Page 43 of A Frozen Pyre
Harland got to his feet, pleading with her. “Firi,” he said, “it’s not as bad as it sounds. This could protect the continent. You’d be the most powerful person in all the kingdoms.”
She gawked at him as if he’d grown a third eye. “Are you trying to be reassuring? What’s wrong with you? This isn’t what I want.” She shook her head so hard that it ached. “I want Caris back, and it’s goddess-damned impossible. But if I can’t have her, I can hurt those who did this to her. The rest? This chessboard? These wars of puppets and fools? Leave me out of it. I’m no pawn in your game.”
“Firi,” Harland urged. He reached for her again, but she smacked away his hand.
“Samael?” she asked of the man. “Are you truly an advisor if you believed this was a good idea?”
Samael looked calmly between her and the king before saying, “One might hope that wisdom would preclude suspicion, but such is not always the case. Acting in assumption of the worst-case scenario might become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’ve shared my feelings with King Eero, and he knows my stance on any actions based in fear.”
Her eyes narrowed at his riddle of a nonanswer, though she supposed he’d done as much to defy her father as he dared while remaining one of the king’s most trusted men. He’d more or less said that it was a horrible idea, though in the most political way she could fathom. She glared at the still-smiling Cybele, then looked at Harland. He remained on his feet, hand outstretched, pain etched across his features.
“I’m finished,” she said. Ophir headed toward the door.
“Ophir?” her father called.
She paused without turning, palm flat against the dining room’s heavy door.
“You don’t have to accept the terms, but please, for your kingdom and your people, don’t tell anyone of this conversation.”
She’d allowed him the kindness of a final word, and it had been more than he deserved. She did not look over her shoulder as the door slammed behind her.
Fifteen
Dwyn yanked on the small curtain that offered moderateprivacy to the alcoves that dotted the corridors. Each was typically decorated with a fainting couch, a table, a vase with fresh-cut flowers, and some painting of a mountain range or noble or terrible battle.
“So?” Suley blinked.
“Your information was good.” Dwyn glowered, hating every second of the meeting.
The rapidly fading light caught on the sparkle of Suley’s golden jewelry. She nodded a bit too eagerly as she asked, “You found him, then? The unseen man?”
Bitterness rolled on the back of Dwyn’s tongue at the question. She examined the tattooed fae. The woman had looked so mysterious, so alluring, so self-assured sitting next to Zita during the first summit meeting. Standing across from her now, Dwyn saw the cracks in the eucalyptus-scented façade. Her piercings, her tattoos, her dress all drew the eye away from the struggle within. Dwyn understood the impulse. She dressed the way she did—or didn’t, for that matter—for the same reason. At least, she had for a long time. It was hard for friends or lovers to notice the internal struggles flickering behind her eyes when she wastopless.
“This other secret you’re sitting on…you swear it’s better than your information about Tyr?”
Suley’s eyes sparkled. “The fruit is riper and juicier at the top of the tree where it’s been seasoned by the sun.”
“Whatever the fuck that means.”
“It means,” Suley said, words thick with her musical accent, “that you can’t begin to fathom what the leaves are hiding from your eyes. It means that if you succeed in giving me what I need, I’ll give you more than you could have imagined.”
Dwyn peered into the hall to ensure no one was coming up on either side, then back to Suley. She leaned in close as she said, “Look, I’ll do it. The problem is, I need to understand what power I’m borrowing in order to create it. I don’t even know what power would take away your noise—”
Suley raised a single finger.
“I can’t make you mortal,” Dwyn objected, whisper growing shrill. “At least,” she amended, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Every power I’ve borrowed is one I’ve seen or encountered before. I’ve lived a long life and have crossed many paths, but…”
“What?” Suley demanded. “I’ve witnessed your powers. You’ve drained, yes. You borrow. Yes. No. Don’t bother with that! Why are you thinking of them? That won’t be useful. No, we can’t use that. Yes, I’ve thought of that. Wait, why them? Don’t you need to train at the university? I don’t understand.”
Dwyn chewed on her lip, ignoring Suley’s soliloquy as she said, “I think I may have a solution. You said Ceneth has a neutralizer?”
Suley sank into the alcove’s chaise. She said, “Neutralizers are temporary. Military generals use them to level the battlefield so an opponent can’t hide between fae powers alone. I’ve seen it echoed in your memories. Even if you borrowed the gift…”
“Yes, yes.” Dwyn waved it away. She found Suleyprofoundly irritating. Then again, she found everyone irritating, save for Ophir. She said, “I can wield two powers, you see, but I can’t use them at the same time. My thought is that if I borrow the ability to manufacture and collaborate with your neutralizer, we might be able to forge you something permanent. You do seem to like jewelry, after all. A cuff? A necklace? A collar?”
Suley considered this carefully. She asked, “Why wouldn’t this have been suggested to me before? Tarkhany has manufacturers. Zita hasn’t even thought such a thing around me. No one has.”
Heavy with implication, Dwyn said, “Tarkhany has manufacturers, yes. But does it not also have need for someone who can speak mind to mind?”
