Page 77 of A Frozen Pyre
Ophir wondered briefly at his pause before asking, “Is Zita still in Gwydir?”
Ceneth didn’t relax his posture. Shoulders back, hand on the hilt of his weapon, he appraised her slowly. Finally, he closed his eyes once in acknowledgment. “She’s chosen to remain in Raascot until our wedding. Everyone in the Tarkhany party is welcome in my home. The queen wishes to be in attendance. One of your men—Harland—has also opted to stay behind, though the rest of your party has departed southward. There are preparations to be made before the ceremony, after all.”
He said the last words with venom, but the acid was not directed at her.
Ophir looked at Ceneth with new eyes. She drank in his deeply bronzed skin, the inky shimmer of his wings, his sharp gaze, and the hard cut of his jaw as if seeing him for the first time. She’d known for years that Ceneth was a good man. She’d known since her arrival in Raascot that not only was he a decent person who’d loved Caris deeply, but that he was one of her few allies in Gyrradin. As she looked upon him now, she considered what he must be thinking.
He hadn’t flinched at the sight of her, though she’d abandoned the ruined sweater and fur-lined leggings in favor of the dark, gauzy dress of her own manifestation. It rustled around her ankles like smoke, adhering to the fashions of no earthly kingdom. He hadn’t approached with judgment, despite her responsibility for his friend andadvisor. He’d found her alone, without the escort of armies or guards, despite knowing she was capable of immeasurable destruction. He didn’t like her, but perhaps he didn’t have to.
“Why would you want to move forward with the wedding?” Ophir asked. She wasn’t just asking why he’d want to bind himself to a creature of unspeakable nightmares. Through its actions and subterfuge, Farehold had revealed itself to be no ally to Raascot.
“I suspect we have a common enemy,” Ceneth said.
She raised a single brow ever so slightly. This was true, but it was daring of him to say so. His single sentence acknowledged that he saw Eero as a foe. Simultaneously, it asked if she was ready to turn her back on her family.
“I was never the daughter they wanted,” Ophir said. “But at least I was that—a daughter. I’d always thought so, anyway. Until Cybele and her rings.”
The briefest evidence of anger flashed across Ceneth’s face. His eyes tightened as he adjusted his grip on his weapon. He wasn’t positioning himself to strike. It was almost as if he clutched it for security against the demons in his mind rather than the ones at Ophir’s fingertips.
“Her rings are meant to fuse us, Ceneth. You’re not a person to them. Neither am I.”
It was Ceneth who said, “Farehold doesn’t want a union. They want to conquer.”
Ophir knew it was true. If her parents had truly desired a treaty with Raascot, they would have trusted him to keep his word. He’d never shown any indication of backing out of this proposed union, even after Caris’s death. And while her father claimed that taking territory was a sin of their ancestors for which they couldn’t be held responsible, he’d positioned history to repeat itself. Once Ceneth and Ophir had fused, Eero would have a winged puppet on the northern throne. She doubted that Eero knew he was evil. In fact, she was quite certain that he believed he was doing the good andright thing. Somehow, that only made it worse.
“We’ll insist upon other rings, obviously,” Ophir said.
Ceneth rubbed his chin. “Strategy would caution us about making brash requests in the light of day. We may need to conceal our next steps to come out with our minds and wills intact. Farehold is a powerful enemy.”
“So, what, we make peace with them?” Ophir guffawed.
“Of course not,” Ceneth said. “But it behooves us to withhold just how much disdain we have for them. I’ll have decoys made in their place. Ruby on gold for your ring, and sapphire on silver for mine? Is that right?”
“White diamonds on either side of the ruby, and black diamonds on either side of the sapphire. Yes. Can you have something made on such short notice?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll have a plan before the wedding day. Just wait for my word. I promise: Neither of us will disappear as a result of this wedding. We’ve lost enough. Both of us.”
The fire crackled. The bones of the cottage creaked.
“If I die, you die. The rings wouldn’t just meld our wills. They’re mutually assured destruction. What would Farehold stand to gain from my death? Wouldn’t they want me to live on and rule in the north?”
The corner of Ceneth’s mouth quirked, though he did not meet her gaze. “It comforts me to hear you refer to them asFarehold. But if I had to guess, it’s meant to ensure that wedodie, and whatever young, moldable heir we leave in our stead can be steered by your parents. They’ve assured you’ll conceive.”
“They want me dead.” Ophir almost laughed, though the sound stuck in her throat.
“They’re afraid of you. You’re a threat because you can’t be controlled. Honestly, Ophir… I think Caris would be proud.”
The laugh morphed into something akin to a sob, though the tears would not come.
“Zita asked a favor of me,” Ophir said, breaking thestretch of silence.
“Oh?”
She nodded slowly. “It was a plea, really, about the status quo. She asked that whatever I do… I dosomething.”
It was Ceneth’s turn to raise a brow. “And? Will you?”
She chewed on her lip for a long minute. Ophir leaned against a chair for support, tapping her fingers rhythmically against its surface. “Would you seize Aubade?”
