Page 62 of A Frozen Pyre
Ignoring him, Ceneth said to Zita, “Raascot will honor this request. We will sign a treaty and have your cities vanish from all papers and documents, and we will vow not to cross into your lands for one thousand years. Though let it be known, if you choose to cross of your own volition, you will always be welcome in the north.”
“I did not ask it of Raascot,” she said.
“And yet, you have it.”
The room’s silence had a soupy, drowning quality. Each breath was a struggle as monarchs and advisors sipped onspoonfuls of tension. Zita eyed the crowned men for a quiet while before turning to address Ophir.
“And you, Princess? How have you spent your three days of recess?” The queen watched her carefully.
The faces beside Ophir contorted with terse attention. Their heightened emotions stirred the already-simmering cauldron within her. Tyr’s silent plea seemed to will her not to lash out, while Dwyn emanated a different nameless energy entirely. Neither breathed as they silently regarded her. Raascot, Farehold, and Tarkhany’s attention remain trained on her as she held the floor.
“If you’ll allow me a detour, Queen Zita,” she said, waiting for Zita’s nod before she continued. Ophir sucked on her teeth, allowing her anger to take root and grow into a magnificent, thorned weed before she spoke. “Raascot has shown me protection and kindness. Though it was meant to be Caris’s kingdom through marriage, I’m grateful for my friends here. I have no reason to mistrust anyone in Gwydir.” She nodded at Ceneth. His face tensed with uncertainty at the edge that crept into her voice, but he cautiously returned the gesture. She looked back to Zita, saying, “You not only sheltered me but aided in the pursuit of my enemies and my avenue for justice. No one holds you to blame for the actions of… What was the shapeshifter’s name?”
Zita remained silent.
Ophir shrugged lightly before turning to her father. “I suppose he’s unimportant. Alas, now it’s time to address Farehold. Father?”
Eero stiffened visibly at the extreme rigidity with which she addressed him. Harland’s eyes flared in a plea, but she held no space in her heart for his silent prayers. To his side, Samael leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap as he observed.
“Farehold,” she said to the room, “married me off to Raascot as if Caris and I were interchangeable. When I was not amenable and I fled, I was pursued.” Ophir paused foreffect, scanning the intense faces around the room before continuing. “Farehold did not trust our bond. Did you know this? In fact, the king sitting upon the throne in Aubade was so distrustful of our treaty, he made other arrangements to ensure his will is done.” She looked at Ceneth, studying his face as she asked, “The woman he brought: Were you aware that her gift is one of fertility? Did you know that she’s forced my womb to prepare for your child?”
Ceneth’s jaw dropped.
Eero rumbled with a threatening growl, “It would be wise to cease speaking, Ophir.”
The room bristled as if they were little more than a pack of dogs, teeth bared in their hostile standstill.
“No, I don’t think it would. Should we consummate our union, Ceneth? Good King Eero can’t risk missing his opportunity to have an heir sit upon both of our thrones. Yet, that wasn’t enough, was it, Father?”
Evander and the nameless woman at Ceneth’s side looked like they might back away from the table. The blatant evidence of revulsion rippled through their expressions like a stomach flu.
Ophir tore her gaze from Ceneth, looking to her father as she said, “Shall I tell Ceneth about your wedding present?”
Eero’s voice rang with firm anger as he growled his daughter’s name, chewing the syllables as if a hound snarling into a steak.
“Stop it, Ophir!” her father demanded.
Harland’s plea rang out at the same time, her name little more than a desperate whisper on his lips.
“That’s right.” She looked to Ceneth’s still-shocked face, then back to her father’s. “The rings you offered as our wedding gift would not only bond us, but fuse us, so that we could not defy one another. You meant to make Ceneth a puppet. You mean to raise his armies against Tarkhany should they march. You meant to melt my mind—”
“Ophir!” Eero slammed his fist against the table. He wason his feet in one swift motion. His metallic eyes burned.
She was on her toes not a moment later. The fire within her burned beyond his. “You meant to meld us,Eero! What am I to you? Not only am I not your child; I’m not even a person. I have no autonomy. I’m a pawn in the game of kingdoms and castles. Isn’t that right?”
He snapped, “Don’t speak of what you do not know.”
“What don’t I know?” she snarled in return. “What have I left out, Father?”
No one else existed. The room faded into black and white dots of distant clouds and static as father and daughter matched each other step for step.
His voice boomed with decades of fury as he boomed. “You know nothing of running a kingdom. You know nothing of adulthood! You can barely stay alive! Would we have let a stranger into your bed if you hadn’t nearly burned down the castle every night?”
She slammed a fire-laden palm against the table, embers gnawing at the wood as she yelled, “Youknow nothing of who I am or what I can do.” Flame ate through its surface until the furniture bore the evidence of her cinders, but she didn’t bother to look at the five fingers that marked her rage.
“How can she—” Evander tripped over his words.
Ceneth gasped at the fire at her fingertips.
