Page 79 of A Frozen Pyre
Ophir nodded, a tiny seed of gratitude sprouting at both his memory of her pet’s species and in the way he neither scowled nor recoiled as he regarded the beast.
“As I’m to go on ahead, I can ask Zita if she’d like to take credit for bringing the beast from Tarkhany as a wedding present. It would allow you to keep Sedit with you in the castle. Additionally, it might prove helpful to keep the animals’ origins focused to one climate, to allow the people to makesense of them. Of course, she may decline the affiliation with your creations, which is her right.”
Ophir silently agreed. When they’d said all that they had to say, she watched the king leave, listening to the mighty rustle of feathers as he took off into the air. After enough time had passed that even the keenest of fae ears couldn’t possibly overhear, Ophir looked to Dwyn. “So, you have a reputation as a traveling fae to uphold.”
“Happy to oblige.” Dwyn smiled, and she truly did seem happy. She extended a hand to Ophir and helped her up out of the bed. “Are we keeping the haunted hermit attire?”
Ophir looked down at herself. “I think I pull it off.”
“You absolutely do. Now, we have people to find.”
She hesitated, and Dwyn returned the quizzical look. Ophir finally asked, “Is Tyr truly gone?”
Dwyn’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. She took a few steps toward the door and relaxed against the wall as she said, “There aren’t words for how sorry I am, Firi.”
“I just… We’ve been through hell. We’ve been to the corners of the continent. We’ve shared…” Ophir’s face heated as her eyes pricked with tears. She knew if she kept speaking, she’d lose the battle against the dam threatening to break within her.
Dwyn tilted her head, allowing the curtain of her night-dark hair to tumble down her shoulders. Her eyes softened as she said, “You never should have had to feel like this.”
“The last thing I remember was him burying the human. After he came in and washed his hands… I can’t believe I started drinking so quickly. I’ve gotten drunk more times than I can count, Dwyn, but this is a blackout I’ve never experienced. I don’t know why he’d need to wait for me to be inebriated like that. He could have just claimed he’d gone out for wood and never come back. He…”
“I do believe he cared for you,” Dwyn said sympathetically. “Perhaps he knew that if you had the chance to talk him out of leaving, you’d succeed. I know you could have talkedme in or out of anything. Maybe this was the only way he could do what needed to be done. Saying goodbye while you were intoxicated was the only way he could get his closure and leave you unable to fight.”
The look on his face when he’d lifted his arm and tucked her against his chest on the floor of the shack had blotted into her memories like ink staining unblemished paper. She was sure she’d never forget the crack through his strength as he’d regarded her, holding her, warming her, making her feel safe and loved and protected. She hadn’t just trusted him. She’d loved him.
And then he’d left.
“So, how long do we hang out in the forest before we use my amazing powers of lightning-like travel?” Dwyn asked, wriggling her fingers as if to summon such power. Perhaps she could see Ophir tumbling down the deep, dark well of her memories. It would serve neither of them if Ophir lost herself to her wounds.
“You’re a feral animal,” Ophir chuckled, though pain bubbled to the top of the sound. She rallied for strength as she said, “I suppose we need to get hunting if you need fresh blood.”
“No time to waste! Kitty’s hungry.”
Ophir cringed. “For the love of the goddess, don’t call yourself that.”
Dwyn flashed her teeth, pleased with herself. She opened the door and made a sweeping gesture to the dense forest that encroached upon the cabin. A layer of early-winter frost was just beginning to thaw in the sunlight as her feet crunched over snapping pine needles. Ophir stepped into the chilly, conifer-scented air as Dwyn said, “Now that I know it bothers you, I’ll never refer to myself as anything else. Off we go, Princess. Places to be, forests to tackle, people to kill.”
Twenty-Seven
“What did he want?” Suley asked, one brow raised in wrycuriosity. She’d let herself into Zita’s chambers in the moments following Ceneth’s departure from their private meeting. The king of the north had dipped his head in acknowledgment, tucking his enormous wings in behind him to allow her to pass as she slipped from the hall. The door was now locked and closed behind her. Her queen rose from where she’d been sitting at her ornately decorated desk and poured a second glass of wine, extending it to Suley.
“Shouldn’t you be able to tell me?” Zita asked, words ripe with implication.
Suley stood on unsteady feet as she maintained her question.
Zita matched the expression. “Sit, sit.”
Suley obliged. Zita’s room was larger and grander than her own, but it was built from the same dark, crystalline stone that had captured the stars themselves. Zita’s bed was larger, decorated with intricate wood carvings down each individual post. Warm furs covered every surface, just as they did in Suley’s room. She suspected that their Raascot hosts were doing their best to compensate for the unfamiliar change in climate. Even in the deepest regions of the north, the brightscents of lemons and oranges rolled off her queen, banishing the local berry-rich perfumes she’d noted on the fae residents of Gwydir. A lit fireplace burned with red-orange intensity, banishing chills and shadows from the suite. Suley took her first generous swig of her wine while she listened.
“Ever since Farehold’s wayward princess stumbled down our streets, life has grown curiouser and curiouser. Raascot’s valiant king succeeded in locating the lovely conjurer. Ophir is expected back in Gwydir at any moment. He’s just requested that Tarkhany take credit for her demons.”
Suley couldn’t contain her surprise. “Demons? Plural?” Horrid memories of a long-necked serpent clinging to the cliffs of her seaside village pierced her mind. She saw the moon shimmer on its wings as the screams of women and children joined the swelling noise. The terrible face of a winged, humanoid monster filtering into the rectangle of the open-air window she’d once possessed. Suley shuddered before asking, “And why in the goddess’s good name would Tarkhany do that?”
Zita’s amusement didn’t waver. “We’ve named the ag’drurath. Its name is known. It seems that most of the demons have a similar skin—one more suited to the reptiles and amphibians of our warm climates than that of the north. Ceneth is requesting continuity to help the people accept their existence. The demons, in theory, could be native wildlife.”
“Because,” Suley began slowly, “the people know nothing of Tarkhany, and we’re to exploit that ignorance. It’s an achievable goal, but why? How would it serve anyone?”
She watched as Zita’s smile widened.
