Page 18 of A Chill in the Flame
Nine
Now
“I’ve never had a sleepover,” Dwyn said as she crawled onto the bed.
“I wouldn’t call this a sleepover” came Ophir’s exhausted response. The invitation she’d extended to Dwyn would serve a few purposes. For one, having someone else present to monitor her would give Harland a chance to sleep through the night. Dwyn’s gift for water was a perfect complement to Ophir’s destructive flame. She’d been rushed to Ophir’s room on more than one occasion in the middle of the night since taking up residence in the castle, but the time it took for her to be shaken awake and sprint down the corridor wasted valuable, destructive seconds. Dwyn had suggested many times that she stay with the princess in her room, and after executing her fourth middle-of-the-night rescue mission, Ophir conceded.
“Why? Sleepovers don’t have dozens of bowls of water scattered about the room and a bathtub filled to the brim?” Dwyn’s question was wry, but not in bad humor. She’d argued that she’d handled Ophir’s fire without issue every other time, but Harland insisted it would be easier to manipulate that which was already present. If they were awoken in the nightby an inferno, they didn’t need to waste precious moments scrambling for a source for her power.
The contained fire within the hearth head already begun to die, and there was no effort to relight it for the night. The summer was too pleasant for the need of fire, and the burgundy glow of the dim, remaining light was too soothing to invite flames back into the room.
“Caris and I would share our beds all the time. We were inseparable,” Ophir said quietly. She pulled the sheets over her lap to distract herself from the familiar spike of heat beginning to creep up her neck as another onslaught of tears threatened her.
Dwyn pouted. She plopped her head on the pillow and stared up at the canopy bed.
When she didn’t respond, Ophir looked at the siren and tried again. “You smell like mint. Has anyone told you that?”
Dwyn nodded. “They have. All fae have a unique scent, though I’m sure you know that. I’m told it’s quite intoxicating for humans, the poor creatures. They don’t have much of a shot at life, do they. I suppose you probably don’t get to see a lot of humans, right? Little princess locked up in her tower.” She pouted for the plight of mortals and isolated fae princesses alike, then waved it away, returning the conversation to herself. “I wish I could bottle my own and experience what others do.”
“It’s a common ingredient. You could just visit the kitchen.”
“And cook? Please” came Dwyn’s sleepy scoff.
Ophir sighed. “Caris said I didn’t smell like anything.”
Her dark brows gathered in the middle as she rolled toward Ophir, gently taking a handful of hair and bringing it to her nose. Her frown deepened as she released the hair, bringing her face terribly close to Ophir’s neck, lips and nose nearly grazing her skin as she inhaled. Gooseflesh rippled down Ophir’s neck, arms, and spine at the proximity.
“Caris was wrong.”
Ophir twitched ever so slightly. “What do I smell like?”
After a pause, she said, “Like the sun itself.”
Ophir shook her head. “The sun doesn’t smell like anything. And Caris—”
Dwyn twisted her mouth to one side. “Firi, can I stop you? Thinking about Caris is good, but I need you to practice something with me.”
Ophir used the back of her hand to wipe at her tear. “What’s that?”
“Tell me how angry you are.”
Ophir had already begun rolling into a ball against the painful memory of her sister, hugging her knees to her chest. “What?”
Dwyn folded her feet beneath her, sitting on her knees atop the bed. She clasped Ophir’s hands in her own. “Right now, your emotion is an animal. It’s a hurt deer limping through the forest. It’s a dolphin watching a shark approach. It’s a kicked puppy. These are the spirits I see and feel when I look at you.”
“Thanks.” She wiped at a second tear.
“No, listen. I need you to tell me: what’s the most terrifying creature you can think of?”
“I don’t want to do this.”
Dwyn’s lips became a hard line. “There are lots of things we don’t want, and just as many things that we do. Unfortunately, wishes and wants are useless unless we do something about them. I’m trying to help you. Now, what is the scariest beast in the lands?”
Ophir thought about the beasts that roamed the forests. Bears, wolves, bats, and enormous cats with fangs and teeth would wait for you in the trees and hills with glowing, yellow eyes. Spiders could crawl beneath your sheets and approach you while you slept, attacking you in the night.
“I hate snakes.”
“Good.” Dwyn nodded encouragingly. “Close your eyes, Firi. See a forest. See its trees, its dirt, its roots and shadows and darkness. Are you there?” Dwyn waited for a sign of acknowledgment before continuing. “Good. Keep those eyes closed.Picture the limping deer in your heart as it walks through the forest. Envision the helpless, wounded deer of your sorrow, and watch as his fur begins to fall away. See his coat fall to the ground around his hooves until he has no hair. Look at the deer’s antlers as they shed, and see his eyes move from atop his snout to the sides of his head. See your deer lie down on the ground. Watch as his legs disappear into his body and his scales begin to grow. Watch him lengthen. Look at his fangs. Look at his size. Can you see him? Can you see the enormous snake that was hiding where the deer once was?”
