Page 34 of A Frozen Pyre
***
Tyr watched Ophir’s posture change. She went from tense and ready for a fight to the sloped shoulders of disappointment. She’d wanted to find Dwyn. She turned from the room and headed back down the hall without another word.
Tyr knew better.
He slipped into her bedroom chambers before the door closed.
He’d barely rematerialized, still stepping out from the place between things when Dwyn descended on him.
Her dark hair billowed behind her like a goddess of the underworld. Despite the early evening, she was in a nightdress that scarcely graced the tops of her thighs—perhaps the closest piece of fabric in arm’s reach before she’d torn off on her tirade. The stark black tattoo crawled from her knee up her thigh, disappearing beneath the silky slip of fabric.
She raised her hand just in time for him to react. Dwyn threw a ball of flame so large it filled the entire hall. Tyr barely jumped into the alcove to avoid its inferno before she was upon him. The fire glanced harmlessly off the stones and windowpanes, catching on the curtains and rugs until they were little more than smoldering ashes.
“Let me guess,” he said, gasping as he stepped out of the alcove. “Tracking, true sight, and flame?”
“Great job, dog. Three down, three to go,” she said through gritted teeth. Dwyn’s dark eyes glinted with the wildness of a rabid animal.
“Dwyn, hang on.” He lifted his hands as he stumbled to the side. Tyr had grown rusty. He’d relied so heavily on stealth that he wasn’t prepared to face anyone in combat. Especially not someone who would reflect his injuries. He couldn’t riskhurting her.
Fire sparked between the knuckles of her raised fist.
“They’re going to put the castle on lockdown after your rampage. The summit is at stake. Ophir will surely be met with suspicion. If you—”
She lifted a handful of fire and flung it for him once more.
“Dwyn! I’m not the only one you’re going to hurt if you keep this up!”
“I have a plan,” she grunted. She flicked her hand at her side, but only a few sparks came from her fingertips. If her fire was wearing out, then perhaps her true sight was as well.
“The secret is out, Dwyn,” he said, keeping her at a distance. “You learned this from Suley, right? I know. The fae hears thoughts. She informed Zita. She told everyone. But Dwyn!” He had to jump to stay out of range of her thrashing. He shouted to get her to listen, saying, “Ophir is not at fault for this. She wanted to tell you! I made her promise.”
Dwyn gasped against another thrust fist.
“Ophir didn’t do this,” he said again, praying no one in the castle would hear.
“Explain!” She made another animal sound as she lunged for him, ready to tear out his throat.
Tyr flattened his back against the wall, waiting until she swung her fist. The moment he saw it descend, he dove out of the way, narrowing avoiding the strength she’d stolen. His eyes widened at her recklessness. If she’d broken his skull, she’d be dead. Could she truly be so angry that she’d sacrifice her own life for revenge? His hand slipped against the arched windowpane, and he skidded out of its radius. He couldn’t risk the tinkering sound of shattered glass if he hoped to keep them concealed.
“Because!” Tyr gasped, barely dodging her fist again. He struggled to control his tone as he emphasized, “After you and I made our deal, I didn’t think we’d be able to keep Ophir in the dark, and I didn’t want her to have to see our glances. I didn’t want her to feel like we were hiding anything. Sheneeds to know she can trust us, and that’s easier for her to do if she does it individually.”
Dwyn froze, fist still raised. Her chest rose and fell with angry huffs as she stared at him, muscles still flexed in impending rage. Her bare feet remained glued to the hall floor, lips peeled back in a permanent snarl, but she did not advance. Her anger visibly sizzled and smoked out as she considered his words. As her rage dissipated, it was almost as if he watched Dwyn shrink from the size of the mighty ag’drurath to her fae form, a full head and shoulders smaller once more.
“It seemed easier for neither of us to speak. I’m sorry, Dwyn. I spared us all from having to act.”
Her dark eyes rose to meet his. A distant, mistrustful flame reignited as she frowned, saying, “Except, Ophir was acting. She knew you were here.”
“All she knew was that I didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the castle. She’s innocent in this.”
He continued to watch her face as it twitched, emotions ranging from acceptance, to confusion, to anger. He saw fury course through her in moment of realization as she used her forearm to pin Tyr to the wall. She stood on her toes to ram her arm into the tender space against his jugular as she snarled, “You’re sleeping with her.”
It wasn’t a question.
“She genuinely cares for you,” Tyr grunted against the pain in his neck, wondering how Dwyn wasn’t also harming her own windpipe with the pressure. “Believe me, I wish she didn’t. I wish she couldn’t tolerate you. I wish she thought of you as a friend or a distraction, but she cares for you, and I hate it, Dwyn.”
Dwyn coughed, words strangled as if muffled beneath a pillow as she responded. “Come on, you sop. You do not—”
It was the only confirmation he needed. This hurt her every bit as much as it hurt him. He nodded slowly against the pressure on his throat. “I do.”
