Page 95 of A Frozen Pyre
“I trust you with the plans,” Ophir said quietly as she backed toward the door.
Darya clicked her tongue. “I wish you took more of an interest in your own wedding, but at least you believe that I know what’s best.”
Ophir nodded, a single tear falling down her cheek. “I do,” she said.
“Go, go,” Darya said, waving her away. “I’ll have everything ready for the big day. You’ll love your dress, as will the people. It’s truly stunning. I can’t wait to see the portraits that come from the big day! And your children. Won’t it be interesting to see whether or not they have wings? Oh, whata future lies ahead for Farehold.”
“What a future for Farehold, indeed,” she repeated as she reached for the knob. She twisted the handle and stepped into the corridor just as the tears began to fall.
“Oh, Ophir?” her mother called out.
Ophir stiffened. She didn’t turn to her mother as she begged her voice to remain calm, hoping beyond all hopes that the cracks in her soul were inaudible as she asked, “What?”
To her back, Queen Darya said, “Don’t bother your father, if you don’t mind. He’ll be very busy until the wedding. We can all reconvene after the ceremony.”
Silence flooded her like the dark, chilly waters of the Gwydir River. She closed her eyes, dipping her head as a new emotion joined her pain. She was disgusted. Her mother knew. Her mother had collaborated, and plotted, and schemed with Eero to ensure Farehold remained the goddess’s favorite kingdom—a favor taken by force and retained by silencing any who might oppose it.
“Of course,” she choked out to the hall before she launched herself down the corridor. Her mother shouted something else at her disappearing form, but she couldn’t hear it over the high-pitched ringing in her ears.
Three more days, and it would all be over.
Three more days, and Farehold would pay.
***
She marched straight from the meeting with her mother to Ceneth’s room, tears streaming down her face all the while. If the servants had noticed her red nose or her stifled sobs, no one had said a thing. He answered after only two swift raps of her knuckles.
Ceneth’s dark eyes widened as he greeted his miserable bride-to-be. He pushed the door open to allow her entry.
“Ophir.” He blinked through his surprise.
“I’m in,” she said.
He looked at her cautiously. His wings flared out, thentucked in again. “Ophir, in Gwydir, you said…”
“I hadn’t made up my mind when we spoke in Gwydir. Farehold needs a change, to be sure, but I didn’t realize I was still grasping at straws to believe that my parents—” Her words were broken by a ragged sob. She brought her hands to her eyes, catching her tears in her palms as her shoulders shook. She struggled to breathe as emotion claimed her.
A heavy hand on her shoulder unleashed whatever she’d been holding back.
He hadn’t tried to bring her into a hug. He hadn’t attempted to be anything he wasn’t. She wasn’t Caris. They weren’t in love. But there was an honesty both in his willingness to stand by her even if he disliked her and in his loyalty to her late sister. She looked up through the foggy curtain of tears at his blurry shape. Her lip trembled as she said, “Caris was lucky.”
His eyes watered, matching hers. She knew the expression. It was the face of a scab ripped clean, revealing a fresh wound just when you’d thought it had begun to heal.
“We’ll avenge her,” she said. “It won’t be the world she could have achieved, because I’m not her, and I never will be.” Ophir straightened her shoulders. She looked at Ceneth with determination as she said, “But it also won’t be the path of the continent she tried to end. We’ll break the cycle. And we’ll do it in a way that only we can.”
He reached out for her before she knew what was happening. She stifled her sounds of surprise as he crushed her against the muscled wall of his chest and held her tightly.
When he pulled her into a hug, it wasn’t the false embrace Darya had offered. It wasn’t the hold of a lover, or the clutch of a friend. It was gratitude. In three days, they would be wed. In three days, they would end the world.
Thirty-Four
“They’ll know something is wrong,” Galena said. Shehadn’t stopped wringing her hands from the moment they’d stepped into the antechamber of the great spherical theater that remained open to temperate seaside weather. It was the perfect evening for a wedding.
Galena’s fretting competed with the scores of string instruments that filled the coliseum beyond. The merry sounds of people, music, and the gaiety of celebration matched the lovely sunset for two kingdoms to join.
The incessant fidgeting was setting Zita on edge, and she didn’t need any more reasons to feel anxious. Orchestral music wafted into the room, carried on the words of the chattering crowd. The noises were nonsensical babble from behind the cream-colored walls. One arched doorway separated them from the festivities beyond.
Ceneth and Zita shared a look. She examined his night-black formal attire. The lapels shone with a velvet shimmer as if to complement his wings. The king offered a shallow dip of his chin for Zita to take over. She leveled her gaze at Galena.
