Page 125 of A Frozen Pyre
“The first wearer disappears,” Tyr said, unfeeling. “You’re the first wearer now, Dwyn.”
“How could you,” Ophir said, the accusation like flesh dragged over glass until it was sliced and raw. “How couldyou,” she repeated.
“Dwyn,” he said, “go wait outside.”
And while Dwyn cried out and pounded against an invisible barrier, her feet forced her to obey. The fangs of her elongated canines caught in the firelight as she bared her teeth, howling like a feral animal as she was forced beyond the walls of the cabin. She continued her banshee’s cry as Tyr walked calmly to the door and closed it.
“How could you,” Ophir said a third time.
He cupped her face in his hands. “You never would have been safe.”
“You could have killed…” He saw the light of recognition in her eyes before she finished her sentence. No, to kill Dwyn would be to end his own life. “I’ll kill her,” she said firmly. “Let me kill her.”
“We’re fused now more than ever,” he said. He tugged his collar humorlessly over the tattoo. “I couldn’t have killed her before. But with these rings, if one of us goes, the other does, as well.”
Ophir’s breathing became shallower and shallower as she pleaded with him for any alternative. She needed a plan, a solution, something to fix what had been broken. Her rapid pants were the only sounds apart from the furious shrieking that crawled under the door and between the cabin’s cracks.
“I won’t let her hurt you,” he said.
“This hurts me,” Ophir said firmly. She grabbed his hand and pressed it into her heart. “Tyr, I can’t do this. How am I supposed to move forward knowing you’ve bound yourself to that witch—”
He chuckled lightly.
With shaking shoulders and trembling breath, she said, “I don’t see what’s funny about any of this.”
He shrugged, a sad smile on his face as he pulled her against his chest. “I’ve been calling her a witch since the day I first met her. It just feels good to have you finally on my side.”
She buried her face in the center of his chest while shecried.
She started several sentences, answering each demand before it completed its journey from her lips. Dwyn couldn’t be sent away if they were fused by both the rings and the bond of their ink. She couldn’t be killed, unless he, too, was ready to die. He felt her fingers dig into him as if she could keep him from leaving if she just held on more tightly.
“This is the only way,” he said.
“Don’t leave me” was all she could say in return, soaking his shirt with her tears.
He tugged her chin up to force her to look at his face. She tried to look away, but he held firm as he said, “The fae life is long, Ophir. Your first century was more eventful than most. Not many get to realize they’re the All Mother.”
“I’m not the—”
“You are,” he said quietly. “And while this year was horrible beyond all imagining, it was also the year where you discovered who and what you are. And what you are is someone who changed the world. You’re brilliant, and stubborn, and brave, and fierce, and incredible. I would have traded my centuries before now just to share the moment in time we had together, and I will trade my centuries after to honor my time spent with you.”
She closed her eyes, but he left his hand beneath her chin. “What do I do now?” she asked into the darkness.
“You do what you do best,” he said. “You make.”
“Tyr…” Her eyes fluttered open. She held his gaze for as long as she could.
“I was never religious,” he said as he brushed a kiss against her tears. “I didn’t care whether or not there was some greater power. I didn’t have faith. Until my sorry, foolish ass stumbled its way into the blessing of spending a year with you. You changed the course of kingdoms, of the people, of the world. You’re the reason we pray. And if I get one thousand lifetimes after this one, I can’t believe I was lucky enough to have loved a goddess.”
Epilogue
Why must they always scream?
“Please be quiet. You won’t suffer for long,” she said impassively. It had been a long time since she’d been able to muster compassion. The snow had melted. The months had come and gone. Years became decades became centuries. The enormous trees that encircled her glen grew taller still, taking up space as they swelled with time and water and memories.
Ophir scanned the empty silence of the wilds for her pet. She brought her fingers to her temple and gently massaged the slowly blooming headache.
“Here, Sedit,” she called to her hound. She hadn’t spotted him where he doubtlessly chased wild hares in the woods, but she knew the creature would respond to her. Her voice held no emotion, save for the barest hint of irritation. The headache had grown from a blossom into a fully rooted weed somewhere beneath her temples. Once the horrid noise ended, surely peace would follow. She hated their screams.
