Page 26 of A Chill in the Flame
What Ophir had done was not summoning.
She had manifested.
She’d been foolish to think Dwyn’s methods had been an exercise intended for healing.
Harland entered her room without announcing himself. He knelt before her as he had done so long ago, but everything was different now. Her clothes and hair were wet, as she’d been the morning he’d burst into her room following the party. She sat atop her bed fretting over her creation,but this time she was not a distant husk. Fear had replaced her numbness, seeping into the world around her just like the damp, soaked spot on the duvet from where her sopping clothes and tendrils of hair rested firmly on the mattress.
His saturated armor mirrored her dress as it dripped onto her carpet. She knew from the twitch of his hands that he wanted to comfort her. Of course he wanted to be a good guard, a good subject to the royal family, a good friend and a good steward of magic and peace. Surely, he wanted to do the right thing, but how could one do the right thing when there was no clear path forward?
But she knew his pained expression went far beyond that of a man of duty. His face was that of a man who wanted to take her in his arms and hold her.
Ophir chewed on her words. “If people find out—”
“They won’t,” he said quickly. He abandoned his comforting post and stood, crossing his arms to force his hands to be kept to himself. He rubbed at his chin with a free hand while he stated the facts. “Your gift is flame, Ophir. It is well known throughout the kingdom. Everyone knows what power you possess, and they would never expect or believe that you’d come into anything further. It’s unlikely that you would show an aptitude for such a radically different skill this late in life. No one will suspect you of possessing a new gift.”
“Why would you hide this for me?”
His eyes were tight and serious. “You know why.”
Her damp, brown-gold locks shook, water dripping from their tendrils. “Several fae have multiple powers. Dwyn can—”
His eyes strained as he turned to hear her finish her sentence. His words were taut with a low severity as he asked, “What can Dwyn do?”
She didn’t want to incriminate the fae who had quickly become her only friend. No man would feel safe in the presence of a siren if they knew what she could do. Regardless, Ophir wasn’t sure she’d survive if Dwyn left. She’d mademore healing progress, begun to gain healthy weight, and even stretched her nights of sleep further and further thanks to the Sulgrave fae’s presence. “She has multiple water-related abilities. Not only does she manipulate it, but I believe she can also breathe in water.” He didn’t need to know what she used her powers to accomplish. Harland was no sailor. He was at no risk of falling prey to whatever dark whims a siren might possess.
“No one has to know about this,” he repeated, as much to himself as to her. He pressed a hand to his heart as he looked at her, a silent vow in his action. Manifestation came with the kind of consequences that raised the ground, toppled dynasties, and created worlds. It was a power too great to be allowed to live on this earth. He said it as much with his eyes as he did with his gesture: he would not allow her to meet a manifester’s fate. “But Dwyn knew.”
“She learned when we did,” Ophir replied.
“She knew,” he said, expression grave.
“How could she have known?” Even as she asked the question, she held the same puzzle pieces that Harland gripped with uneasy hands. Dwyn had planted the image in her mind for weeks. She’d goaded her, pushed her, and beat her until the princess snapped with the power. This had been no healing exercise in freeing oneself from trauma. She’d been engaging with intent. The Sulgrave fae had known.
Harland shook his head.
“What do we do now?” Ophir asked.
He looked at her with pained, hazel eyes. “She’s in a guest room now. She wasn’t happy about being separated from you.”
“Is she in trouble?”
Harland chewed his lip. “That’s not the right word.”
“We haven’t been apart in weeks,” Ophir replied. She wasn’t sure what the inky snake had taught her about Dwyn, but a few facts remained. Dwyn had saved her. Dwyn had kept her alive the night of Caris’s murder and continued to save her night after night, fitful sleep after restless slumber.Aubade was spared an ashen end because of Dwyn.
The line between suspicion and salvation grew thinner with every night that passed.
***
For three days, Ophir did not see or hear from Dwyn. Harland had refused to answer any questions about the Sulgrave girl. In the moments following her manifestation of the serpent, everything else had blurred. Ophir was escorted out of her rooms only for meals.
For fifty years, Ophir had been adrift. She’d dodged responsibilities, deflected obligations that came with the crown, and indulged in the pleasures and victories of a princess who’d learned how to navigate as the secondborn. For the gut-wrenching, hopeless months following Caris’s loss, she’d grieved, she’d prayed, and she’d suffered. For three days and three nights, she pictured herself on the cliff and the enormous, terrifying beast that had sprung from her fingertips.
She pushed the word out of her mind every time she was confronted by the implication that came with creation. The thought was too big, too important, too powerful for Ophir to speak aloud. She settled into a protective shock as the sun rose and set. Though she didn’t name the power, one distinct change occurred.
For three consecutive nights, Ophir did not dream.
Thirteen
