Page 41 of A Frozen Pyre
“Sit, sit, dear,” said the woman sweetly. She had the golden curls so coveted along the southern coast. Her face was pretty, even by fae standards. Her large jade eyes were as vibrant as newly budding leaves in spring. “I’m Cybele,” she said in a calm purr, taking Ophir’s hand and tugging her into the chair. “I’ve been a friend of the royal family for centuries. I’m so glad we finally get the chance to meet.”
The woman continued to kindly pat Ophir’s hand. Ophir’s gaze darted in confusion to her father, who offered an apologetic shrug as he explained, “She’s been an important advisor for the past three crowns, from my father and his father before him. There hasn’t been much reason for the two of you to meet, as waters have been still in Aubade throughout your young life. Times are different now.”
Ophir lowered her brows as she looked at the men at the table.
Harland didn’t break eye contact with Eero throughout his speech. Samael was similarly interested in Eero’s explanation, but with one arched brow.
Ophir reciprocated with an uncomfortable smile and pulled her hand away, realizing the woman was still stroking it idly. Eero led the table in rather unimportant chatter about their travels. The men gave a disconcertingly vague explanation as to how their journey from the desert to Raascot had gone. Eero answered with something dreary and long-winded. A number of servants emerged from the kitchen, though none of the faces were ones Ophir recognized. She considered how quickly the kitchen staff would have had to replace its missing workers to compensate for Dwyn’s recklessness. They ladled a spiced potato dish, a fragrant cut of lamb, and an assortment of rice and vegetables onto their places. Chilled fruits were scattered on gold and silver platters throughout the table. Eero remained intentionally silent until the last of the servants had finished filling their respective goblets withwater and wine. Once the door swung behind the final attendant of Raascot blood, his face became serious.
“It’s time we discussed what happened at the meeting,” he said.
Samael raised a warning finger. “I would caution you to consider, Your Majesty, that even in privacy, the walls have ears.”
Ophir’s face pinked. She knew that Samael had been gifted general wisdom, but she couldn’t help but feel the tingle of eyes on the back of her neck from where Tyr doubtlessly leaned against the far wall.
Eero nodded his agreement. “I’m not here to say anything controversial. Quite the opposite. Ophir, I feel you’re due an explanation.”
She hadn’t realized she was clenching her muscles until she relaxed into her chair. “Yes,” she said, “I feel I am.”
Eero cleared his throat. “I’m terribly sorry for the position you’re in. I’m sorry that you’re Raascot’s bride, and that you’re the target of Zita’s—”
“May I stop you, Father?”
He paused, a frown on his face. No king was used to being interrupted. The golden-brown strands of his unkept brows bunched together as he turned to her with a quizzical expression.
“Neither of those things has anything to do with me. Queen Zita is angry because of an action committed before my lifetime, and the inaction pursuant since. I’m Raascot’s bride because of an archaic law upheld by kings before my birth. So, before you commence your apologies, can we amend your language? Don’t apologize as if you’re a victim of circumstance. You’re the king of Farehold. Your word is law. You could snap your fingers and dissolve the marriage. You could give the word and return Zita’s lands. Please, tell me what happened. But tell it correctly.”
Every mouth at the table dropped. She could feel Harland’s eyes bulge, despite her refusal to look directly at him. Thoughhe remained unseen, some part of her knew Tyr, too, gasped. Her eyes stayed on the crimson face of her father. His skin dipped into an unrecognizable shade of ruby. Whether rage or shame, who was to know. When he finally spoke, she had her answer.
“What do you know of kingdoms? You’ve spent your life drinking and whoring—”
Ophir’s lips pulled upward in an eerie, pleased smile. Eero stopped himself before he said anything further. The men at her side tensed. Even Harland looked as if he was set to jump to her honor. Cybele clasped her hand as if to comfort her, but she jerked it away. Renewed annoyance flashed through her like static.
“I didn’t mean that,” Eero apologized.
“You did,” she said, her smile now revealing her teeth. An amused calm settled over her. She leaned forward onto her elbows as she looked at her father. “Caris was the virgin, and I’m the whore, right? Because a woman cannot exist outside of dichotomies.”
“Ophir—”
“Stop me when I’m wrong, Father. Caris was the monarch that would make the kingdoms proud, and I’m the disappointment that was best left to get drunk on the wall and avoid meetings, right? Caris was the golden child, and I’m the mistake.”
“You’re not a mistake, Ophir.” Her father stumbled over his words.
She laughed brightly and shoveled a forkful of food into her mouth. She grinned as she chewed, smacking through her meal. “I know that more than you ever will, Father. You have no idea what I can do.” She swallowed, licked her lips, then wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin. “Now, is there anything else you need from me? Or am I free to return to my drinking and whoring?”
She was surprised when Harland’s hand settled on her forearm. She looked into his hazel eyes and felt a twinge ofregret as memories coursed through her. She felt their laughs, their bottles of wine, the moments he’d pulled her from her night terrors, the love they’d made, the friendship they’d had all in one tense gaze. His eyebrows bunched with concern as he tightened his fingers gently around her forearm.
His sincerity didn’t fit the evening’s mood. His brown-green eyes leveled with hers as he said, “You are perfect exactly the way you are, Ophir. Don’t leave the table. Please stay. Your father needs you more than you need him right now.”
She’d been ready to stand up and leave. His words knocked her off-kilter, if only for a moment. Her eyes darted from Harland to Eero, expecting fury and betrayal on the king’s face. Instead, Eero looked at his plate.
Her resolve fizzled. She glanced up at the ever-calm face of Samael, but he merely tilted an intrigued face, as if curious what she would do. Her shoulders slumped slightly.
She took in Harland’s hopeful plea, Samael’s impassive stare, and the stranger Cybele’s undue cheer, hoping her father would look at her. He did not.
“Fine,” she said quietly. Harland’s hand remained on her until she spoke her single, reluctant word. Then it slipped from her forearm as she asked, “What do you need from me?”
Her father lifted his eyes at last. With gravity, he said, “We need this marriage more than ever. For six hundred years, Tarkhany has remained silent. Now, on the eve of your wedding, relations are taut. We need a firm ally in Raascot. I don’t know if Ceneth would stand with us without the union.”
