Page 3 of A Frozen Pyre
Part I
A Loose Thread
One
Castle Gwydir, Raascot
Ophir’s eyes flew open as unseen arms wrapped around her between the silken sheets, pinning her to a body. She gasped against the sudden motion. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust before she could make out the shape of a woman silhouetted against the gloom. Dwyn was turned away from her, draped in an inky pool of her own long, dark hair. Ophir breathed in her crushed mint scent. Dwyn was the only familiar piece of her surroundings. The rest was cold, dark, and strange.
She sucked in a surprised breath when she inhaled leather and smoke. Tyr was here.
She began to squirm, and his strong arms tightened around her.
“Shh,” he whispered. She scanned the shadows for the invisible arms that held her. His power was both blessing and curse. She’d understood why Tyr hadn’t wanted Ceneth to spot him, but she didn’t fully understand his insistence upon remaining unseen even when they were alone.
“I want to see your face,” she whispered, careful not to wake Dwyn.
“Trust me,” he said against her hair, breath warm on her ear.
He was firm: She couldn’t tell Dwyn that he’d come with them from the desert to the northern forest. Dwyn had slumped into unconsciousness in the chaos that was their escape from Midnah. She’d remained dead to the world as Tyr had flung her over his shoulder and carried her through Ophir’s door to the northern kingdom. By the time Dwyn had opened her eyes, Ophir and Tyr had discussed their next steps and come to an agreement.
Still, she ached to watch her fingers run through his dark hair, look upon his amused smirk, gaze into eyes as rich as the earth, trace lines along the gilded chisel of his jaw. Ophir had taken numerous men and women to her bed in her time, all fawning and grateful to be there. Perhaps she was beholden to his elusiveness.
In his absence, she was trapped, reliving the last time she’d fully looked upon him. She was flung back into her first days in the north as if experiencing them for the first time.
One week ago, she’d awoken in Midnah.
She’d stared down an ag’drurath. She’d watched a shapeshifter impersonate the Queen of Tarkhany. She’d tasted the barest edges of vengeance against her sister’s murderer. When chaos had descended, Tyr had begged her to make a door so they might escape.
And so, she had.
Raasay Forest, Raascot
The wind left her lungs as she sprinted from the hot desert air into freezing rain. She was dressed for the dunes—a sheer gown that was soaked to the bone in an instant. Her teeth chattered as she struggled to fling out her hand, spread her fingers wide, and manifest something,anything, given the terrible command she had of the power. She envisioned a castle, a mansion, even a cabin, but only a rickety shelter sprung forth so they might escape from the storm.
She made a cot, a few tattered blankets, and succumbedto exhaustion before trying and failing to fix their surroundings.
Tyr plopped Dwyn’s lifeless shape on the cot as if glad to be rid of her.
Given his hatred for the siren, she supposed she had to be grateful he’d thrown her over his shoulder in the first place. Perhaps he knew enough to understand that she wouldn’t forgive him if he let her lose someone else. She needed Dwyn, for better or for worse.
The defeated growl that tore from her throat made her want to summon a hole to fling herself into if she couldn’t do anything right.
“You’re going to freeze to death, Firi,” Tyr said. He knelt in front of her, tipping her chin to look up at his face. His black hair was inky with raindrops that dropped onto the floor. The sharp, angled tattoo cut above the soaked collar of his tunic. He chafed her arms for warmth. “Summon your flame.”
“And do what?” she managed through her shivers. “Burn down the shack?”
He leaned forward and crushed her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. It was the only thing that kept her from falling apart. He had no wisecracks about getting naked for body heat or jabs about manifesters. He simply held her until she stopped shivering.
“Where’s Sedit?”
He pulled away but didn’t meet her prodding gaze. It was big of him, she thought, given his feelings for the manifested canine. He loved animals—a quality that had driven him to his murderous hunt for revenge over the fate of his hound—and her demons could hardly be considered living things. His restraint on the issue was the only thing keeping him from being banished to the arctic downpour. Ophir could cry over how much she missed her dog—the first and only good thing she’d ever manifested. She’d commanded Sedit to remain in the forest, far enough from them so he would neither be persecuted nor rouse suspicion.
She should have been the one left behind to wander the desert, she thought. Not her creations.
Dwyn made the first noise she’d made in hours.
Tyr looked over his shoulder, then back at Ophir.
