Page 38 of A Frozen Pyre
In one moment, Ophir was clenching her sister’s hands. In the next, Farehold’s firstborn, the hope of the continent, was gone once more.
The scent of fresh earth after a spring rain lingered in the room after Caris departed. Ophir choked on the sight of the medium in their iridescent snakeskin scarf where only moments prior, her lovely, perfect sister had been.
“What the fuck was that?” Ophir asked breathlessly. She blinked in disbelief at the androgynous face that stared back at her, handsome and beautiful all at once. Their large hands held hers just as Caris’s soft fingers had slipped into her palms. There was no evidence that springtime had ever wafted through this room.
The medium’s eyes were kind. “Is this your first time speaking with the dead?”
Ophir dipped her chin. The tears flowed in relentless rivers, no matter how many times she wiped her face.
“They don’t see time as we do. Past, present, future, it’s all interwoven to those who live in every moment but now. You either get the hang of it or you don’t.”
“So, what she said about—”
“Don’t ask me of your visit,” the medium interjected, “as I was not present. I am a conduit. I hear and see nothing of the conversations that occur between the living and the dead.”
“She wasn’t herself,” Ophir said, barely more than a whisper.
The medium shrugged, but the gesture was not sympathetic. “She wasn’t the version of her that you remember. Herspeech patterns might have changed, as has her existence on our timeline, but Caris is still Caris. She will continue to exist in thethenand thenext, but never the now.”
Ophir searched the medium’s eyes, asking, “How can that be? She spoke of my wedding to Ceneth. She saw it at sunset. She saw his kingdom, his future. The things she said… I can’t make sense of any of it.”
“Like I said,” they responded, “the dead do not live in our time. Past, present, and future are a landscape with winding valleys and rolling hills. The dead appear to stand on one and jump to the next with each word. She exists still. She lives in our world. Caris and the ancestors before her belong to every moment but the one you and I share.”
“But they live?”
The medium softened at last. “They live. In every moment but the present.”
Ophir opened her mouth, but the medium shook their head to cut her inquiry short.
“You’ll want answers, but I don’t have them. I know only what I’ve said, and even that is merely from discussing conversations with clients, visitors, patrons, and yes, your king. He sees your sister often.” The medium sighed. “Too often.”
Ophir’s prodding frown implored them to go on.
“It’s not my place to defy my king, and never will I try. However, he is your betrothed. His attachment to his departed fiancé is bringing him to ruin. From what he’s said, I believe he has the possibility for a bright and happy future. I believe his fate becomes clearer with each passing visit, for better or for worse. It stands to reason that there is no good future while he clings to her.”
“She misses him?” Ophir asked.
“No.” They shook their head. “She has blessed your wedding, from what I understand. She has blessed his future marriages in her conversations with him, and with you, it appears. She has begged him to let her go. Yet, she has no agency through the conduit. She comes when he calls to her.Whether because she wants to or because she must remains unknown. I do hope that His Majesty will heal. I will allow him access to his beloved every day, as it is my ability, and he is my king. However, I can say with confidence that our kingdom will not flourish if he holds on to her ghost. He loves her more than life. But death is not the present. The phantom of her memory will not fill the void left in her absence.”
“He won’t listen to me,” Ophir said, voice low.
“Perhaps not,” they responded. “But he may listen to Caris. And you spoke with her.”
She continued to search the medium’s eyes, asking, “What is it you want me to do?”
“I want you to save our king from himself.”
Fourteen
An iridescent black smudge in the gardens was all that remainedof Ophir’s bloodthirsty moth. She wondered where it had gone, or what it would do now that it was free. She thought despondently of the vageth she’d set free, the serpents slithering along the coast, and the undead horse that wandered somewhere on the outskirts of the desert. She trudged through the halls, her mind flashing to an enormous winged serpent and its twisted familiar before she slammed the door on the memory, and with it, the door to her bedchambers. Some part of her knew that there were consequences to creation. Some part of her knew that the All Mother would hold her accountable for the nightmares she’d released into the world.
She held the knowledge close to her chest, squeezing it into the space between her ribs as she tried to feel something about the morbid information. But she did not. Perhaps the part of her that was meant to care had died with Caris.
“Princess Ophir?” a muffled voice called from the hall.
She cracked open the door to see her usual attendant. She was too tired for politeness, so she offered only an exhausted, quizzical brow.
The woman had seen enough of Ophir’s antics to avoid ever being nervous or overly polite in her presence again.There was an informality about the exchanges among attendants, guards, military, nobility, and everyone in between throughout the citizens of Raascot that Ophir would never understand. The servant rested her hands on her hips as she said, “King Eero has requested your presence for dinner. King Ceneth has granted the use of his dining room. His Majesty will not be in attendance—this meal is only for the citizens of Farehold. Shall I tell him you’ve accepted his invitation?”
