Page 101 of A Frozen Pyre
One Hour Following the Wedding
The Frozen Straits
Gwydir’s snowflakes were nothing compared to the icy wasteland of dunes before the Frozen Straits. The cold burned Ophir’s nose. Her lungs ached. She’d heard legends of the Straits, but she hadn’t fathomed how bitter and desolate it would feel to stand on the edge of the known world.
“I’m not happy with this plan,” Dwyn grumbled as they crested the top of the hill. She peered over the stark-white hills as the terrain flattened into a terrible, porcelain nothingness. She shuddered at the endlessness of the Straits, then looked over her shoulder. “Are you going to destroy that door?”
Ophir looked at it for a moment, appreciating the hard ninety-degree corners of the ornate door backlit against the pastel gradient of the winter landscape around them. She flicked her wrist as if to summon her flame, then thought better of it. “I think it might be fun to leave a few around the continent, just for the chaos. How disappointing for some intrepid voyager to find a magic door only to have it leave them bereft on the Frozen Straits.”
“That may be my favorite thing you’ve ever said. Unfortunately, I’m too irritated with you to enjoy it.” Dwyn bundled herself into the thick white furs they’d taken from thetreasury. Ophir had made an offhanded comment about the coats belonging to an aboriou, which Dwyn had promptly told her did not exist.
“You aren’t happy with any of my plans,” Ophir retorted. She gestured with a thickly gloved hand to the people gathered in the distance. “There,” she said. “That’s the crew.” Her feet broke through the icy crust of the snow as she advanced.
“That’s not true.” Dwyn dragged behind. “I liked the plan to return to Gwydir. I loved the plan that turned the wedding into a bloodbath. What an iconic way to bring a dynasty to an end. I wish we could have seen it.”
“I don’t,” Ophir said into the wind.
She hated the questions gnawing at her. Were her parents already dead, or was that carnage still to come? Had Zita’s power for frenzy truly turned tens of thousands of Aubade’s humans and fae into beings of sheer chaos? She wondered what home looked like, then reminded herself it wasn’t her home any longer. A new power would have to claim the bloodstained sands, but it wouldn’t be her.
She shivered but wasn’t sure if the cold was the true cause.
Brief thoughts visited her as to what it would take for Ceneth to heal from what they’d done. The sun turned red as it descended to her left. Across the continent, the sun was setting over the sea as her doppelgänger walked down the aisle. Perhaps her betrothed was looking into her face even now. She wondered if the crew would spot them, but she supposed the white fur would have a camouflaging effect until they were practically on top of the men.
“It’s not too late to change the plan,” Dwyn said. “Aubade is gone, but your future doesn’t have to be. We can tell the men anything. We could still go to Gwydir. Think of how beautiful you’d look upon the throne in a castle made of labradorite, Firi.”
“No,” Ophir huffed. Her lungs burned against the frosted air and the exertion of trudging through the snow. “I’m doing what must be done. When they don’t find my body amongthe carnage, they’ll go looking for answers. They’ll need a monarch’s ass to sit in Aubade. If they think I’m still on the continent, they’ll try to reinstate me in Farehold.”
“Then let them!” Dwyn gasped. “It’s perfect. Then you don’t even have to get married or hang around with wings-for-brains. With Eero and Darya gone—”
Dwyn stopped speaking at Ophir’s flinch.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be insensitive. I won’t bring them up again. But Farehold will need a ruler, and—”
“And they can figure it out for themselves. It will be easy enough to understand how the winged fae were able to escape, but they’ll have expected my husband to have brought me with him. You’re from Sulgrave, Dwyn. This is the only way to make it make sense.”
Her eyes flared. “That we escaped the massacre and went back to my homeland? Without your husband? You’re newlyweds, for the goddess’s sake.”
“No one believes we’re happily in love. It won’t be a stretch for them to imagine that, given the turmoil, we chose to tackle separate corners of the continent. Ceneth would need to stay behind with his people. Meanwhile, I’ll go on as an ambassador for Farehold and Raascot pretending to look for answers as to what happened in the coliseum, because I’m such a good and selfless queen. Going to Sulgrave is a great plan.”
“Only because it’s easy. It’s great if you’re looking to disappear into oblivion as the only golden-haired defector in our mountain kingdom. It’s fine if you want to live a life of obscurity. Do you want to hear a better plan?”
Ophir ground her teeth until her jaw ached. She turned in the snow to glare at Dwyn. The wind kicked up a swirl of crystallized snow, cutting a magnificent silhouette along with Dwyn’s long, dark hair as it fluttered behind her. Dwyn shot her a challenging stare.
“Take what’s yours, Ophir.”
“I am,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m takingchoice. I’m taking autonomy. I’m taking control of my narrative.”
“The world is at your fingertips, Firi. All of the obstacles were taken out with fire and frenzy. You have the support of Raascot and Tarkhany. You can claim the throne and make it new! You can do anything! You’re the next fucking All Mother!”
Ophir blanched. “How could you say that?”
Dwyn stamped a foot, but the gesture was futile, muted as snow absorbed it. Her anger was caught on a gust as she threw her hands out to either side. “This is what it means to be a god. You create and you destroy. Look what you accomplished in Aubade.”
Ophir refused to meet Dwyn’s imploring gaze. “I wasn’t even present for what happened in Aubade.”
“And yet it happened because of you.”
Frost and fury burned through her in equal proportions. “Are you trying to tell me their blood is on my hands?”
