A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Seven

Seven

Now

“Wake up! Goddess, you have to wake up!” Harland’s cries were louder than the screams that had shaken her from her night terror, her sister’s body the last image behind her eyes.

“For fuck’s sake!” A second, angry female voice cut through the darkness.

Ophir came fully conscious in a room filled with steam, not smoke. Water sizzled and misted against the red-hot stones of her room. She gasped and sputtered as a second wave assaulted her, cooling the remaining embers.

Ophir couldn’t see the speakers through the thick cloud of mist, but she understood who’d come to her rescue. Harland’s muttered gratitude sounded conflicted at best. The woman’s mocking “ You’re welcome ” solidified what she knew to be true.

“Wake up, Firi,” Dwyn called through the steam. “It’s time for breakfast.”

The sentence was absurd, but then again, her life had been upended months ago. Why should things start making sense now?

Under different circumstances, she would have been surprised at how quickly her parents had welcomed Dwyn. Instead, the castle was so desperate for a solution that they’d rejoiced when Dwyn was introduced. Harland had given King Eero and Queen Darya a brief report of the situation, but they hadn’t needed more than a few words. Not only was it an incredible relief to learn that Ophir had a friend, but the fact that this friend was a fae with the powers of water was a miracle from the All Mother, according to the queen.

Ophir supposed the Sulgrave fae hadn’t fully understood what she was signing up for as the royal family had her fully moved into new, unburned rooms along with their daughter. She was promised she would be compensated handsomely for the miracle she brought to their family, and the king refused to look a gift horse in the mouth. King Eero neither knew nor cared why she’d traveled south from Sulgrave, or how she knew his daughter. He would have been thrilled if she’d found a wet log in the forest that had quelled her destructive fears. The only thing that mattered to him in the world was that he kept his only remaining child alive.

“Hurry up, Firi,” Dwyn sang, tone mocking as she said, “It’s impolite to keep your goddess-given miracle waiting.”

If the All Mother had begun answering prayers, Ophir preferred that the deity focus on justice and leave her to her sooty demise. She answered through the sweltering mist. “I haven’t decided if you’re a blessing or a curse.”

“That’s what happens when you pray for someone else to do your bidding,” Dwyn said. Her dark shape emerged through the cloud, water droplets hissing as they evaporated the moment they hit the floor. “If you want things done right, you’re going to have to take them into your own hands.”

Ophir’s face fell. She looked at the destruction she’d wrought, heart sagging. “I can’t.”

“Oh, Firi,” Dwyn said softly, snatching her hands. “If anyone can, it’s you.”