Page 120 of A Frozen Pyre
“In Tarkhany,” Ophir said plainly. “Dwyn told me the morning of the execution.”
Harland’s mouth dropped open. “But you kept her at your side! You continued to stay with her. She’s been with you since…” His words lost their trail. “How did she accomplish this?”
Ophir’s lower lip puckered in a questioning frown.
Harland reiterated, “How did she tell you in such a way where you’d have no emotional response?”
Once again, his thoughts vanished as something else took their place. He pictured the blubbering captain on the ship. Lord Berinth had been under a powerful hypnosis, one that had crafted his backstory, that had won others to his cause, that had thrown party after party to lure the princesses to his estate. Once he’d accomplished what Dwyn had brainwashed him to do, her hold over him had snapped. He looked at Ophir now, and rage swelled within him. “That clever fucking bitch. Of course, if she got out ahead of the narrative, she would never have to be worried about someone spilling her secret. No one holds power over her if she’s not keeping the truth.”
Ophir merely looked at him.
“Tyr is here. He did not leave you.” Harland was firm. It wouldn’t serve either of them if he pushed Ophir to understand what Dwyn had done. What they needed now was to get out of here. “I don’t know what Dwyn has told you, but we’re going to get you out. The rings have to work both ways, right? You’re fused, and she can’t do things without your behest either, right?”
He tried to get Ophir to her feet, but she tugged out of his grasp. Hate dripped from her words. “No. It’s why Ceneth was to go first in the ring ceremony. The first to put on this shackle is the victim. The second is its master. This is how I’d be able to force Raascot to bend to my will, should I have wanted. I could have had Ceneth and his people march against Tarkhany. My father thought himself so clever, but that bastard wasn’t even the one pulling the strings.”
Harland tried again to get her to her feet. When she resisted, he scooped her up.
“Put me down!” she demanded, instantly frantic. He attempted to ignore her, but she called her flame until he cried out in surprise and pain. Ophir thudded to the cabin floor and rolled to a halt. She shot him a frenzied look as she begged him to understand, “I can’t go anywhere.”
He looked at her speechlessly. He had no idea what to do. His eyes went to the ring, then up to Ophir. He reached for her hand, and she allowed the contact as he attempted to yank it off. It didn’t move. It didn’t even twist or budge like any piece of jewelry crafted by man or fae. It was truly fused to her.
Ophir’s eyes widened. She grabbed Harland tightly, eyes darting between him and the sword.
“Cut it off,” she said urgently.
He blinked at her. “The ring?”
“My finger,” she said, voice hitching in hurried petition. “Cut it off, Harland.”
“Ophir, I—”
“Save my fucking life. Cut it off! Do it now before she comes back. I lose a finger, or I lose eternity to a witch! Don’t be a coward. I need this. I need—”
“Okay,” he agreed. He drew his blade as she slammed her hand against the ground and spread her fingers as wide as they would go. He looked between the ring and the grit and determination on her face.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Wait,” Harland cautioned. He slipped off the leather belt that holstered his blade and cinched it around Ophir’s tiny wrist. He used the edge of his blade to cut off a thick chunk of the leather and stretched it out toward her mouth. “Bite down on this.”
Her lips parted as she accepted the leather bit. She closed her eyes tightly as her entire body tensed in a flinch. She pinned her ring-bearing hand down with her free hand to prevent it from shifting.
“Are you ready?” he asked. It was more for himself than for her. He would cut off his own arm a thousand times before mutilating Ophir. He wanted to spare her from pain, to rescue her, to make her life better. He never could have foreseen what would drive him to lift his blade to her tender flesh.
“Do it,” she grunted through the mouthful of leather.
And just as Harland readied himself to push the blade through flesh and bone, the door to the cabin opened, and a bundle of firewood clattered to the ground.
Forty-Four
Ophir’s eyes flew open. She spat out the leather in the timeit took for Dwyn to soak in the sight, nostrils flaring with rage, eyes wide with horror. They called out at the same time, Dwyn erupting in rage and Ophir lunging in alarm.
“Get him,” Dwyn commanded the vageth.
“No!”
The beast was on Harland in a second. It sank its teeth into his sword arm until he cried out, forcing the blade to clatter to the ground. It shook Harland’s arms furiously as it had him in its jowls.
“Stop!” Ophir lunged fearlessly for Sedit. She shoved her hands into its very mouth as she attempted to pry its jaws apart. Fresh red blood poured over Sedit’s tongue and dripped onto the floor. She looked up at where Dwyn remained silhouetted in the doorway and called to her in desperation. “I’ll do what you want, Dwyn! Don’t hurt him. Don’t let anything happen to him. Please, for the love of the goddess, stop!”
