Page 90 of A Chill in the Flame
Ophir looked for a place to sit, but the room was so spread out, it was hard to decide upon a location. Zita sensed as much and gestured lazily for Ophir to sit beside her on the chaise. She took a seat and made an honest expression of her discomfort. “Again, I extend my regrets. I don’t know if this is common practice in Tarkhany, but—”
“Common practice in Tarkhany?” The woman raised hereyebrows. “This is common practice amidst royalty! Tell me, Princess Ophir, if I were in your shoes: would you not be entitled to explanations from someone who wandered into your castle?”
She thought of how both Dwyn and Tyr had wandered quite confidently and disrespectfully into her room, setting up camp in her life. Her title and its entrapments hadn’t meant much to them.
“Do you want to know what I know of Farehold?”
“I…”
“I know that King Eero and Queen Darya have ruled for the last three hundred and forty-two years. I know that two daughters were born to them, one of whom claims to sit here beside me. I know your language, your seasons, the names of your cities, and of your religious expression. Do you know why I know these things?”
Ophir did not.
“Because I understand that the world is composed of more than one kingdom. Does Farehold know the same?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, and she was.
Zita waved her hand. “Apologies are useless. Now, I’m owed a story. Please proceed.”
“My sister was murdered,” she said, spilling the venom that had sloshed behind her teeth until her anger filled the room. Caris’s death was common knowledge throughout Farehold, and not a secret she needed to grip with both hands. The second half of her rather brief story may have been a gamble to share, but she was a manifester—what did she possibly have to lose? “The man called Berinth—the one I believe is in your dungeon—must pay for what he’s done.”
From the expression on Zita’s face, it was clear this was delectable information, tasted and savored as if it were a rather decadent sweet. “You’ve crossed the desert alone, unaided, unguarded, for revenge? My, my.” She positively sparkled, sitting up and leaning in with true entertainment. “Well in that case, you are most welcome. I do love a strong woman,almost as much as I love a tale of vengeance. Let’s get you set up in a room, run a comb through your hair, and I’ll see about tracking down the location of your nemesis, shall I?”
“How soon?”
The queen’s head tilted to the side as if amused by the informality of the question.
“How soon can I kill him,” Ophir reiterated.
“You’re on Midnah’s soil. I expect you will not be so brazen as to disrespect Tarkhany law?”
Ophir’s fingers clenched into fists. Her flash of emotion was not anger with the queen but fear that justice may be slipping between her fingers like desert sand.
“Once you’ve confirmed his identity, I’ll confirm with my advisors regarding your testimony and his subsequent fate.”
“How long?” Ophir repeated, impatience bleeding into defiance.
“Assuming he’s found guilty? We’ll need a day to erect the scaffolding while the city’s criers proclaim his sentence.”
“How long?”
The queen had every reason to find her repetitive line of questions annoying. Instead, her lips flicked upward in a wicked smile. “After our meeting concludes? You will be shown to your chambers, and you will sleep. Then there will be one full day, and one full night,” Zita replied. “In scarcely more than thirty hours’ time, you’ll have your justice, Princess Ophir.”
Zita stood and called for her servant in their native tongue. Quick instructions were given, all of which Ophir was able to understand with perfect clarity. With her hair over her ears, they might not even be aware that she was in possession of such a device. A detailed sketch was sent to their chambers within the hour, each prisoner’s portrait strewn before them with excruciating accuracy. Ophir pointed to Berinth in no uncertain terms, identifying him amidst the array of artfully done profiles of humans and fae with Farehold features,ensuring that Ophir had indeed located Berinth. Everything was going better than Ophir could have hoped. Maybe everything would be okay, after all.
Forty-one
11:00 AM
19 hours and 45 minutes until execution
“You can’t be serious.”
Dwyn shook her head in smiling awe as they pressed themselves into the wall, eavesdropping on excited muttering going on beyond the palace walls. “Oh, is there nothing she can’t do?”
It had taken them the night to gather their bearings and gain the intelligence necessary to learn that Ophir had been in the capital for a day or so, comfortably residing within the palace walls. It was also brought to their attention that they’d arrived just in time for what was to be the very public execution of a foreign fugitive: Lord Berinth.
“I can’t believe she found him,” Tyr breathed, keeping his voice low while they remained in earshot of others.
