Page 101 of A Chill in the Flame
“I didn’t confront you on your little ambassador mission because no blood was shed. You needed to see them for yourself, and you did. You came back and we never spoke of it. It was over.”
His face was ripe with incredulity. “You want Farehold to get away with this? With nearly a millennium of injustice? You want—”
“Of course not!” Full-bodied anger tore through her, irrespective of the late hour. Tyr looked over his shoulder for something he suspected he might see: rune etchings on the doors. They’d been engraved by a manufacturer for their dampening ability. No one would be able to hear what happened within these rooms. “But do I blame the grandmothers and the children and the feeble and the poor of Aubade? Do I blame the ignorant princess stumbling around here with little more education on the world than a toddler? Am I any better if I take their land? If I rain terror down on the citizens, don’t I match their monstrosity?”
There was a tinny quality to his high, mocking laugh. “Where is the accountability? Where is the justice?”
“You’d have me rush into battle and risk my people’ssafety after all we’ve endured? You’ve always been short-sighted,” Zita replied.
Tempus’s hands clenched into fists. “It’s been six hundred years!”
Her reply was a gentle desert breeze. “And if I’d taken your council, the regents who sit upon their stolen throne would have been ready for retaliation. Revenge, dear husband, is a dish best served cold.”
“Goddess damn it, Zita. There’s cold, and then there’s whatever the hellthisis.”
She didn’t dignify his petulance with a response.
He was unmoved. “You have a plan, then?”
The bored stare she gave him could have frozen every drop of water in the palace. “You gave up the privilege of knowing long ago, Tempus.”
Tyr touched a finger to his lips, leaning into his silence as he listened. He’d been right. The All Mother had favored him indeed.
Tempus stomped to the far side of the room. Something told Tyr these were fights the walls knew well. The shapeshifting man cast an exasperated arm as he made a sweeping gesture to the world at large. “The humans who were forced to evacuate the coast don’t even know the names of the ancestors who died in the pilgrimage. Many of the fae who held your grudge have died. If you had planned to stay alone in the desert—”
“I should have,” she bit. “I was happier alone.”
His eyes went wild and pleading as he crossed the room. His tone softened as he reached for her hands. “You don’t mean that.”
She jerked them free. “I do. You’ll never be half the man he was. Now, leave me be. I have an execution to prepare.”
Tempus turned away, but not in anger. This was pain. Tyr recognized the broken emotion painted from his wounded face to the slump of his shoulders. He was looking into the fractured heart of a man in the sort of love that would never be returned.Despite the tumultuous conversation before him, he couldn’t ignore the thrum of excited adrenaline. This was a fist-sized diamond of finds in the world of espionage. He’d uncovered more in thirty minutes than any of the Farehold parties could have hoped to discern if they’d remained in Midnah for years.
Tyr had witnessed many gifts and powers throughout his years and couldn’t help but find his superior. Shapeshifting? Yes, a clever way to hide in plain sight, but a more effective gift for hiding was the ability to step into the place between things. Harland possessed supernatural strength? Good for him, but what good was brute force if the enemy spotted him a mile away? Tyr had developed his own hardened muscles and skillsets and could deliver punches and dodge similar blows without ever being seen. Samael had excellent intuition? That sounded wonderful, but if he was discovered the moment he followed his hunch, how useful was his power? Ophir could manifest? Well…okay, she had him beat on that one. It was the superior gift.
And Dwyn? She was infuriating. He hated that the irreverent, too-often-naked witch, her stolen powers, and her unconscionable trail of victims took residence in his mind. She did not deserve the thought he gave her.
Now what was he to make of the two before him? Zita, the clear royal of the palace, and the fae male called Tempus—was he truly her husband? A late-in-life marriage to a man who lived in the shadow of her resentment? Tyr supposed it was possible he was jumping to conclusions, but the angst, brokenness, and context allowed him to fill in some gaps whether he had some goddess granted gift for wisdom. Tyr leaned against the marbled wall and waited. If he gave them ten more minutes to talk, perhaps they’d spell out everything he needed to know about Berinth, Farehold, blood magic, and if he was lucky, maybe they’d stop fighting and give a detailed lesson on how to drain people and steal power.
“What was your plan?” Zita asked with a sort of resigned softness. “After the princess killed him?”
Tempus cupped his face once more, fingers rubbing over the ghost of a beard. “Now, that part I didn’t do.”
Zita’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“I don’t know the man in our dungeons.”
Her eyes were sharp. “I don’t believe you.”
“I can’t tell you what you are and are not allowed to believe. You know I’ve orchestrated several moving pawns in this game. Ididgo to Farehold decades ago to see them and speak to them myself, and you’re right: Eero and his family were toothless. Between the two of us, I seem to be the only one invested in righting the wrongs done to the continent. But I do not know that man in your dungeon.”
She took a careful step back. “You swear it?”
The man must have seen his opening and took it. This time when he grabbed Zita by the elbow, it was with the gentleness of a lover craving only acceptance. “I swear it on my life, on the All Mother, on the souls of my ancestors. I’ve been to Aubade. I’ve been in the castle that once belonged to your family. I’ve met their king. I’ve seen the lands they’ve claimed as their own. I’ve put my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’ve wanted to help you close this chapter so that you can begin to heal. But I am not responsible for the man in your dungeons, nor do I claim responsibility for the vengeance that brought Eero’s daughter here.”
Her face puckered everywhere from her brows to her lips. It was confusion, it was distrust, it was pain. “I never thought you’d admit to going to Aubade.”
Tempus brought her in close, holding her tightly as he breathed his answer against her neck. “I shouldn’t have gone. I learned very little. Ophir was a child at the time, so that’s what I became. She knew nothing, and her father was as useless as a sack of flour. I don’t blame Eero directly, though he certainly hasn’t done anything to right the wrongs. Caris, however…”
