Page 19 of A Chill in the Flame
Ophir scrunched her face behind her shut lids. She forced herself to see the deer as it twisted and transformed into a large, horrible serpent.
“Describe it to me. What color is it? What’s it doing?”
She swallowed as she envisioned the slithering beast in the forest. She still wasn’t comfortable with the exercise, but she exhaled slowly as she focused on the picture in her mind. “It’s black. Everything about the snake is black, from its belly and its scales to its eyes and teeth and tongue. Its mouth is open. Venom is dripping from its extended fangs. It’s coiling like it’s going to strike.”
“Firi, youarethe snake. You are no wounded deer. You are a terrifying, dangerous creature. What can you do as a snake?”
Ophir opened her eyes. “Nothing. I’m not—”
Dwyn’s eyes flashed with a sharp, scolding agitation. “What can a snake do? You’re a snake—what can you do?”
Ophir gnawed on her lip. This couldn’t be any more useless than her unanswered prayers. Reluctantly, she offered, “I can…strike?”
“That’s exactly right.” Dwyn’s voice was grave. She burned with intensity as she squeezed the princess’s hand more tightly. “Next time you feel sad about your sister, I want you to take that sorrow and channel it into rage. Your grief must become fury. See your emotion as a physical beast. You are not wounded, princess—you are provoked. You are the serpent.”
For the barest of moments, Ophir felt empowered. Then Dwyn was stripping naked from her nightdress and the princess was shaking her head in shock. “What the hell!”
“Oh, I don’t sleep with things on. I try to avoid clothes whenever I can. Hope that’s not a problem.” She blew out the candle on her side of the bed and waved a hand to indicate she was done speaking for the night.
Of all of the people Ophir could have met in this world, she’d been brought together with the most peculiar alien fae in all of the land. She’d never met anyone from Sulgrave before this and speculated as to whether or not it was problematic to wonder if they were all so strange. She was still blinking with bewildered eyes as she blew out her candle and rested her head against the pillow, acutely aware that the stripped body of a siren was mere inches away.
***
Cold. Panic. Terror. Water. Confusion.
The arctic, soaking blast of water flung her from her sleep. Ophir sputtered as she looked up into wide, dark eyes. Pale skin. Dripping water. A familiar, vine-like tattoo wrapping elaborately from one knee up over her hip. It was Dwyn who stood over her, feet planted on the mattress as she panted.
“Goddess damn you, Princess. I knew it was bad, but surely the night terrors should be less frequent by now?”
Ophir’s throat ached from her screams. She tried to make sense of her surroundings but discovered from the gray dust covering her skin that yet another sleep dress had been reduced to ash. Dwyn had cut the terror short, sparing the mattress and leaving only the barest hint of steam as evidence that her water had washed away the princess’s nightmares.
Harland threw open the door only to instantly avert his gaze with an embarrassed flush. The women looked to him with a mix of bewilderment and indignation as Dwyn was still completely nude on top of the bed and now Ophir was covered in soot in a similar state of undress.
He shook his head against the confusing surge of visuals and emotions. “Is…does…um…”
“Spit it out,” Dwyn said impatiently.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to focus. “Was your friend burned, Princess Ophir? Do you need extra healing tonics?”
“We’re fine,” Ophir answered for them both. Perhaps she should have checked to see that Dwyn wasn’t covered in blisters before she’d made such a definitive statement, but she was ready for Harland to leave. He closed the door behind him, saying something about ensuring fresh blankets would be fetched, but it had come out rushed and muffled against the quick turn of his back as he’d disappeared.
“I’m sorry,” Ophir mumbled, closing her eyes against the naked woman standing over her.
“Okay, maybe I was wrong.” Dwyn lowered herself to the mattress. She sat on the part of the bed that hadn’t been singed in the flame, slowly folding her feet beneath her. “You don’t just feel sorrow. You’re also terrified.”
Ophir sniffed against the scent of smoke and singed fabric. She stood from the bed to grab towels so she didn’t have to sleep in a puddle of water and the embers that remained from her burned clothes. The silken sheets had begun to melt beneath her. She spread out the towel and curled up on it.
Ophir closed her eyes, doubting that sleep would come a second time. She rolled away, ignoring the Sulgrave fae. She bunched a handful of remaining sheets between her fingers, doing her best not to cry into them as she clutched the fabric. The night terrors, vulnerability, and utter lack of control were a source of humiliation. She hated the nakedness that her flame had forced upon her. She felt raw and sick and empty. Her back was to the dark-haired fae, so she was surprised by the contact when Dwyn wrapped an arm around her, pressing her body into the curves and grooves of the princess’s back and legs as she cuddled her. Ophir could feel the pressof her breasts, the curve of her hips, the warmth of her skin, and the sharp, minty scent of her hair.
Her entire body blushed in response. Her reaction wasn’t just because Dwyn was a beautiful naked stranger, or because they were in bed together. Pain reddened her cheeks and constricted her throat as she struggled to remember the last time someone had wrapped their arms around her with tenderness. “What are you doing?”
“I’m holding you, and you’re going to let me, because I think deep down you know it will help. You’re not alone, Firi. Once you feel it, maybe you’ll be able to turn that sorrow and fear into the weapon it needs to be.”
Ten
Then
Harland was just shy of one hundred and fifty years of age when he’d been assigned the honorific title of Princess Ophir’s personal bodyguard. While many expressed their congratulations over the prestigious rank he’d achieved at such a young age, far more had wished him luck.
