Page 56 of A Chill in the Flame
“We?” Ophir asked speculatively, though her question was in jest. Truthfully, she knew that her power was just as much Dwyn’s as it was hers. Without her friend, she wouldn’t have unlocked her ability to manifest. She would never have created her enormous, black serpent. Her breed of demon hounds now roaming Farehold’s forests were thanks to a prompt from the depths of Dwyn’s mind. They really were in this together.
“Have you considered an object?”
Ophir’s lips puckered as she thought. “What sort of object?”
Tyr made a dismissive sound from the other side of the room.
Dwyn’s bitter tone cut through the room. “Please, share your thoughts, oh Great One. Or do we need to remind the princess that you’re only in Sulgrave because you’re a thug in a blood gang?” She turned conspiratorially to Ophir. “You could kick him out, you know. You could build a stone case around him with no exit. You could—”
“Quiet, witch.” His tone remained impassive. “No one is here because goodness and morality have driven us. You want power? Great—good for you. Ophir wants vengeance? Perfect, couldn’t be happier to help. I want answers? Incredible. Look how everyone wins.”
Dwyn had been quick to divulge Tyr’s ties to the Blood Pact, probably hoping Ophir would banish him. He’d had no trouble sharing that she’d also been a member of the same group, which had cooled the power of her argument substantially. Ophir didn’t care either way. She’d made it quite clear that as long as no one planned to disembowel her, their motives weren’t her concern.
The corner of Ophir’s lips twitched upward in the wakeof their argument. In many ways, she was grateful for their rivalry. It was a much-needed distraction. Their tension had drawn her attention away from her own pain on more occasions than one. She returned her attention to the siren who sat at her feet. “What object did you have in mind?”
Dwyn’s eyes twinkled. “We’re in need of directions, aren’t we? We suspect your target is in Henares? If we’ve wandered away from any knowable point on a map, then perhaps…” She allowed her sentence to drift, as if hoping the princess would take the prompt to complete it on her own.
“You do come up with the cleverest ideas.”
“I do, don’t I.”
Tyr didn’t appear to be trying very hard to conceal his expression at their affectionate exchanges. He’d win no favors by openly expressing jealousy or distaste.
Ophir closed her eyes and lifted one hand before her, palm flat. The other two eyed her curiously as they watched her process. She pushed thought and intention into her palm. Air, minerals, and particles begin to wield into a single object. When she opened her eyes, a round shape as golden as her irises rested in the center of her hand. Ophir’s gold-brown brows puckered in the middle as she looked at the thing she’d made.
“What’s wrong?” Dwyn asked.
She fought her disappointment. “Things just don’t quite…turn out the way I think they might.”
Dwyn took the object from Ophir’s hand before she had the opportunity to examine it. “It’s a watch?”
Ophir sagged. “It’s meant to be a compass. I wanted it to show us wherever we wanted to go. I guess my thoughts may have mixed with how much time had passed in our journey…how long it’s been since Caris passed…how long—”
“Yes.” Dwyn made an intentional sound to cut off Ophir’s train of thought before it could veer toward sorrow. “That’s okay! Life is complicated. Thoughts and emotion and intentions are deeply intertwined. So, here we have a watch. Shall we see if it does anything?” The golden pocket watch was ona rather elegant chain, but otherwise it was terribly simple. Dwyn snatched it, watching the clock’s hands tick unceremoniously as they measured the passage of time.
Tyr pushed away from the wall once more, despite himself. He peered down over Ophir’s back from where she lounged on the couch. He let a hand slide along her shoulder as he looked at the pocket watch.
She stiffened under his touch, but he gave her arm a squeeze to calm her fears. “Let’s see what you made, Princess.” His voice was low.
“How do we make it work?” Ophir asked, looking at her watch.
Dwyn shrugged. “Your hounds and creatures listen to you fine. Why don’t you ask it something, and see if it listens to you, too?” She passed the pocket watch back to Ophir. Dwyn’s eyes didn’t miss Tyr’s presence on the princess’s arm. Her eyes seemed to linger with a telling, burning intent on his hand.
She palmed the watch. “Just ask it a question?”
Dwyn struggled to arrange her face into a look of patience. “You made it, Firi. Don’t ask us how it works.”
Tyr slid a second hand down her opposite arm. “Maybe it will take our princess a little bit more encouragement to believe in herself.”
“Fuck off.” Ophir motioned as if to shake him off, but he only smiled at her halfhearted rejection. He did not relent, clearly enjoying the way she wiggled under his hands. If she was truly angry, there’d be fire to accompany her words. She’d demonstrated on more than one occasion that she had no trouble underscoring her emotions with flame. The firelight from the hearth had to have betrayed the red blush that crept up her neck whenever he touched her, and she knew he could tell precisely how he heated her blood.
Tyr didn’t relinquish his touch. He settled close to her face from over her shoulder, hands sliding down her arms, feigning interest in the watch. His breath was warm next toher cheek. His lips moved against her ear. “Tell it what you want to see.”
Ophir’s heart squeezed. Tyr made no attempt to conceal his ever-growing closeness, and she knew Dwyn had seen it all. Dwyn was not ignorant to the way he’d touch Ophir’s hip, brush her hair away from her face, guide her by placing his hand on her back, or cause her to redden time after time.
The game played among the three was one no one spoke, yet everyone understood.
Ophir swallowed as she stared at the small mechanism in her hand. “Where is Henares?” she asked the watch. Without waiting a moment, it began to spin. The hour hand, minute hand, and second hand swung as they narrowed into a tiny, acute angle, before homing in on a singular point. They remained in their arrow-like directions for a moment before the pocket watch abandoned its guiding point and resumed ticking the appropriate time.
