Page 67 of A Frozen Pyre
Ceneth’s noise was unintelligible, yet unmistakably translated as:How the hell am I supposed to know how far this bullshit extends?
The king’s eyes flashed back to the guard. There was no kindness in his question as he asked, “What is it, Harland? Why are you here? Hasn’t Farehold done enough?”
Harland eyed Ceneth, from the fighting leathers and the weapons to the hat, gloves, and winter boots. “You look like you’re going to battle.”
“Very perceptive.”
Harland’s words came out breathlessly. “Samael is asking to defect. His sister, Onain—”
“I know who his sister is.”
Harland bit down his reaction. He didn’t have time to luxuriate in surprise. Onain had clearly deemed that more relevant within the walls of Gwydir than Samael had amid Farehold’s party. “Has she spoken to you?”
Ceneth glared. “Yes.”
“And?” Harland prompted.
“And they’re right—that’s their gift, isn’t it? It’s hard to argue with someone whose goddess-granted ability is unimpeachable correctness.”
“Is she defecting with him?” Harland asked, shock coating his voice.
“She is.”
His eyes widened. “They’re positioning themselves against Ophir.”
“They’re positioning themselves againstevil,” Ceneth snapped.
“But—”
Ceneth stepped away from Galena. She dipped her chin, tucking her wings behind her in cordial submission. Harland knew nothing of the woman, but he understood everything of guilt. He had a feeling she’d spend her days trying to absolve the events of the summit.
“There’s a pair of mountains on our southern border that have remained unpopulated. The territory has been under dispute for some time. If Eero is amenable, I’m happy to concede it to their efforts. Zita has already agreed to their use of her man and his ability to speak to stone. It’s as good as done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, now is not the time. I have business to attend to.”
“Wait!” Harland reeled in surprise. Ceneth had treated the request for a neutral territory as if it were nothing. He’d reacted to the concept of Samael’s demon-hunting league like it was little more than a fanciful idea. “I made Samael swear not to hurt Ophir. I was going to ask Onain to do the same, if they are to work together…” Harland observed the man’s holstered weapons for the first time. He caught not only the daggers strapped to each forearm but the sword belted to his hip. “But perhaps there will be nothing to fight if you’re off to harm her. King Ceneth, please—”
Ceneth turned without speaking. He began walking toward the river. Harland jogged to keep up, voice hitching into desperation as he asked, “If you aren’t going to hurt her, then where are you going?”
Ceneth’s eyebrows arranged themselves in a hard, stoic line. He bent his knees to launch into the sky as he muttered, “To find my fucking fiancée.”
Part III
Tattered Fate on the Loom
Twenty-Four
Raasay Forest was a miserable blur of evergreen trees andjagged stones. Ophir had flung rock after trunk as she’d thrust her rage into her creations.
“Firi…” Dwyn was rarely so hesitant. The sound almost belayed Ophir’s focus. Almost.
Ophir’s fingernails bit the heel of her hand, eating into her tender flesh as she clamped her fist down against the words. She turned her face away from Dwyn, rejecting her name on the siren’s lips. A log popped and kicked up ashes as it collapsed, sending specks and cinders into the air. Ophir flinched at the sound, watching the gray and white tendrils pour into the sitting room just like the stones and debris of Castle Gwydir.
“Unless you’re going to say something helpful,” Ophir began, “keep it to yourself.”
She caught the way Tyr’s mouth turned down in disapproval.
“What? Are you on her side now?” Ophir asked.
A muscle feathered in his jaw as he held her gaze. He was a pillar of firm, patient strength. Her face heated as she challenged him to look away. After a stretch of silence, he said simply, “Yes.”
