Page 30 of A Frozen Pyre
“It’s interesting, the secrets we keep, isn’t it? Farehold sits on a throne of secrets. And then there’s you. But you don’t have any secrets, do you, Ophir?”
Ophir tripped mid-step. Her foot caught on empty air, too distracted by Zita’s question to manage a flat, straight path through the garden. Did Zita know she could manifest? No. Impossible. Did she know Ophir had murdered? No, she was supportive of Ophir’s path of vengeance. What could she possibly be referring to?
“Suley hears thoughts,” Zita said, as if answering her stream of unspoken questions.
Ophir’s blood chilled. She coughed on her bite of apple, nearly choking.
Doing her best not to panic, Ophir sifted through the memory of the meeting, wondering what treacherous thoughts had given her away.
“So, what better way to get the kings of the continent thinking their darkest thoughts than to agitate them at your summit?” Ophir said slowly, understanding Zita’s performance in the room. Whatever Eero and Ceneth had thought in the wake of her words, Suley would surely report later.
“It’s an unfortunate gift,” Zita continued. “She hears them all at once. It’s like always being in a loud crowd. She hates cities, hates my palace, hates this castle. She calls it the noise. Everything is noise. But do you know what’s interesting about her noise?”
Ophir remained silent. Her secret was out. She was responsible for the ag’drurath. She’d created the ag’imni. She was the mother of monsters, the princess of demons, the reason for the blood and bodies that littered the streets of Tarkhany. Had she thought those things when Suley was around?
“You have an unseen presence,” Zita said finally.
Ophir’s muscles went rigid.
Tyr.
Suley had heard Tyr.
“Who knows of your hidden companion?” Zita asked.
Ophir shook her head mutely.
“Oh, don’t play coy. Suley is never wrong. I trust her with my life. A male voice—his male thoughts—hovered beside you. She said as much to me before the meeting began. Is he with us now? As we walk?”
Ophir wasn’t sure if she could speak even if she’d wanted to. Her tongue tied itself.
Zita stopped to appraise Ophir.
“Goddess, child, who will I tell? My very good friends in the castle? My close allies, Eero and Ceneth? Perhaps you were not in the same meeting just now, but I have not come to build bridges into the past—though I’d be lying if I claimed judgment had not been served to the parties in play. I do, however, think that you might operate outside of Farehold’s customs. You’re a contrarian, Princess Ophir. Now, respect me enough not to lie.”
Zita held up a hand so that Hassain stopped several paces away. She flicked her wrist, and the man took multiple steps backward, creating enough space that Ophir could rest comfortably in the knowledge that he could not overhear their conversation. Ophir stood in the rapidly cooling evening as she met the expectant gaze of Tarkhany’s queen.
Finally, Ophir asked the air, “Tyr?”
A resigned male sigh came from the space beside her. He squeezed her bicep, then dropped his hand. He’d heard everything, of course. He didn’t bother with pretenses. After a moment, the empty space between them said, “I’d never been detected before today. I’ve also never met someone who could hear mind to mind.”
Zita looked mildly impressed with herself as she asked the air, “And, Tyr, is it? Are you also from Farehold?”
“I’m from Sulgrave, Your Highness.”
Zita made a curious face. “How interesting that you haven’t chosen to surround yourself with those who shareyour culture.” She folded her fingers in front of her. The studious look on her face suggested that she did, in fact, find it interesting. “Dwyn and Tyr arrived together, I assume?”
And, because no other answer would possibly be satisfactory, Ophir simply said, “Yes.”
“And,” Zita continued, “does anyone else in the castle know about him?”
Ophir chewed her lip. “No. Not even Dwyn.”
The queen’s expression was one of true shock this time.
Ophir dropped her voice. “Dwyn believes Tyr was left behind in the massacre in Tarkhany. They had a…falling out. It was easier this way. Not many people have the luxury of being able to remain unseen if others don’t want them around. I would prefer if you did not tell anyone.”
“Ophir,” Zita said firmly. “I’ve called a summit to discuss our endgames. I’ll hear Ceneth and Eero, but they are men of our past. What isyourdesired outcome? What do you want? Why agree to this marriage if you’re hell-bent on flying in the face of court customs—not that Dwyn isn’t terribly amusing, but you must have the wisdom to understand you can’t possibly keep her around you if you ascend to the throne. And to find you have another companion lurking in the open air… Well, what is your agenda?”
