Page 68 of A Chill in the Flame
Ophir was speechless. Her pink lips parted wordlessly as she gaped at Dwyn.
“Well thank goddess I’m a whore, then?” Ophir finally said, sputtering the words with both disgust and confusion.
“You’re still royal, and you still have the heart of your people. Caris was their preferred target, but in the wrong hands, you’d do just fine.”
She looked from Dwyn to Tyr.
“You’re safe,” Tyr said quickly, raising his hands. “We’re not the wrong hands. Well,I’mnot the wrong hands. The witch is a little less trustworthy. Goddess, Dwyn, could you do a worse job explaining the situation?”
“At least I’m being honest.”
Ophir’s lips moved noiselessly as if struggling to find words that wouldn’t come. She struggled to ask, “What do you want with me?”
“Power,” Dwyn said. She said it so Ophir would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she did not lie.
“But you said…”
“I meant what I said. I have no intentions of hurting you, and I never will. There are violent methods to achieve these means. Berinth’s tactic may work. Perhaps gutting you would yield the results he might want. But once he slaps you on the table and takes a dagger to your stomach, what if he fails? Then what? He’s taken his one chance at power and squandered it. You’re the only princess left. They only get one more shot at this.”
“I—”
“But what if you’re alive, Firi?” Dwyn moved farther into the room. “What if you live, if you thrive, if you come into your own? What if you become wholly yourself, if yourheart—beating with the blood of millions—courses through your veins? What if you fully own your power?”
“What would you gain?” Ophir asked. “What would you gain from me finding my own power?”
“You said you knew,” Dwyn said quietly. “You said that you knew I wasn’t here altruistically, and that it didn’t matter, as long as I wasn’t going to hurt you. I never will, Firi. I swear it.”
Tyr spoke for both of them. He didn’t enjoy collaborating with Dwyn, but it was clear that his allegiance with Ophir faced equal fragility unless this was untangled with delicacy. “I first encountered Dwyn in Sulgrave using blood magic. I’ve followed her for years. She’s discovered what none of us have, and the bitch won’t share her knowledge.” He cast her a sour look, and she pulled her lips back from her teeth in a noiseless snarl. Tyr finished, “She’s the key to blood magic that doesn’t injure the user.”
“So, you’re just as power hungry?” Ophir clarified numbly.
Dwyn deflated at the sight of the princess. The vibrant, beautiful fae so full of life usually had eyes as gold as the family crown. They’d dimmed to a flat shade of ochre, shoulders slumping, heartbroken as she looked at Tyr for answers. Dwyn’s fists flexed at her side as she begged Tyr not to fuck this up.
The phantom shook his head. “We have very different motives, trust me. Dwyn’s an elusive sprite and the continent would benefit from her death, but she’s clever. There is a clan—the blood gang she’s referred to…” He redirected his words. “Well, I followed her here to Farehold with the intent of bringing her back to Sulgrave. They—the Blood Pact, that is—want to be able to do what she does. And yes, Ophir, I want to know how she does it every bit as badly as they do. Dwyn funnels power through others. The selfish witch won’t tell a soul.”
“Fuck off,” Dwyn growled.
Tyr exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring as he waiteda moment for his patience to return. “Once I got here, I realized what a beacon you and your sister had been for those seeking blood magic. Raascot’s king has no children—you and Caris are the only heirs in all of Gyrradin, which has drawn a few unsavory figures to Farehold. While trying to locate this plague of a siren, I found Berinth. Fortunately for everyone, Dwyn seems to believe that your heart is more valuable while beating.”
Dwyn shot him a warning look.
“But…” Ophir’s word was a breath. Sedit had been lying curiously on the ground, eyeing the party while they spoke. As his master’s emotions shifted, so did his body. He sat up and crossed to Ophir, crouching at her feet. He seemed to sense her distress well enough to position himself against the Sulgrave fae. “I met you first,” she said to Tyr. “I met you at the party before I met Dwyn. You tried to stop the man called Aemon from drugging me. You carried me to the castle.”
Dwyn smirked. She pushed away from the doorway and went to sit on the bed. “Your turn,” she said to Tyr.
He spoke through his teeth. “The world would be a better place if you died, witch.”
“So you’ve said.” She shrugged and reclined against a stack of pillows, picking at her nails with all of the idleness in the world. She was doing her best to communicate that she did not fear the outcome of the conversation.
Ophir looked to Tyr like he was a life raft in a storm.
“They’re not secretive, princess. The people who want power…well, I wanted Berinth to meet his end just as badly as I continue to desire Dwyn dead,” he said. “I was at the party to intervene. Removing you from their hands was the best I could do.”
Dwyn wanted so badly to comfort the princess, but she forced herself to remain still as she watched their exchange. Tears threatened Ophir as she blinked at him. “Why?”
His face twisted against a complicated emotion. He ran a hand over his face, raking it from his brows to his chin. “Racesfor power don’t get to tie for first prize,” he said. “Whether it’s Berinth or Dwyn, I’m more invested in keeping power out of their hands than I am in taking it for myself. I won’t lie to you, Firi: I want it. But not as badly as I wantthemto not have it.”
Ophir looked at her at long last. Dwyn did her best to remain cool and reassuring as she said, “He may or may not be telling the truth. All I know is: he’s a bastard, and I don’t like him.”
