Page 80 of A Frozen Pyre
“Everyone wins, dear Suley. Tarkhany won’t be bothered. If the sands weren’t enough to deter them, the threat of monsters will keep one hundred generations of zealous, conquering foes far from our lands. They’ve taken enough. With fear in their hearts and our name wiped clean from their mouths, they’ll take no more.”
Suley drank deeply from her goblet as she considered thewords. Fear could be a useful tool, particularly if the goal was to be left alone. “And how does Ceneth benefit?”
“He and Ophir plan to marry. He doesn’t need his bride-to-be stained by truth.”
“And Farehold…”
Zita’s laugh was a slow, amused purr. “I wasn’t wrong about her, my sweet Suley. I do think Princess Ophir may be the key we’ve hoped for. She’s no friend to Aubade. If taking credit for her monsters solidifies our friendship, then I do think we both win. I was told that this will require our party to acknowledge bringing a hound from Tarkhany as a wedding present.”
“A hound?”
“Mmm.” Zita nodded. “I suppose she is to return to the castle with some new abomination. Perhaps that’s an unfair categorization of the creature. I guess all new things take some getting used to. Did you ever see the Viscountess’s firstborn? Quite the tiny troll, as are all infants. I must say, I’m quite curious to see what Ophir’s made. It can’t be worse than a baby.”
Suley smiled at the queen’s joke but couldn’t bring herself to laugh. She chewed on her lip slowly as her eyes unfocused. She reveled in the quiet that stretched between them, savoring the silence between each heartbeat. The only thoughts in her head were her own. It allowed her to focus as she asked, “Did we know this was possible? That a typical fae might possess manifestation?”
Zita frowned, her face contemplative for a long moment. Suley watched as her queen relaxed into her chair, stretching the long column of her neck as she looked to the ceiling. Unlike her own preferences, her queen had never been one for elaborate jewels. The light caught only on the rich depths of her skin. At last, she said, “I don’t think there’s anything typical about Ophir.”
Suley couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice as she said, “Farehold was our undoing, and now we’re to expect itsoffspring to be our salvation?”
Zita laughed, but there was no joy to the sound. “Tarkhany does not need saving. But it deserves blood atonement.”
“I don’t understand. If you don’t want Ophir to fix things, what is it you want from her? From any of them?”
Zita set down her glass with a gentle clink and folded her arms gracefully on the table. “No, no. There is no savior in this story. Farehold may have brought us pain, yes. And now, at long last, it may bring the same suffering upon itself.”
“You want Farehold to hold itself accountable?”
Zita tutted her tongue. “Accountability is a luxury compared to what Farehold deserves. For too long has Tarkhany been called to action. I led my people to safety, then oversaw my kingdom as it rebuilt solely in the desert. I will never make peace with the loss of my ancestral home, nor will I take the weight of justice upon my shoulders. It is one ask too many. I want retribution, and I want them to be the ones who do it.”
“This is a shift, Zita,” Suley said. “Haven’t I heard you espouse the opposite for years? You rebuked your husband’s calls for revenge—”
“Well, my husband was an idiot.”
“And insisted you wanted justice,” Suley concluded.
“A lot has changed since the princess of chaos and creation stumbled into our lives. The law can’t reign unless we trust the morality of those in power. The only justice amid corruption is anarchy.”
Suley stiffened. She swallowed what remained in her goblet. It wasn’t the sort of meeting for pleasant buzzes or drunken merriment. She’d spent years draining bottles in hopes that it might dull the noise, but its only effectiveness had been in helping her sleep. Her dreams had been the only true reprieve from the incessant sounds. Now, a gentle vibration thrummed through her as the wine worked its way into her system, able to do its job without a competing cacophony of thoughts. Zita leaned across the table to pour two moreglasses from the pitcher.
“Speak your mind,” her queen said.
“It’s nothing,” Suley said quickly. “I just don’t know why we would count on Ophir to turn on her people.”
Zita brought the glass to her lips but paused for a long time. The queen held Suley’s eyes until she looked away uncomfortably. She shifted in her seat, aware that Zita took a sip from the goblet at long last. When she looked up, Zita spoke over the rim of her glass.
“That’s a lovely new cuff, Suley.” Something about Zita’s words rang with a vaguely ominous note.
Alarm flashed through her. She didn’t have time to fight the reaction as her eyes and nostrils flared. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.
Zita jutted her chin slightly as she said, “You wore it right before the final summit. Now, I’d ask you to listen to Ophir’s thoughts to see if she’d turn against Farehold, but I suspect I know why you’d tell me that you’d have no input on the matter.”
“Your Grace…?”
“You’ve always called me by my name. Don’t stop now.”
“Zita, I—”
Zita set down her glass once more. “I don’t hold relief from distress against anyone, Suley. I’m disappointed that I created an environment where you felt you couldn’t share your victory with me.”
