Page 50 of A Frozen Pyre
Zita lifted a shoulder. “Does it matter? I told the princess that you and I knew—no one else. To all the world, this man—one briefly spied at best—was left amid the calamity in Midnah. She decided of her own accord that it was best for him to step into the light. I’m curious to see how the castle will react to another foreign guest. It has its share of dignitaries from the continent’s corners as it is. When it comes to Ophir, I don’t know what to make of her, but… I like her.”
Suley shifted her face slightly. She looked at her queen, resting her cheek against the chilled glass. She frowned. “I’ve heard the noise about Ophir and her sister. Everyone says the wrong princess died.”
Zita reclined against the wall and drained her glass—thirty silver crowns of burgundy liquid vanquished in three swallows. She made a satisfied noise before reaching for the glass once more, refilling hers nearly to the brim.
“Everyone”—her voice rested heavily on the word—“allowed the world to turn precisely as-is for six centuries. Perhapseveryonedoes not have an opinion worth valuing.”
***
“Dwyn. What a pleasant surprise to see you out of your room before lunchtime,” Evander said tightly. She drifted up to four men: three of Raascot lineage and one all-too-familiar Sulgrave face.
Dwyn flashed her sweetest smile. “I’m so glad you think so.”
Evander did an impressive job of maintaining a neutral expression, though his eyes betrayed his displeasure. His posture remained rigid as he stood in the foyer between two of Raascot’s centurions and the man he perceived to be a new, unfamiliar addition to the castle. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, ever the courtly advisor.
“I presume you two know each other?”
Dwyn kept her expression soft. “You presume correctly.”
She looked between Evander, the centurions, and Tyr, who was subpar at controlling his impatience. He did his best to express stately sincerity, and his best fell short. Dwyn recalled a poignant encounter where Harland had accused her of needing acting lessons. She had half a mind to whistle for the guard now to have him weigh in on Tyr’s disappointing performance on the landing.
“We traveled together from Sulgrave,” Tyr said, delivery flat. “After the slaughter, I was surprised to find my companions had left. I’m grateful there was a direct link between Tarkhany and Raascot.”
Evander looked over Tyr’s shoulder, as if to peer through the trees and perceive the door that stood in the forest. He frowned. “What’s to keep everyone in Tarkhany from coming through the door?”
Dwyn scoffed, drawing their attention to her irreverent expression. “The climate, of course. We’re already freezing, and it isn’t even true winter. Do you think anyone from Tarkhany is going to want to step into the snow? In their fair-weather fashion? Prop another rock against the door during the temperate months if it gives you peace of mind.”
“You’re quite a bit farther north than us, are you not?” Evander asked.
“And far more powerful,” she said. “We mastered the climate long ago.”
He looked to Tyr for clarification, but Tyr did not contradict her.
The skeptical gaze hit her from two sides. Tyr seemed unsure as to why she was helping him. Evander maintained his walls of distrust. Fair enough, she thought. Evander was right to be wary.
Dwyn shrugged. “I was just headed out to see the city. Tyr, would you like to take a walk?”
Evander said, “Our guest has just arrived. There are meetings to be had, things to be discussed, and I’m sure he’llwant to settle in.”
“He’ll be free for all of those meetings when we return,” Dwyn dismissed.
“I’ll send a guard with you.”
“That’s quite all right,” Dwyn said. “We’re merely sightseeing. I suspect we’ll walk along the river and be back within the hour. I don’t know if you know this about Sulgrave, but our city is beautiful. The mountains are to die for. I have no idea how Gwydir could possibly compare. I’m just curious what Tyr will think! I’d love to wander Gwydir so that he and I can judge your capital in private.”
Evander blinked.
Dwyn looped her elbow through Tyr’s arm and marched him beyond the castle doors. She regretted not grabbing a cloak, but it was nothing she couldn’t solve within a moment. The early evidence of winter came in the form of a few stray snowflakes. A biting chill whipped her dress to the side, lashing her hair against her face. Despite herself, she huddled into Tyr’s shape, hoping he’d block the winter wind. She waited until their feet hit the bridge over the dark, slow-moving river before she allowed them to speak.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He kept his voice to a whisper despite their distance from the castle.
Dwyn scanned the smattering of faces that rushed in from the streets to escape the chill. Inclement weather aside, it was still a city. She huffed. “We made a deal,” she said. “And I’m here to make good on my end. Pick a civilian. It’s time to teach you how to drain.”
Eighteen
A mourning dove cooed gently beyond Ophir’s window. Hereyes remained closed, hand reaching to pull herself closer to Dwyn. She wanted to tuck their curves together until they melted back into the sweetest part of sleep—the moments after waking up when one realized that no responsibility in the world was more important than rest. Her fingers met empty air.
Ophir’s lips puckered, her forehead creased, and her eyebrows bunched long before she allowed her lashes to flutter open. She saw only the nearly imperceptible shades of black, gray, and pewter as shadows and gloom intersected. The sheets were rumpled and turned down as if Dwyn had slipped silently from the bed in the night. She sat up, listening to the mourning dove’s gentle cooing. She frowned at the world that existed beyond the drawn curtains. It seemed too cold for doves, though perhaps she didn’t know much of where the little birds came and went. It wasn’t even winter, and she was already colder in Gwydir than she’d ever been in decades of life in Aubade. Ophir rolled over in bed, turning to the empty space where she’d hoped Tyr’s indentation might be.
