Page 47 of A Frozen Pyre
“Ah, I see.” Suley eyed her speculatively. “When I was silent, you were able to imagine me as cool, strong, and collected. Excellent. My armor works miracles. Your disappointment regarding my character is not my problem.”
Dwyn chuckled lightly. “Fair enough. Is there a—”
“Yes,” Suley clipped.
“I have—”
“Rules. Your first rule is that if you’re going to help me, you need to be able to…finish your sentences. Ah, yes. I see. You have to realize I can’t help what I hear. You expect me to hear it twice? First from the noise, and then from your mouth?”
Dwyn started down the hall, not waiting for Suley. By the time she caught up, Dwyn had already begun speaking. “Listen to me twice, three times, ten times. Listen until I’ve said it with my lips. Not only is it polite, it’s my condition. The fact remains: you need me more than I need you.”
“But you don’t know what I know.”
“That’s right,” Dwyn said, “I don’t. And I don’t care what you know. Your information was excellent, and it was true.That being said, my life with Ophir, my plan, my path would have remained unchanged whether or not I knew. It will remain that way until I know what you will have to say, and it will continue even after you’ve spoken your piece. You, on the other hand, are clearly insane. So, either we do it my way, or we don’t do it at all.”
Suley’s voice lost its nervous edge. Her spine straightened. She extended an arm to stop Dwyn. With excruciating coldness, she said, “I’d like to bring myself to regret giving you a piece of my hope, but regret is a useless emotion. I am disappointed in your ignorance, but you’re right. That is my problem. And no, Dwyn, things will not continue for you if you don’t learn what I know. Your journey may come to an end very, very soon.”
Suley turned without waiting for a response, leaving Dwyn’s eyes wide, her mouth parted in a silent protest as theclick-clackof her shoes faded.
It took thirty minutes, two minor tantrums, an endless stream of panicked justifications, and tracking down two cups of breakfast tea before Dwyn was ready to apologize. She carried the second glass of tea laced with a shot of hot brandy in her hand as a servant led her to a new wing of the castle.
Tarkhany’s royal party was staying on the third floor, their view of Gwydir unobstructed by low-lying walls and buildings. Dwyn paused in surprise as she stilled near a window. She hadn’t realized how large the city was. It was rather charming in the pink morning light. While it was nothing compared to Sulgrave’s sprawling territories, it wasn’t nearly the cobblestoned town she’d imagined. The evidence of shops, churches, towers, cathedrals, restaurants, taverns, and homes rolled over hills and between trees, all against the backdrop of Raascot’s snowcapped mountains. A tiny, nostalgic clutch in her belly reminded her of the sheer peaks she’d left behind when she’d crossed the Straits. She didn’t miss Sulgrave. She didn’t miss the family who’d never appreciated her, the peers that had scorned her, or the wanted posters and constabularywho knew her name. She did miss the food, though, and no matter how far she ventured or how many years passed, she always missed the mountains.
“Lady Dwyn?”
Dwyn realized she’d lost precious moments staring out the window. An uncomfortable embarrassment rushed through her, terrified that someone might see her as anything other than an ethereal, unapproachable fixture at the princess’s hip. She couldn’t risk word spreading that she had any traits beyondreclusiveandanomalous. She snapped back to attention, gesturing for the servant to continue.
The attendant passed several doors before arriving at one in the furthest corner, opening the door without knocking. Surprise raked Dwyn until she realized the servant had led her into an antechamber with little but a window and a lutist. A tired-looking man in a pile of pillows rested in the corner, refusing to let his fingers still even as he looked up to greet them. His eyes held a world-weary heaviness that he didn’t dare open his mouth to express. He looked away, returning unfocused eyes to a distant nowhere as he plucked the melancholy chords of a solemn song.
The servant paused before the second door. She lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened before her knuckles made contact with the wood. The servant adjusted her weight, her pattern clearly disrupted. “Lady Suley,” she said, “Lady Dwyn is here to see you.”
“We are many things,” said Suley, “but neither of us is a lady.”
The attendant dipped her head with a confused acknowledgment before excusing herself. Suley looked at Dwyn with neither forgiveness nor amusement. She stared at the siren for a long while before extending the gesture that would allow Dwyn to enter her room.
The moment Dwyn’s feet crossed the threshold, she jolted as if stepping into the static charge of wool socks rubbed against coarse fibers. The entire room hummed with noise.Near the window, six birdcages were stacked, one on top of the other. Each bird chirped in musical chatter to the others, engaged in conversation with their unseen partners. A three-tiered fountain that should have only existed in the courtyard burbled noisily from the corner of her room, disappearing through an unseen enchantment as the water was funneled from its base to its musical top. Dwyn wondered what feats of strength and power it had required to get such an object onto the third floor of the castle. Even with her powers for water, she wasn’t sure if she could keep something recycling with such consistency. She leaned in close to look at the runes etched into the fountain.
“Impressed?” Suley asked, voice cold.
Dwyn turned slowly, understanding the chill in the room. She deserved every drop of vitriol she received. She surveyed Suley once more, taking in a new meaning behind her appearance. She’d absorbed the initial wave of jewelry, tattoos, and hair. She’d seen an exterior meant to shock and distract. Speaking with Suley had revealed the weaponization of her appearance, protecting her from the pain, the roar, and the incessant misery within. As she eyed her now, Dwyn became aware of a third layer. She saw a woman in pain, a woman clever enough to distract, and also someone who had not only found ways to survive, but who’d done so in spite of that which plagued her. The frost of Suley’s words, the ice in her posture told Dwyn that if she were to be struck by lightning and die in the room, Suley would not mourn her lost chance at an opportunity to live without noise. She’d just been excited at the prospect of a quiet life, and Dwyn had found her enthusiasm annoying.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Suley said. Her gaze was as cold as the Frozen Straits Dwyn had left behind.
“Not for what I said,” Dwyn amended, “but for misjudging you. I’m sorry for my assumptions. I invalidated your excitement. I can’t imagine how painful your existence mustbe. If I lived with constant overstimulation, I would also seek relief. I seek far more for arguably less substantial rationale.”
Suley held Dwyn’s eyes for a moment. The birds chirped, the fountain burbled, the tired lutist in the antechamber strummed as they stared at one another. At long last, Suley said, “Do you have a solution?”
Dwyn sucked in a breath. “I might. May I sit?”
She perched on the edge of the chair without waiting for an answer. Suley remained standing. She joined the birds, opening a cage and offering her finger until a small, rose-colored songbird hopped onto her outstretched hand. She cooed at the bird, and the bird tilted its head back and forth, the bright red feathers around its eyes exacerbating its curiosity as it eyed her. It chirped in return, both woman and bird ignoring Dwyn wholly.
“Have you met the neutralizer?” Dwyn asked.
“I have,” Suley said.
“And? Will he be amenable to our cause?”
