Page 94 of A Chill in the Flame
Ophir scanned the dark hair, the pointed ears, the gorgeous features of an entirely unfamiliar fae male. He was muscular, but not in the way Harland was strong. His jaw was sharper, while Harland’s was square. This new man was built for agility, for silence. Something about him sang to her of shadows and secrets. She lifted a single brow as she regarded him. He remained impressively expressionless, despite his exhausting journey, her practical nudity, and his presence in a foreign land. Perhaps he was one of the rare beings who could not be fazed.
The fae waved two fingers in idly greeting. “I’m Samael. I’m—”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit at the name. Her entire posture changed in a moment as her eyes trained on him with more purpose, reacting in both surprise and excitement. “Yes, I know you! You saved my father’s life.” She stepped away from Harland toward the stranger, shaking his hand. She may be angry with her parents, but she loved them and hadn’t wanted her father dead. The assassination attempt had been a close-guarded secret within the royal family. It wouldn’t serve them to let the world know how easy it had been to infiltrate their walls, or how King Eero would already be with Caris in the afterlife if a lowly guard hadn’t sensed trouble and gone to investigate. “Thank you. I’m sure he’ll spend his life in gratitude, as will we all. Your promotion to spymaster was well deserved.”
She dropped Samael’s hand and turned to Harland, only to find his eyes were still trained on her a little too intently. How revealingwasthis dress?
The column of Harland’s throat worked as if struggling to speak. “Ophir, we’ve been told about the execution. How did you find him? How did you get to Tarkhany? How—”
She attempted to make a face as if to communicate to Harland that now, in front of their new friend, was not the time. “I have ways” was all she said.
He released an exasperated breath, face betraying his displeasure. He was clearly exhausted. He’d traveled through ungodly conditions, skin pinked by the baking oven of hell itself—which would have undoubtedly been a cherry shade of red with white and purple blisters had they not packed the tonics necessary to knit their cells back together—only to find a princess who didn’t want to be found. She was handling things just fine on her own.
“Samael.” Harland pursed his lips, words coming out with thinly veiled control. “Can you wait outside for a moment?”
Samael and Harland were of separate but equal ranks. Harland could not command him, but Farehold’s spymaster didn’t seem to mind. His gesture wasn’t quite a shrug. It was almost a curious disinterest, as if both amused and indifferent to the world around him. A few moments later, they were alone. Harland ushered her to the bed to sit, but she remained on her feet. She knew he was used to them sitting side by side, with their familiarity, with their intimacy. She expected him to find the subtle gesture of distance was unsettling. Still, he shook his head and searched her eyes for answers.
“You found him?” he said, voice hushed.
“I have.”
“And…” This time when his gaze darted between her breasts and her eyes, she ensured he would see the disappointment on her face. He cleared his throat for what must have been the nine thousandth time in their short reunion. He said, “You’ve come all this way and you’re okay with the justice of another nation’s due process? I have to say, I’m surprised.”
“It’s better this way,” Ophir said. “If I’d caught him alone, I would have locked him in a root cellar and spent yearspeeling him apart one strip at a time. It would have been satisfying, but no one would have known. Queen Zita’s way is superior.”
He rubbed his chin, and she saw the doubt in his gesture.
“Every kingdom must know of his guilt. The corners of the earth should hear his crimes and see him suffer. I want every man, woman, and child to know what happened to the man who killed my sister. I’d love nothing more than to see Caris’s vision for unity come together in her death.”
“I don’t think this was what she meant,” Harland muttered.
“Then she should have stuck around and done it herself,” Ophir snapped. “I’m building a relationship with Tarkhany, avenging my sister, and ensuring her murderer pisses himself in front of thousands before I’m the one who swings the ax. Before my head hits the pillow tomorrow night, this will be a deeply satisfying memory.”
His hazel eyes used to sparkle when they looked at her. They’d reminded her of all things green and rich and alive once upon a time. There was something flat about the greens and browns as he looked at her now, as if disappointment came with its own opaque sheen.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t say it with such pride,” Harland said quietly.
Ophir didn’t bother lowering her voice. “You’ve brought Samael with you from Aubade. Isn’t it his job to know everything? Why the secrecy now?”
He extended his hand for her arm. The obstinate pieces of her wanted to create space, but she’d been so touch starved. She didn’t want to be alone. She allowed the contact, submitting to the pressure as he pulled her to the space beside him. “It’s not Samael I’m hiding from. You know nothing of this kingdom. I’ve only asked him to step outside because I know you won’t talk about your…”
“Manifesting?”
His command for her to hush was sharp and cutting.
Her lip pulled back in an involuntary show of her fangs.In that moment, she wished it had been Dwyn who’d found her rather than Harland. “So, wearehiding things from Samael, just to be clear?”
“It’s not that, Firi. Don’t be foolish. Nothing is hidden fromhim. Your manifestation is something we’re hiding this from theworld. If they knew what you could do…” His face collapsed, hazel eyes catching on her features like a sweater snagging on a nail. It was as if he were searching for ways in which she’d become someone entirely new, an unfamiliar creature, something as wild and wicked as the serpent he’d seen her conjure on the cliffs.
***
Harland knew a few things.
He knew that one should never put his sword away wet. He knew that most of one’s body heat was lost through the ground, and so it was more important to sleep on top of something than beneath something when slumbering on the forest floor. He knew that the juice from citrus fruits made milk curdle. And he knew that Ophir would never do anything she didn’t want to do. He couldn’t cross-examine her. He couldn’t force answers from her. He couldn’t do anything unless she, too, felt it was what she wanted for herself. He didn’t just know this; he accepted it. It was part of why he’d remained her guard for so long while others had failed. He understood her.
Instead of pressing the issue further, wondering how Berinth had been caught, what the conditions had been, how she’d been certain, he attempted support instead. “I know Berinth didn’t act alone. Have you gotten other names from him? So that the information doesn’t die with him?”
Ophir tilted her head ever so slightly.
