Page 90 of A Frozen Pyre
Her imprint on the world would be something Caris would have never achieved.
Her legacy would be destruction.
“Him,” Ophir said, using only her chin to motion to a fae who may have been in his twenties or two hundreds, for all one might judge the life of the fae.
“He has wings,” Dwyn said, frowning.
“Does that make him a better person?”
Dwyn grunted. “It just means your first target is a shark instead of a guppy, should he want to fight or flee. Not that I don’t think you can withstand the challenge. Are you ready?”
Ophir grabbed her arm. Dwyn looked at her bicep and the fingers digging into it, then up at Ophir. Her dark brows curled up in the center, almost as if she’d sucked on a sour lemon.
“I don’t want to learn to drain,” Ophir said.
Dwyn’s face puckered into deeper confusion.
“I don’t,” she repeated. “I want to understand it. This is who you are, right? I want to know you, and what you do, and how you do it. But it’s not a skill I want or need. And if anyone discovers your wake of husks and asks for an explanation, I’ll reaffirm what I’ve always believed to be true. You’re a creature of the sea and the siren of fairy tales.”
The muscles in Dwyn’s face softened, concerned wrinkles disappearing. When Ophir released her bicep, Dwyn nodded slowly in agreement.
“I’ve told you of Sulgrave’s Reds who run the church with a legion of unfamiliar gifts, blood magic, and borrowed powers.”
Ophir listened. Yes, she’d heard it all.
“I took a gamble when I left the Pact. It was replicable enough that I was able to teach Tyr. And even if you don’t want to learn, I’ll teach you now. First, you do as the Reds do, and you borrow against your blood.”
“But that’s what kills you.”
Dwyn flashed her teeth in a smile. “Precisely. You’re not just going to do it; you’re going to do it twice.”
“I’m not going to do it any times,” Ophir corrected.
Dwyn crossed her arms. She eyed Ophir and said, “I disagree. I think it’s only ethical that you do it once, to that winged man there—the one you selected. His life is in your hands. Put yourself in my shoes.”
“I’ve never borrowed any second ability,” Ophir said. “I can’t.”
Dwyn laughed loudly enough that it drew eyes from amother and her child passing by. She covered her mouth. “Firi, you’re a manifester. You draw on the hearts of your kingdom. You don’t just borrow on blood or second abilities; you borrow oneveryability. If you want to summon wind, it will be so.”
The cold winter air burned Ophir’s tongue before she realized her mouth had dropped open.
“Listen,” Dwyn continued. “The secret is hidden in plain sight. You simply borrow twice. First, you call to the wind. Leverage the gift against your own blood.”
“But—”
“Then,” Dwyn continued testily, “you borrow against your blood a second time. Exchange the poisoned, sickly blood in your body for theirs.”
Ophir buckled against the statement. She looked up over Dwyn’s shoulders at the thin, frosty snowflakes that began to fall. It was cold enough that they wouldn’t melt on impact. Each speck of white cast a dramatic droplet against the midnight-blue and black stones that must have been birthed from the nearby mountains, as every shop and home and bridge sang the hues and crystalline stars within. She hadn’t considered how Raascot’s wings shone with the same oil-slick radiance of the city’s labradorite. Perhaps the north had not been historically theirs, but if there was indeed a goddess, she’d married the dark-winged fae with this city.
It was a marriage that was set to swiftly end for one ill-fated citizen.
“You’ve drained without knowing how you were going to use it,” Ophir said.
Dwyn cocked a brow. “So I’d have you think. It certainly makes me seem more mysterious and dangerous when you have no clue what I’m going to do next. But no. I go into each kill with intent, even if I have to sit on that intention and wait until the time is right.”
Dwyn concentrated on their task. “Your blood is twice poisoned. The first is for wind; the second is for the swap.But by the time both poisons take effect, it will all be in their veins, pumping through their heart, sapping them of their life. It’s why they perish on contact. In the moment of the switch, you’ve amplified everything you wish to give and take. A single stolen power would make someone sick. If they’re extremely practiced and skilled, as the Reds were, they may be able to withstand recovery from a secondary or tertiary power. Some devotees were fabled to call on a fourth before they fell to their religious cause. But these people aren’t Reds. They haven’t trained or exercised or created fortitudes within themselves. Two unfamiliar powers at once will kill them almost instantly. If they’re human, it’s surefire. If they’re fae, it may be a bit slower. Then again, if they’re fae, I often take a little extra, just to be sure.”
Ophir saw her own golden curls before she realized she was shaking her head. She felt so disconnected from her body while Dwyn spoke. It felt like a wicked fairy story.
