Page 9 of A Frozen Pyre
“I do consider Raascot my home, sir,” she said. But his answering look of disapproval over the cordial term implied that no, she had not yet made this her home, wherever she was from. Tyr couldn’t imagine where that might be, if not here, though he supposed she could have been born in Farehold.Perhaps it was a mystery for another day.
He watched as she gave a tight bow and departed. Evander loitered for a moment, waiting for her to leave before he walked down the corridor. Tyr trailed him only to find the man had simply returned to his rooms. He didn’t follow the advisor into his chambers. He saw enough from the unmade bed, the half-drawn curtains, and the bare back of a sleeping partner to know that Evander was returning to the comfort of his sheets. The door clicked behind him softly, and Tyr didn’t bother to wait around.
He wandered down the hall to see if Onain was anywhere to be found, but the castle was too big, too sprawling, to pick up where he’d left off. Through the arched windows of the corridor, the first piercing orange lights of day breached the shelter of distant stone buildings and stung his eyes. The world would wake and ready itself for the day. He briefly considered returning to Ophir’s room, but if the rest of the world was stirring, then Dwyn would be waking, too. He couldn’t risk being around the witch any more than necessary if he hoped to stay concealed. Dwyn had barely tolerated him before. She’d skin him alive if she realized he’d been present without her knowledge.
After their fight in Tarkhany’s dungeon, they’d struck a bargain.
She’d teach him how to drain, and in exchange, he wouldn’t tell anyone that she’d orchestrated the downfall of kingdoms. He hated her for it, and by extension himself, for not forsaking his mission against Svea’s killers to slay Dwyn before she knew he was present. Tentative alliances could be easily shattered by soured tempers, and he didn’t trust Dwyn any farther than he could throw her. He amended to himself that he could probably throw her even farther than he could trust her, given that he didn’t trust her at all.
His thoughts were interrupted by the scents of sizzling breakfast meats and the waft of fresh biscuits from a distant kitchen. He decided that whatever he had to learn, it couldbe learned on a full stomach. He’d be no use to Ophir if he died from starvation. Even well-fed, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d learn. For now, he’d play the waiting game—but he’d play it with a mouth full of bacon.
Three
It felt like years since Ophir had been awoken by the incessant,cordial rapping of knuckles at her door. Her eyes flew open. Grumbling at her side, Dwyn threw the sheets over her head. She couldn’t quite make out the siren’s irritable string of curses beneath the comforter, but she felt the same. Neither of them was a creature of the morning. She’d neglected to pull the curtains shut, and the first bright, golden beams of day pierced through the room. Metallic flecks of dust caught in the light. It would have been peaceful, if not for the banging.
Ophir struggled to slide out from between the sheets.
“Princess Ophir?”
“I’m coming,” she said through a yawn.
Dwyn flopped dramatically in bed behind her.
“Should I kill them?” Dwyn asked.
Ophir paused with one leg dangling over the bed. Images of dried husks, of murdered bodies, of papery, drained carnage flashed before her eyes. Dwyn’s handiwork was brutal, and it could not follow them to Gwydir. She faced the sleep-drunk siren. “No. You can’t kill whoever’s at the door—you can’t killanyonein the castle. Do you hear me?”
“Goddess’s sake, Firi, I was joking.” She grabbed a pillow and shoved it over her face as if smothering herself wouldspare her from the agitating early-morning wake-up call.
“Well, I’m not. I mean it, Dwyn. No murder.” Ophir shrugged into a robe. She twisted the doorknob, expecting to see a meek, apologetic servant. Instead, her chin tilted upward as she took in the tall, lithe form of a woman more fit for war ballads than for attendance as a maidservant. Her black, angelic wings were tucked politely behind her as she stared down at the princess.
“Yes?” Ophir asked.
“His Royal Highness has requested your presence for breakfast,” she said.
Ophir did little to conceal her skepticism. “Ceneth expects me at breakfast when?”
The woman replied, “Thirty minutes from now in the dining hall. Shall I send attendants in to help you bathe and dress?”
She blinked. “Are you not an attendant?”
The woman smirked. “No, Princess Ophir, I am not. I just happened to be heading in your direction. You’ll find things in Raascot operate a bit differently from Farehold, I expect. I won’t be returning your word to the dining hall for the negative or affirmative, so do me a favor and don’t make me look bad. The servants will lead you to the dining hall to help you find the way.”
The woman hadn’t offered her name, nor did she say goodbye.
Before Ophir had the ability to process the strange messenger, two attendants curtsied politely before pushing past her and entering her room. She remained gaping in the doorway, clutching her robe while the servants opened the curtain, shuffled through the armoire, and began drawing a bath. Dwyn grumbled her string of obscenities with abject obstinance from beneath the feathered pillow. The servants didn’t bat an eye, laying out clothes for both the princess and for Dwyn.
“How are you dressing me to meet your king?” Dwyn asked from beneath her pillow.
“Princess Ophir,” said one, ignoring the lump in the bed, “you’re the only guest expected at breakfast.”
This snapped Dwyn to attention. She finally removed the pillow from her face as she sat up in bed, allowing the sheet to fall away from where it had been covering any semblance of modesty. Dwyn glared at the attendant. To the servant’s credit, she returned the look, unfazed.
“In the future,” said the other servant, “you’ll be able to ring this bell if you need us.” She gestured to a small rune-engraved bell near the door. “I’m sure you have something similar in Farehold. It’ll ring in our rooms, and we’ll come right to you.”
She did not have something similar in Farehold.
“We’ll wait in the hall to show you the way,” said the first. They shut the door behind them as they exited. Ophir hadn’t moved from her place near the wall.
