Page 16 of A Frozen Pyre
Tempus would tell her that the All Mother was trying to teach her a lesson. He’d say that the omens had been painted on the wall: Farehold was the root of all problems.
But it wasn’t Farehold who’d deceived the crowd, imitated her, attempted to lock her in her chambers, and poisoned their guests. Her now-banished husband had been little more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. He’d become the thing he hated. Perhaps that was why they’d been punished. Then again, perhaps looking for meaning where none existed was the most fruitless of all.
A light rap of knuckles on the door preceded the entry of two men. She straightened, leaning into the table to resume her poise.
“Harland,” she said, pointing to the one with the obvious pink undertones of Farehold. “And Samael. Where do you hail from?”
“Aubade, Your Majesty,” Samael said.
Sly, she thought. He’d undoubtedly understood the underlying question. Zita had received the pair upon their arrival but had had little incentive to get to know them while awaiting Berinth’s execution. Ophir had been her only concern. Now she was left with the splintered remains in the princess’s wake.
“You may leave us, Hassain,” she said.
He hesitated, then closed the door behind him to offer them privacy.
The men offered respectful greetings before taking seats across from her.
Zita tapped her fingers on the table. She gave a coy smile, switching to the common tongue as she said, “It’s perhaps a more eventful visit to Tarkhany than you might have expected, no?”
The man called Samael spoke first, greeting her in the official language of Tarkhany. She made no attempt to conceal her appreciation or surprise as he said, “It’s not an event anyone would desire. Now we’re every bit as invested in healing the land as you. Do you have a proposed path forward?”
“My, oh, my,” she said. “And what, pray tell, prompted you to study our language?”
Samael smiled. “Time is long, and the world is big. It would be a shame to limit oneself to only one corner, don’t you think?”
“I do,” she said. She looked to Harland with a quizzical brow, but he merely shook his head apologetically. She returned to the common tongue. “It’s no problem,” she said. “I expect as much from someone from Farehold. You, however”—she looked at Samael—“are not from Farehold.”
He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, saying, “I am not. Following a rather unprecedented encounter with King Eero, I have been living and serving in Aubade for some time.”
“Then you call Raascot your true home?” Zita prompted.
“You may as well consider me a citizen of the Etal Isles,” he replied. “For I’m beholden to no one by birthright. I think of myself as a citizen of everywhere and nowhere.”
“A true expatriate,” she murmured when it became clear she would get nothing more from him, as he was not her subject to command. “Now, on the topic of expatriates, our dear Princess Ophir has marked up the map rather spectacularly. Which brings me to why I’ve asked you to visit with me.” She eyed the men carefully before saying, “I’ve called a summit between the kingdoms of Raascot, Farehold, and Tarkhany. We’re to meet in Gwydir.”
Harland spoke first this time, asking, “Why Gwydir?”
The corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Because the door presently standing in my courtyard leads directly to the forest just beyond the city. I’ve never seen anything like it. It took a few days for us to find someone who could speak to stone once we realized it had been obstructed from the far side, but once we sent men through, it only took a few hours to understand where they’d ended up. Raascot’s wings do make it rather easy to put your thumb on geography, don’t they?”
Samael confirmed. “Flight is the common gift among their people. Now, Tarkhany and Raascot have a direct line to one another? That’s remarkable.”
“It is indeed,” she agreed. “The summit is to take place in one week. I’d like you to accompany me to the meeting, and then, of course, you’re free to return with King Eero. You’re guests of Tarkhany, so you may decline the offer and begin your crossing now should you wish to go directly to Aubade. It will be shorter to wait one week and walk through a door than to spend two weeks on the dunes, but it is up to you entirely.”
The men nodded thoughtfully, but she didn’t give them time to respond before she continued.
“My true question lies with the door itself. It’s well known that your princess conjures flame. However, the morning of the execution, she was seen with a foreign woman that none of us had so much as seen in the palace. If she was able to step into my kingdom—myhome—without anyone seeing her, then I can only assume this is her gift. Do either of you know this woman?”
Harland stiffened visibly. She leaned toward him to press the issue, but Samael drew her attention away from the fair-haired man.
“She’s been Princess Ophir’s companion for the better part of a year. You know of the tragedy that befell the kingdom, yes?”
Zita did. The blood of Caris’s death had soaked the soils of the world.
“The companion, a Sulgrave fae called Dwyn, has an ability for water. She was paired with Ophir to spare us all from the night terrors and flames that were burning down the castle. It stands to reason that she steps through locations like a fold on a map. How else is one meant to cross the Frozen Straits?”
Zita looked from Samael’s relaxed posture to Harland’s still-rigid form. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Harland?” she asked.
