Page 36 of A Frozen Pyre
Ophir skidded around a bush to see a rather androgynous fae in the fur of an elaborate leopard hat cry out in fear. Her moth landed on the individual just in time for her to see it plunge its long, needlelike mouth into the person’s jugular. They tore at their neck, swatting and scratching at the monstrosity while it sucked.
“Stop!” Ophir yelled at the moth. “Leave them alone!”
The stranger succeeded in grabbing the moth, yanking it from their neck in their panic.
The moth plopped to the ground, black goo oozing from its mangled form. The moment Ophir saw its white tendrils, she knew she needed to draw the stranger’s attention away before they noticed. She rushed up to them with wide, fearful eyes.
“Holy shit!” she gasped, grabbing them as she spun them away from where the crumbled moth knitted itself together on the ground. Her only course around her demons was to play dumb, so she kept up the act as she said, “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”
Their palm had been pressed into their neck. They pulled it away to reveal a fresh crimson smudge of blood. They frowned at the princess. “I just need to get inside to get abandage. Are you seeking asylum from the murders?”
She was glad for the excuse to keep moving. “No, no, I don’t need safekeeping. In fact, I might be able to help keep you safe, if that’s your fear. My name is Ophir.”
“I know who you are, Princess. As does anyone who spies you. There aren’t many of your color north of the border.” After a pause, the stranger said, “Are you sure you’re meant to be out of your chambers after a killing spree within these walls? A murderer is loose in Castle Gwydir.”
Ophir worked to control her tone before saying, “I’m perfectly safe. But you? Why are you allowed to roam free when the grounds are on lockdown?”
“Not a very effective lockdown, is it?” they replied. “Not when each fae knows best for their gifts and their fate. Militant law is less effective in a kingdom where autonomy is respected.”
Such a strange comment. Ophir hardly understood if it was a compliment or condemnation of Raascot’s means of rule.
Ophir helped them to their room while they made idle, uncomfortable chatter. She offered a few more bewildered proclamations over the strange insect, a flimsy attempt to compliment Gwydir, and a disconnected ramble about the terrible events regarding the servants.
“Are you an attendant?” she asked.
“No,” they said, “I’m the court-appointed medium.” They released a long, slow exhale as they reached their door, dragging their eyes appraisingly up and down Ophir’s form. They swept an arm into the open doorway and ushered Ophir toward a round table stationed in the middle of their room. “If I had to guess, I’d say that’s why you’ve truly been brought to me. So tell me, Princess Ophir, would you like to see your sister?”
***
The second hand of a clock ticked, ticked, ticked, until the seconds slowed.
Time bent. The clock sped up, then slowed down, then,if Ophir wasn’t mistaken, began to tick backward. She opened her mouth to ask the medium what was happening, but the person in the yellow scarf had vanished.
Her need for dark hair and mint and to locate the siren’s bloody wrath dissipated.
The moment the smell of cherry blossoms and petrichor washed through the room, her nerves, her sickness, her uncertainty and panic and chaos all faded away.
She blinked as two beautiful blue eyes stared back at her.
“Firi,” Caris said quietly.
Ophir gasped on her sob, though no tears fell. She tightened her hold on the soft, angelic hands that gripped her own.
“Is it really you?” Ophir asked.
Caris frowned, golden brows meeting in the middle as she asked, “Who else would I be?”
Ophir’s chest heaved as she swallowed her next sob. “Caris, are you okay? Are you safe? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about the party—” Her voice broke as the tears began to fall. They hit the table with the volume of rainwater, each salted splash shattering into a million smaller pieces. Ophir wanted to wipe her face but knew she couldn’t break her connection. “I never should have brought you to the party. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry—”
“I always was there,” Caris said softly. “I will be there forever. I am always meant to be there. It is the only thing that could have happened. The only thing that will.”
Ophir’s toffee strands of hair swished around her shoulders as she shook.
“You are a beautiful bride,” Caris said.
Ophir pulled a ragged breath through gritted teeth as she said, “I don’t want to marry him. He’s your fiancé. The two of you… That was real love. He’s still so deeply in love with you.”
“You always will,” Caris said. “You already have. Your wedding is at sunset…was at sunset…will be in Aubade, nearthe cliffs.” Her lower lip quivered slightly as she looked to the side. “It’s important. It’s terrible. It’s perfect. It’s a nightmare. It needs to happen. It always has.”
