Page 72 of A Frozen Pyre
“You can’t be serious.” Ophir glared at the woman.
“Listen,” Dwyn said. “It took a long-ass time for Tyr and I to find common ground. We spent decades feuding long before we found our common ground in you, Firi. But as much as I hate the dog, he’s right. There’s nothing for you here. And you seem to be the only goddess we recognize. Do us all a favor, and let’s get out of here.”
Ophir’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t pretend you want me to go back for the same reasons.”
Dwyn cocked a brow. “What’s it matter? Neither of us wants you in this cabin.”
Tyr’s laugh was a cold, hard sound. “It matters. She kicked you out once before for deceiving her, Dwynie. Did you like sleeping on the ground in Henares? Do you want to keep lying to our princess?”
Ice overtook the cabin as Dwyn’s expression hardened. Frost filled her gaze as she looked at Tyr, motionless. With an arctic clip to each word, she asked, “And what lie am I telling?”
His eyes narrowed into slits. “We kept our bargains, witch. I got mine, and you got yours. Now tell her.”
“Three minutes,” Dwyn said. “You were in my good graces for roughly three minutes. What a record. Savor this moment, Tyr. Enjoy the last few heartbeats before you lose everything.”
They were speaking of her as if she weren’t there. Ophir waved a hand to gain their attention, but they were locked in a standoff. In a bid to break their icy stares, she demanded, “Lose what? Tell me what?”
But neither of them looked at her. They remained locked in a battle she’d seen time and time again to various degrees.She saw the barest tips of the tattoo that crawled up Tyr’s neck, and then her eyes went to the hip where she knew a matching mark wrapped around Dwyn. They were inexplicably bound. Enemies forced into an alliance with a shared lover and a blood pact, they’d never had more in common than their hair color and their ink.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Dwyn said.
“Do you want to bet?” Tyr retorted.
Dwyn crossed her arms calmly. Her fingers tapped a pattern against her bicep as she relaxed into the stance. “Just when I thought we’d found common ground, you go and prove your worthlessness. You feel good about yourself? You know how to drain, and now you’re ready to be top dog? So many know the one thing you still believe you hold over my head. Go ahead, Tyr. Make your bid for alpha. Be my guest.” She tilted her head with purely predatory intent.
His intensity wilted at the poison in her eyes. He broke Dwyn’s stare and looked to Ophir. “I want what’s best for you, Princess. I want you to stand up for yourself. I want you to live a good life. I want you to succeed. And I don’t want you to share a bed with your sister’s killer.”
Ophir’s head tilted until it mirrored Dwyn’s on the far side of the room. She knitted her brows. She could tell from his fiery passion that she was meant to be filled with fear, or adrenaline, or panic, but she felt only confusion. Her hair tickled her arm, but she continued to hold Tyr’s eyes.
He took a step toward her. “Dwyn killed Caris.”
He held his ground as Dwyn threw up her hands in exasperation. She made a tired sound as she stepped back toward the wall and leaned against the logs, utterly disinterested in the man and his rant. She began to pick at the dirt under her nails.
“No,” Ophir said carefully, “Berinth killed Caris.”
Tyr scrunched his face. “Youknowhe wasn’t in his right mind, Princess. You know it wasn’t even his real name! You know someone else was pulling those puppet strings. You sawhim in the dungeon. You knew right up until the very end. The morning of the execution, your winged demon spoke to the killer, and we both know it wasn’t talking to Lord Berinth.”
“It was Berinth’s knife,” Ophir repeated. She pressed her fingertips into her temples, assaulted by another one of her headaches.
“What aren’t you hearing?” Tyr practically cried the words. “It’s Dwyn, Ophir! It was always Dwyn! She’s orchestrated everything. She needed to get close to you. She needed an in. She needed Caris gone. She—”
“Please, stop. My heart hurts,” she said.
He stopped in his tracks. He held Ophir’s eyes for a long moment before looking to Dwyn. As her mouth tugged up in a slow, calculating smile, the blood drained from his face. “Dwyn, what did you do.”
She ceased inspecting her nails long enough to shrug. “You were right, Tyr. Dishonesty got me into trouble before. I couldn’t let that happen again. Are you glad you rejoined my list of archnemeses for this?”
“How could you have told her?” he asked, pain and confusion on his face swirled together with horror. He took a step toward the door. He refused to look at Ophir. “You told her and…” His eyes widened. “You told her.”
“We’ve established as much,” Dwyn said, utterly bored.
“I’ve spent weeks wondering why you didn’t heal yourself from the poison in Midnah. She begged you to use your last power to call on healing the morning of the slaughter. Even I did. I knew you had one borrowed power left from the man you drained in the cell… But you’d already used it, hadn’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
Tyr hadn’t blinked. “How did you do it?”
Dwyn’s smile didn’t show her teeth. She merely looked impressed with herself as she allowed Tyr to work it out.
