Page 13 of A Frozen Pyre
He rested his forehead against hers, and she let her eyes flutter shut once more. No, Tyr wasn’t gone. Tyr was like the All Mother—present and helpful and listening in ways that even you didn’t know you needed. Tyr pressed a kiss to her forehead before saying, “I’ll be there for you more often than you think. I’ll whisper in your ear or touch your back whenever I can, okay? Only if you can promise me you won’t jump. You can’t give me away, Princess.”
“I promise.”
He chuckled quietly. “Maybe soon I’ll have to start calling you Queen.”
She looked away from his voice, face angled toward the distance.
“I just… I called Svea ‘Princess,’ and…ah, shit. That wasn’t the right thing to say at all. I meant that I cared so deeply for her, and with you—”
Ophir didn’t meet his eyes. “Your dog. I get it. Your hound is dead, my sister is dead, we all have death in common.”
“I’m sorry.” He ran a hand along her arm, squeezing her elbow. “Maybe it doesn’t mean to you what it does to me when I make that connection. But Ophir: I care so deeply for you. You’ve derailed the reason I traveled south in the first place. You’ve become the center of my universe. You’ve—”
“Ruined everything. I heard you.”
“Hey.” He tilted her chin up with the lift of unseen fingers.
She looked through him into the warming morning light of the trees, the river, the city beyond the castle. It was easier to be around him with her eyes closed, and so she allowed herself the darkness once more.
“Let me walk you back to the room,” he said. He swept his hand between the wall and her back before she had time to respond and began ushering her toward the chambers where Dwyn would be waiting. “I’d ask you to tell the siren I hate her, but for all she knows, I don’t exist. Did she ask howI died? Or if you left me in Tarkhany?”
Ophir’s forehead creased. She stopped in the middle of the hall. “No, in fact, she hasn’t.”
She lifted a hand as she searched for Tyr’s face. She clutched the side of his neck.
“What is it?”
Ophir shook her head. “Why didn’t I think of that? She should have asked. Even if she hates you, even if she wants you gone, she should have asked. Does she know something?”
Tyr made a quiet noise. “It’s possible that she doesn’t care.”
Her look was perplexed enough to prompt his explanation.
“What I mean is, it’s possible that she doesn’t care to bring up anything that might trigger you. She wouldn’t want to remind you of anything potentially unpleasant, as it would upset you. She’s invested in keeping you happy.”
Ophir chewed on the thought, releasing the space where her fingers had wrapped around his neck. She squinted, trying to see if she could distinguish anything in the space around her. She almost felt as if the light caught on a pair of eyes, though it seemed to only be from her peripherals. Whenever she turned her head to look fully into them, they were gone once more.
He finished escorting her to her room and brushed a final kiss against her hair. She almost caught the outer edges of an annoyed, masculine scoff from the closing door as Dwyn called out to her from under the covers. “I’ve been keeping the bed warm for you, Firi.”
Ophir was exhausted. After her discussion with Ceneth, most of her fears had been soothed. She’d be allowed to spend her days in bed and drink herself to sleep. Perhaps she could find a lookout tower and mimic her old life perfectly, exchanging only the bodyguard, as her present escort was substantially prettier.
“Help me get out of this?”
Dwyn made a fuss of leaving the bed as she got up from the cozy nest of blankets and undid the top button of Ophir’sdress. The gowns didn’t possess the constrictive bodices and lacing like the ones of Farehold, but it was still rather difficult to fetch that button by oneself. Presumably, she was meant to stay clothed until nighttime, when servants would help her out of her gown. Instead, she left it in a crumpled pile on the floor as she interlaced her arms and legs with Dwyn’s and told her everything about breakfast.
“I wish I could tell you I was impressed,” Dwyn said once she had finished, “but truth be told, I expect there’s nothing you can’t do. You’re unstoppable. The only disappointment of the morning is that there’s no food for me. How can we fix this while both remaining naked? Is it too early in your reign to scandalize the servants? Shall we test it?”
Ophir found her robe once more and rang the enchanted bell. She waited by the door so she could keep it cracked to prevent any invasion of privacy as she asked for food and tea to be sent to their room. The servant managed to keep her face neutral while still expressing amusement and disapproval in equal forces, all behind the flickering of her eye. The woman was back at their door within fifteen minutes, knocking politely, lest she interrupt whatever sort of indecent activities went on behind closed doors.
Ophir had thought she was full, but joy had returned her appetite. She found a delightful, chocolate-filled bit of fried bread and let out a sound that she’d only made during sex. Dwyn was outright offended. Ophir finished chewing, her smile fading as she studied the siren’s face. Swallowing, she asked, “Do you ever think about what happened in Tarkhany? After we left?”
Dwyn shrugged. “No.”
Ophir frowned in clear disapproval.
Dwyn extended a hand and gave it a squeeze. “Patience pays off in dividends, dear heart. It only took a few decades for me to realize that worrying about things I couldn’t control would not change them. Thinking about people I couldn’t control would not alter their courses. Expending my energyon anything beyond my own thoughts, my own actions, was a waste of breath and joy and life. I’m not thoughtless, Firi. I’ve just learned where to channel my thoughts.”
Ophir considered this. On one hand, she saw the wisdom in Dwyn’s words. On the other, she knew she was personally and unforgivably responsible for every stone, every piece of rubble, and every life lost outside of Tarkhany’s palace.
