Page 18 of A Frozen Pyre
“Sir?” the man asked again.
He nodded swiftly. He needed to get his wits together. If there were survivors, he had to know. He calmed himself before calling out a single word. “Hello?”
The men joined him on either side, all slack-jawed as they stared at the unspeakable carnage.
He jumped so suddenly he nearly tumbled off the cliff when he caught movement from the bottom of his eye. His breath caught in his throat as an enormous lump, as if he were trying to swallow a lemon, rind and all. He stared straight down with wide, startled eyes as a hand emerged from the cliff directly below him. A woman’s head peered out slowly, then disappeared again. A few moments later, she wordlessly mounted the ladder that led from her cliffside home to the landing directly at his feet.
A fae woman stood before him, a full head and shoulders shorter. Her black, braided hair was nearly an arm’s length longer than it had been a decade prior when she’d left the city. He wasn’t sure if she remembered him, but he certainly remembered her.
She threw a big bag off her shoulder first, then hoisted the rest of her body onto the cliff. The woman rose to her feet as she looked at each of them intently.
“Yes, I remember you,” she said, breaking the silence. The other men shifted nervously on horseback. “No, I have not done well. It was not remote enough. Thank you for wondering. Yes, my hair is longer. No, there are no survivors.”
This was Suley. Her gold-brown face was dotted with jewels, chains, and piercings in a way that no conservative cliffside villager would have dared. Speaking around her was of no use.
“Is this my horse?” she asked, gesturing to one of the two mounts without a rider.
He opened his mouth to tell her that the horses needed water, but he didn’t have the time to say a word before she responded that it hadn’t rained, and they’d have to wait until they reached the port that would take them back to themainland—nearly one day’s ride.
“Ma’am, the—” one of his riders attempted to argue.
She looked at the men dismissively as she swung up onto the creature. It huffed beneath the weight of a new rider, but she seemed unbothered. She looked at him and answered his unfinished question. “The horses will make it because they don’t have a choice. Valor Mast has no water. No provisions. There is nothing here for any of us. What happened here? Yes, excellent question, and one that I can answer, even if I do not understand. No. Yes, I am always like this. What can you do?” She looked at the leader, cocking her head to the side. She didn’t wait for a response as she said, “Stone, is it? That may prove to be a useful ability if we reach the oasis and it’s dry. Don’t bother me until then.”
The girl was so peculiar. He’d never gotten used to it. He tried again to ask what had happened. “And—”
“And the rest, I will tell only to the queen.”
***
Midnah, Tarkhany
“Suley.” Zita opened her arms wide.
The queen had given her the chance to rest, eat, and bathe from her travels before she forced the young fae woman into a hug. It had given the men a chance to describe the gruesome graveyard at the cliffside village to the queen in excruciating detail. By the time they met, night had fallen, its hushing effect quieting the palace as everyone tumbled into sleep.
“I’d hoped we’d reunite under better circumstances,” Suley said.
Zita tightened her embrace. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and she meant it. Her heart ached at the sight of the young fae before her. “I’m sorry for the horrors you endured. I’m sorry for the nightmare you survived. I’m sorry for forcing youback into the noise,” she said, cupping the young woman’s face in her hands.
Suley closed her eyes.
The fae was as lovely as Zita remembered. She brushed her fingertips against the complicated ink that ran from her temple to her cheekbone, covering an uneven scar. She was glad Suley had found something beautiful to decorate the pain.
“You need me to stay here at the palace in case Tempus returns in a different form?”
Zita nodded and didn’t bother to ask how she knew. Suley always knew.
She arched a brow. “And to the summit? I suppose that makes sense. Who’s more qualified, after all…?”
“I truly am sorry. Your gift—”
“My curse,” she emphasized.
Zita’s hands had remained cradling Suley’s face. She ran a gentle finger along the horrible scar that Suley had covered with the black ink of a crescent moon tattoo. If Suley’s mother hadn’t been a healer, the girl would have succeeded in ending the noise. She’d been only nine when she’d tried to carve it out of her mind.
“I’ve already summoned a number of harpists, Suley. They’re meant to play outside of your room around the hour. When one tires, another will take over.”
Suley nodded slowly. “That might help with the worst of it, but you’ll need to do me a favor.”
