Page 2 of A Frozen Pyre
He swallowed as if choking down the sound of his name.
She remained expressionless. “Please send the attendant in as you leave.”
“Zita, I—”
“I said: You have until morning. I don’t care where you go or where you live, but you won’t be welcome in Midnah. Do you understand?”
The man stared despondently at her, still frozen where he stood. His eyes raked over her, and she spied the expression of a man in love. She knew he saw the ageless elegance of the fae, and if he were wise, he would also see the stoic, unimpeachable regalness known only to true monarchs. Today, he would see her eyes and lips were painted gold, as though she’d chosen to adorn her face with the sun itself. Perhaps the metallic sheen had seemed unusual when he’d first entered the room, but now, surely he saw it for what it was.
She was sovereign. She didn’t need a crown. Shewasthe crown.
“Where will I go?” he asked, shoulders slumping as he absorbed the fullness of her words.
Zita allowed her hand to drop to her side, finishing her wine. “You loved Aubade so much that you made an unsanctioned trip once before. Why don’t you return to the land you’ve been so desperate to reclaim? Live in the sand. Sail to the isles. I don’t care. So long as it isn’t here.”
Tempus idled on the marble floor for a long time. He took slow inventory of the room. She watched as he examined the high, arched ceilings, the impeccably smooth pillars, the scented bouquets of orange, lemon, and lime, the things he’d never see again.
“I love you,” he said helplessly.
Zita turned her back to her husband as she began to pour another glass of wine. Without looking at him, she said, “I know.”
She kept her back to him until she heard his long, slow breath. He’d crossed the room, hand on the door, perhaps waiting to see if she would turn for a final goodbye. She did not.
The door opened, and with it came the flood of sound that had been withheld by the dampener. The palace was still a flurry in the wake of the chaos. Servants, advisors, nobility, and guards had flooded into the safety of the palace walls.
She didn’t turn until the door clicked shut, dampening the noise of the outside world.
“Your Grace?” the servant asked nervously.
Zita turned her attention once more. “The door is not locked, correct? The one Princess Ophir created?”
He blinked at her repeatedly, perhaps shocked that she wouldn’t be addressing the king’s sudden exit. “No, Your Grace. The knob turns.”
She continued, “And those present? They saw three exit through it?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Princess Ophir, plus an unknown man and woman escorting her, both of whom appeared to be from Sulgrave.”
She chewed on this. “I’d heard the rumors. You’d think we’d notice if a Sulgrave fae were wandering our streets. And yet, I’m to believe they made it into the palace and onto the breakfast table the morning of the banquet without being noticed?”
“Well, the woman—”
“Exited the palace with Ophir. Yes. Do we not have guards? Do we not have centurions? Has anyone addressed this breach in security? Or perhaps more than Tempus need to be held accountable for how things unraveled.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I—”
Zita persisted. “Back to the door. The knob turns, so it isn’t locked, and yet it does not open. Are we to believe it’s magically sealed?”
He shook his head. “It moves slightly, it—”
She cut him off once more. “If you open a door in the palace, and it moves slightly but won’t open, what would you assume is wrong with it?”
He frowned at her. “Well, I suppose someone would have put furniture in front of it.”
She nodded. “They’ve blocked it.”
“Your Grace?”
“Fetch me someone who can speak to stone.”
