Page 103 of A Frozen Pyre
Despite knowing that Dwyn had made it, she felt her heart rate spike. She pictured Dwyn beneath the frozen northern sea, scared and alone. “And? What happened?”
“I saw my fatal error when I started to get cold. I felt the temperature before I realized I was slowing. And now it seems so foolish. I really could have used a gift for travel. I’d never met someone with the ability, nor had I heard stories of such a power. If it had been on my mind…”
“How far did you make it?”
“Just past the Straits, thank the goddess. I stumbled to the shores on the Farehold side of our shared border. I don’t remember much. I was blue, half-mad with cold, and unable to move my arms or legs. A fisherman saw me come up from the sea. He intended to save me, I’m sure.” She laughed, but there was a sadness to it. “He succeeded.”
Ophir knew the man had died, as did anyone else in Dwyn’s path.
“I wonder how Tyr got to Farehold.” She regretted saying it aloud the moment it left her lips. Regret stabbed through her. She hadn’t wanted to think of him.
She’d wondered many times whether Tyr had truly left her to avenge Svea or if Dwyn had found a way around their bond at last and ended his life. Either way, Ophir was left heartbroken. That was how life was, and how it would continue to be as long as she stayed with Dwyn.
The siren was too caught up in her own traumatic memory to notice how Ophir’s entire body had winced at the pain of Tyr’s memory. “Members of the Pact would never be trusted on an excursion, but voyagers go south from Sulgrave all the time. Tyr stepped into the place between things and remained unseen. He traveled in warmth and comfort, using their supplies and making the crossing without ever being detected.”
The statement was odd enough that she almost forgot they’d been discussing Tyr at all. “Citizens of Sulgrave come to Farehold?”
“All the time.” Dwyn nodded. “Just to see the sights or check in on your bodies of government. But keep that to yourself. No one wants Farehold or Raascot to know the journey is possible. It’s how we keep the southern rabble out of our kingdom.”
Ophir couldn’t keep herself from smirking as she asked, “Farehold’s the rabble?”
“Hell yes, it is.” Dwyn laughed. “Just because you’ve spent your time with two former gang members doesn’t meanwe’re representative of Sulgrave. We’re centuries beyond the backwater practices of the south, which you would know if you had more discerning taste in friends. You should really be more careful about the company you keep, Firi.”
The amusement in her soft chuckle was genuine. Dwyn’s humor had never been self-deprecating. She hadn’t been sure the siren was capable of humility, even for the sake of a joke. Sadness quickly replaced the modicum of joy Ophir had found as she focused on what she had to do. She knew that where she was about to go, no one could come with her.
And the worst part: Dwyn couldn’t know.
Their reverie was cut short as a man stopped in front of them. Ophir looked up at the jackets and leathers that had been thickly lined with mismatched furs. Tufts of black, gray, and brown stuck out from the cuffs around his wrists, his ankles, and his collar. He gave his hat a tug, exposing his hair and ears respectfully as he addressed his monarch. Of course, he had no way of knowing that Ophir was all that remained of Farehold’s royal family. To be fair, Ophir also couldn’t be certain that their plan had worked and that the scourge of Aubade had been expunged from the map. But a part of her felt that she was deeply and profoundly alone.
“Your Highness,” he said, gruff voice reminding her of rocks tumbling together. “The men are ready to set sail. I’m the ship’s captain, but you’re the captain of the captain, as it were.”
He waited for her to laugh at his joke, but she did not. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he looked at Dwyn. “I’ve never met anyone from Sulgrave before,” he said.
“Well, get ready to meet an ocean of us. I don’t know if you realize this, but Sulgrave is full of people from Sulgrave.” She looked at him with deadpan seriousness.
“Yes, of course, I didn’t mean…I simply…”
Ophir wanted to hit Dwyn for teasing the poor captain.
“Well, if you’re ready, I’ll give the men the signal.”
Ophir continued to look up from where she remained onthe floor. It would only be peculiar for a little while longer. Then she’d make all of the confusion disappear. “Yes, of course. Give your men the go-ahead.”
He grunted a respectful acknowledgment before leaving them be.
“Dwyn, do you smell something?” Ophir asked.
“I smell unwashed sailors.”
Ophir rallied what might pass for a convincing smile. “Something’s cooking. Will you find the galley?”
Dwyn wrinkled her nose. “I’m your servant, now? If we’re going to Sulgrave, shouldn’t I be the one in charge?”
Ophir winked. “I’m the goddess, now. Worship me or die.”
That earned a light chuckle. Dwyn grunted as she got to her feet and rounded the corner in search of the galley. The ship was large, but not so big that Ophir could afford to waste time. The moment Dwyn disappeared, she sprinted in the opposite direction. She only had a few minutes to do what needed to be done.
Her plan was threefold.
