Page 45 of A Frozen Pyre
“I just resent that you were there and not me.”
“Stolen power will only get you so far.”
Dwyn bunched herself in a corner, tapping her fingers against her bicep as she weighed her options. “There have to be other things we haven’t considered. I’ve been thinking about how to make certain abilities more permanent—”
“What abilities?”
“None of your business,” she hissed. She paused and listened for the sound of running water. She nodded to herself, content that Ophir was fully distracted before she continued. “I either need to find a manufacturer or become one.”
“Or,” Tyr said dryly, “you could make good on your promise and teach me.”
Dwyn arched a manicured brow. “Say that again?”
“We had a deal.”
Dwyn raked her eyes over him slowly. She appraised him from head to toe before saying, “Are you sure you’re ready to get started? The high and mighty Tyr thinks he can stain his hands? Once you start, there’s no going back.”
Tyr narrowed his eyes. “There’s more blood on my hands than you realize.”
Dwyn looked off to the side, unimpressed. “There’s a huge difference between what you do and what I do.”
“Are you going back on your deal?” he asked.
The sound of water stopped. Dwyn took a step closer,lowering her voice as she said, “I’ll honor the agreement. You’ve held up your end of the bargain…mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Dwyn made a disgusted face. “As if you didn’t conceal yourself and lie to me—as if you didn’t forceOphirto lie for you.” She sucked on her teeth before raising her eyes to meet him. “Did you say the woman’s name was Cybele?”
His mouth twisted to the side at the sudden change of subject. “Yes,” he said. “Why?”
She sank to the bed, leaning her head against one of its tall, ornate posts as she looked into the middle distance. The frown leached from her face into her posture. Her skin, normally smattered with gold, faded into a ghostly shade of pale gray.
His eyes flashed to the closed bathing room door, then back to the siren. “Tell me.”
Her eyes darkened. They seemed heavier, somehow. An eerie vacancy rang through her voice as she quietly repeated, “Cybele? You’re sure that’s the woman’s name?”
“Yes. Why? What do you know?”
Dwyn’s expression was unreadable. “And she sat beside Ophir? The woman touched her? She touched Ophir?”
He stepped until there was little more than an arm’s length between them. He blinked down at where she remained sunken into the mattress, confusion thick in his tone as he repeated his question. “Yes, she grabbed her hand throughout the dinner. What is it?”
She shook her head before saying, “I need to ask you a favor, and I need you to believe me when I say it has nothing to do with jealousy. This is important, Tyr.”
“What?”
She looked at the door as if watching the princess behind its wooden barrier, undoubtedly scrubbing herself with soap and sponges and rags until she was clean of the exhausting day. Dwyn continued to stare, lost in thought for a long momentbefore she responded. She didn’t lift her eyes as she said, “Tyr, whatever you do, you can’t sleep with Firi.”
“Dwyn—”
“Promise me—no, Tyr. Don’t promise me. Promise Ophir. Whatever you do. It can’t happen again.”
***
Ophir tightened her hold on her towel. Damp tendrils soaked the cloth as she looked suspiciously from Dwyn to Tyr. “Why aren’t you two fighting?”
Dwyn smirked, while Tyr said, “Excuse me?”
