Page 19 of A Frozen Pyre
“Anything,” Zita agreed.
“The palace is too loud. I’ll never be able to hear his voice unless you send the men away. Every male guard, attendant, noble, guest, eunuch, and courtesan will need to find somewhere else to stay while I reside in your walls. Can that be arranged?”
“Within the hour,” Zita promised. Irrespective of the time or their state of sleep, she’d have every fae and male human shaken awake and escorted into housing elsewhere inthe city. She clapped her hands, and a bright-eyed attendant rushed to her side. Zita issued her command, and the attendant set to work.
Suley relaxed visibly as the servant disappeared into action. The thin lines of her frown dissipated as she said, “Yes, I’ll be okay. The travel was dreadful. No, the events were terrifying, and I’m shocked I survived them. You needn’t worry about me. I survived in the city for years.”
If Zita allowed herself to feel annoyed, Suley would hear the thought. She elected pity, instead.
Suley was a child by fae standards. She was scarcely in her third decade of life. She’d barely made it out of infancy with her life intact, let alone to adulthood. She’d moved to the arid wilds as soon as she was able, but the nomadic desert tribes had been every bit as miserable as the city. As far as Zita knew, Suley had survived at the cliffside village longer than anywhere else. Until—
“Shall we sit, or would you prefer to hear about the incident here?”
Zita’s expression was one of guarded caution as she asked, “Are you sure you’re ready to talk about it?”
Suley fished in her satchel for a small, leather-bound book. The book, scarcely larger than the hand that held it, was tied shut with a soft leather cord. Suley unraveled the binding and opened to the first page, turning the book toward Zita.
A jolt went through the queen.
Her eyebrows perked in surprise. “You recognize it?”
Zita’s lips parted to speak.
“Here? Outside the palace? How many dead…oh my. Yes, that is a problem. I do suppose they stood more of a chance at escape than we did. They had alleys to dodge through, guards at the ready, shelter… Oh, of course you’re wondering how I escaped. Did you encounter the winged, shadowed man—yes, you saw the one like a twisted fae as well. I heard its noise. Yes, they have noise. I spoke to it. I knew from its noise what it needed to hear, and it returned to its beast.Ag’drurath, you’re calling the beast? Winged death? That’s appropriate. Ag’imni? Fitting.”
Zita’s lips became a line.
Suley’s face bunched. “I’m sorry, Zita. I mean, my queen. I’ll be better at it.”
“No, no, dear,” Zita sighed, “I’m not agitated in the least. And for you: It’s Zita. I know the gift is terribly frustrating for you. We’ll keep the speaking to a minimum throughout the palace until the summit. Between that and the harpists—”
“How many will be at the summit? Oh, you don’t know yet. Eero, Ceneth, Ophir—oh, you’re bringing two men from the Farehold court? They’ll also leave the palace grounds, correct? Good. I’m sure they’ll find suitable accommodations. A door directly to Raascot? How fascinating. No, I’ve never encountered such a power. Into the forest?”
Suley went unnaturally still.
Zita pressed, “What is it, dear?”
Suley blinked rapidly before meeting Zita’s eye. “Could I live in the Raasay Forest? Why didn’t I think of it sooner? I’ve picked up a lot of the common tongue from the noise alone, even if I’ve never studied it formally. I would have lived on the dunes if it was sustainable. No, Zita, hear me. It doesn’t have to be the forest. There are entire empty mountains without another human or fae in sight, and with fresh water, and—”
Suley caught her frown, searched her face, and nodded.
“Yes, of course,” Suley agreed. “After the summit, we’ll ask Ceneth. I’m sure he’d be willing to accommodate a single foreigner in the forest. Yes, I will be on my best behavior. No, I’ll stay silent. No, I’ll speak to no one but you. Yes. No. I understand. I won’t. Don’t worry. Please, stop worrying. I’ll be fine. Yes. Of course. Yes, I am tired now. Thank you for meeting with me, but I’d prefer to lie down while the other voices are removed from the palace if I’m to listen for Tempus. Yes, I’ll see you soon.”
Seven
Gwydir, Raascot
Ophir ran a hand along the bodice of her gown. The dresses in Gwydir hadn’t been nearly as constricting or formal as those in Aubade, but this was a special occasion. She knew this dress had been tailored with Caris in mind. It was an off-white shade of blush with the tiniest flecks of starlight interwoven throughout the soft chiffon of the wide, flowing skirt. The dress hugged her torso and breasts, offering structure and support while keeping her upper chest and shoulders completely bare. The sleeves began in the same flowing chiffon material halfway down the shoulders and draped all the way to her wrists. It was the single most beautiful dress she’d ever seen in her life. If this was merely something intended for their banquet with Raascot’s inner circle, she wondered idly what stunning piece of moving art they expected her to wear to the wedding.
One attendant had wrenched Dwyn from her side, forcing the siren to go on ahead to the party while the other servant fussed with Ophir’s hair for twenty more minutes. In the end, her left side was swept back with a tight line of tiny, hand-painted cherry blossom pins, fastening her slicked hair just behind her arched ear. The rest of her gold-brownhair tumbled down her back and over her right shoulder in loose, shiny curls. Her lips had been lightly painted, her eyelids smudged with a shimmer, ending with a thin swipe of charcoal to line the outer corners.
When the servant finished, she escorted the princess to the hall.
“Good luck in there,” the servant said.
The princess offered a skeptical look in return.
Ophir stepped into the banquet hall and gave the room an anxious scan. She was looking for Dwyn, but before her eyes found the siren, a bent elbow extended to her.
