’s reins, bringing them deeper into the shadowed alley. They’d need to wait for nightfall before moving around if they had any hope of remaining undetected.
“Do you still have your tracker’s ability?” he said quietly, looking over his shoulder as he dismounted.
“What do you think?”
“Well, how are we supposed to find her?”
Dwyn rubbed her temples. “Can you do me a favor?”
Tyr frowned, resting his elbow on his horse’s saddle from where he stood. Knight shook his hide, swatting his tail to remove a stray fly that tickled him. He patted Knight twice on the neck before returning his look to Dwyn. “Name it.”
“You’re either in, or you’re out. Get on board with my brand of blood magic right now, and be appreciative with my usage, or don’t get on board, but then never,everask favors of my magical abilities.”
He sucked on his teeth. She was right.
“You know what I think?”
He looked at her, equal parts exhausted from the sun and her company. “What.”
“I think your problem with me is a reflection of your own journey. You want Ophir. You want her power. And obviously you want revenge. Those are fine goals, Tyr, but do you know what they don’t align with? Your self-righteousness and bleeding-heart bravado. Either you’ll do what it takes, or you won’t. And at the end of the day, you’re here because you will. It’s time for you to let your perception of self catch up with reality.”
Forty
9:00 PM
Ophir stood on Midnah soil for seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds according to her pocket watch before she was intercepted by a cloud of thundering guards on horseback.
It was probably for the best.
A miserable anxiety had filled her while she approached the city. Not only was she alone, but she’d told Sedit to stay outside of city limits so that he wasn’t harmed. She could call on another beast to aid her at a moment’s notice in her time of need, but every step bringing her closer to the orange, vibrant glow of life in the midst of a night-darkened desert made her nerves swell.
She’d barely had time to take in her unfamiliar surroundings before the clattering of hooves greeted her with a universal truth: trouble was approaching. She couldn’t read the signs, she didn’t know the language, and she’d drawn more than a few stares for looking like a phantom. She’d been an ignorant fool to barrel southward without thinking twice about how different one kingdom would be from the next. Perhaps the late hour and the moonless night aided in her aura of mystery, but she wasn’t sure if it was helping or hurting her cause.
Four men sat atop glossy mounts in lightweight, leatherarmor. It was probably more appropriate for the climate than the metallic breastplates common to Farehold. They peered down at where she stood, an unaccompanied foreigner on foot.
The first thing the guard said to her had Ophir blinking up at him in helpless bewilderment. He waited expectantly for an answer, but none came. The guard looked around, perhaps wondering if his words had been in any way unclear. An idea struck her and she held up a finger—a known signal for him to wait for just a moment. She put her hands into her bag as if she were fetching something, but instead she closed her eyes and focused her intention. The cool weight of a metallic cuff settled in her hands and she closed her fingers around it, lifting it from the bag as if she’d intended to find it all along. She slipped the cuff over her ear. Its curve and points fit perfectly, though it was quite flowery and more ornamental than she’d intended, which was a nice change from the terrors of the night she so often created. The cuff ended with a small, metallic curl that looped into her ear.
She smiled, dipping her head in a nod.
He repeated his question, and to her delight, her device worked. He’d asked her to speak her name and business. The ornamental cuff translated his words, funneling his message directly into her ear.
Shit. How was she supposed to respond?
She offered her most apologetic frown. “My name is Ophir—Princess Ophir, from Farehold.”
The man looked over his shoulder at a second guard, who stepped forward. His brows were low and heavy, as if weighed down with their suspicion, as he inspected her. The night was dark enough that she wasn’t sure how much they could discern from her expression, but from the torches they held, she could see their skepticism.
