Page 69 of A Chill in the Flame
Ophir backed into the wall until her spine was flush against the stones. Her hand flew to her heart, covering its beating with her fingertips. From down the hall, the clip-clop of another set of talons approached. Her other hound had let itself into the room, presumably entering from the open kitchen door. She didn’t even look at the vageth as it eyed the fae. It rested its stomach on the stones beside Harland’s limp body, reclining so as to block the exit.
“I still don’t understand.” Ophir’s expressive, amber brows collected in the center as she looked to Dwyn. “If you don’t want to hurt me, or cut out my heart, how could you stand to profit? What can you gain from this?”
Tyr seemed just as interested in the answer as Ophir was.
Dwyn struggled to look relaxed. She couldn’t dare to lose her cool now. She pushed up from where she’d leaned against the bed and threw her legs over its edge. She set her delicate feet on the stones and began to cross to Ophir. The hellhound at Ophir’s feet began to growl, but she paid it no mind. She clasped Ophir’s hands in her own as she leaned in closely.
“I care about you, and I want you to care about me. I want tobewith you, Ophir. I understand—sure, I could have killed you. I could have let you drown on the waves, hauled your body to shore, and taken your blood or heart then. I could have, but I didn’t. I swear to you, Firi, I would never hurt you. You’d be gone. I’d be alone.” Dwyn ran a hand up her arm until it cupped the princess’s face. “If we ruletogether, we have the power of two. I didn’t mean to lie to you. But together…we have so much potential, Firi.”
“I—”
Dwyn dared to brush her lips over Ophir’s—the gentle, tempting graze of a kiss. Ophir’s eyes remained open. Her heart flittered with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings out of alarm, not pleasure. She was not soothed by the gesture.
“Don’t do that.” Ophir tried to pull away. “Don’t try to kiss me now like everything is fine.”
“You liked it, once.”
“That was before.”
“It’s okay if you don’t trust me. I saved you on the waves, I’ve held you, I’ve doused your flames night after night, I’ve shared your bed in more ways than one, I’ve traveled with you, and I’ve even put up with him.” She threw a single vulgar finger over her shoulder to Tyr. “It doesn’t bother me, because I’m in this for it all. I’m not going anywhere. As angry as you might be, I know that you see the truth in my words: I’ve been there for you. I’ve been there for you, protected you, and stood beside you. I helped you become who you weremeantto be. And I’m willing to wait until you’re ready to see me as I am.”
“Don’t touch me,” she said, freeing herself from Dwyn.
“Are you okay?”
Ophir searched her expression. After an eternity, she said, “No, I’m not. I haven’t been okay in a long time.”
Dwyn studied her face carefully.
With the sort of pained carefulness as if picking over broken glass, Ophir said, “I’d like to be alone tonight. You two can find another room. I don’t care. Just…don’t be here.”
Dwyn surged with emotion. “Please, Firi—”
Tyr reached out to stop her, and for once, she did not fight him. She watched the princess helplessly. The sudden end to the meeting was chilling. Everyone seemed acutely aware of the night’s temperature and disquieted by Ophir’s sudden stillness. They began to nod with some hesitancy, butTyr looked down at Harland’s crumpled shape.
Ophir’s voice was flat as she looked at Tyr. “If you could set Harland by his horse, I’d consider it a great favor.”
***
Tyr agreed wordlessly and had already begun to loop his grip under the guard’s arms, dragging his unconscious form backward down the hall. Ophir did not meet their eyes as they departed into the hall. She did not look to them as she closed the door. She did not look at them as she blew out the candle, or as she watched out the window to ensure Harland’s sleeping shape was left safely by his mount. She did not look for them as she created her second inanimate object, manifesting a ladder from little more than breath and thought. She didn’t look over her shoulder as she climbed out the window and crept across the lawn, save to ensure that her very lithe beast had not only the power of a canine but also the feline agility that allowed him to follow her. She didn’t look for them as she called a twisting, knotting pit of vipers to smother the lawn, their rope-like bodies so thick and intertwined that they’d never be able to run after her. She didn’t look to Harland as she passed his fallen body, or to the house as she created her first steed—a gaunt, bony, terrible thing that seemed more ghost than mount. She didn’t look to them as she took off down the regent’s road, and she didn’t look over her shoulder at the high-pitched scream of her name cried over the horizon, barely reaching her ears in the distance she’d already covered.
She vowed to never look back again.
Part III
A Trail of Blood and Beasts
Thirty-three
Harland wished his king would speak. He wanted to beyelled at, to have furniture thrown, to be caned or sent to the dungeon. Instead, Eero had absorbed his message and sank into a chair. He’d rested his hands in his face, concealing the eyes that he shared with the honey-colored features of his missing daughter. Queen Darya had been present at the beginning of the meeting, but she’d wordlessly excused herself. Her unceremonious departure had left the men in the world’s longest uncomfortable silence.
“Your majesty…” He looked at where the king sat at the war room table. The bright windows lit the beige, circular room without the aid of fire or torches.
Eero looked up from his hands. “I don’t blame you, if disapproval is what you fear.”
Harland’s chest tightened painfully. His king’s heart was so saturated with anguish that his words had been more of a punishment than a comfort. He wanted to take his ruler’s pain. King Eero had been a good and fair ruler for three hundred years. He’d birthed two beautiful, intelligent, powerful daughters. He had seen his kingdom prosper and had been ready to hand it over to Caris and her betrothed as he aided the royal visionaries in their efforts to change theworld. Everything had been at the tips of his fingers, and then with the plunge of a dagger, it had been dashed.
Harland knew Ophir better than anyone else in the castle. As her personal guard, he was not only responsible for her, but he’d become Aubade’s foremost expert on the wayward princess. He’d requested that the other guards be dismissed as he relayed his findings, and the king and queen had listened. He didn’t want other people to know that Ophir had become a murderer, though it was surely only a matter of time before word of her actions began to spread.
