A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Twenty-three

Twenty-three

Her room was a flurry of motion. Ophir held up her middle finger at the closed door the moment Harland locked it behind her. He remained in the hall like an ever-vigilant prison guard trapping her in her cell. The only reprieve she’d been granted was the reasonable request for a handmaiden who could quell her fire. Of course, handmaidens were usually demure ladies of fine breeding and modest clothing. Dwyn, in her daring black velvet dress with a plunging neckline and slit that ran up her hip, was anything but.

“I’m so sorry, Firi.” The look of pain on her face made Ophir think Dwyn really meant it.

“I’m only going to ask you one question, and I need you to answer honestly,” Ophir replied. She grabbed a leather satchel and began throwing things in it. She yanked any articles of clothing that were muted enough to pass as a commoner’s outfits from their various drawers and hanging places, a metallic water flask, and the sharp dagger she’d hidden under her bed long ago. The decorative elements of her room were a blur around her. She wouldn’t need beauty or comforts with what she had in mind.

Dwyn’s head moved side to side as the princess darted around the space, almost like a cat watching a caged bird. “Ask it.”

Ophir paused to look at the siren, and without any inflection, she asked, “Do you intend to kill me?”

The siren made a face between disgust and bewilderment. “What?”

“Whatever you need me for—whatever brought you to Aubade—I don’t care. I don’t care why you’re here. I don’t care why you need me, why you saved me, or why you wanted me to create a snake. I don’t care if it’s blood magic. I just…I don’t care. But I was there. I saw what they did to Caris’s body.” Ophir became statuesque in her stillness. “I saw how Caris had been cut open and… Dwyn, you’ve been my friend, and so far you’ve done more good than harm. This is my only question: do you need to murder me for my organs or whatever it is about royal blood that supposedly lured you here in the first place?”

Dwyn covered her mouth as she drew a sharp breath. Her voice dripped with genuine horror as she said, “Goddess, no.”

“Great.” Ophir nodded. She shouldered the pack she’d been gathering, then dragged a chair across the room, pinning it against the door to keep Harland out.

If they left now, no one would know they were missing until dinner.

Harland was right, after all. Ophir did pose the greatest threat to her own safety.

If she stayed in the castle, she could get married off to the northern king and live a perfectly safe life, safely dressed in dresses and jewels, safely guarded by armies, safely kept behind shut doors and high walls and moats and borders. Harland was right in one other thing as well: she would have to cut him out. If she was going to succeed, he could not come.

“Let’s go.” Ophir pushed against the mirror just as Tyr stepped out of the space between things. In addition to his dry expression of disapproval, she noted the clean male clothes he wore that had probably belonged to one of her guards. She spied the tattoo that crawled from his arm to the space over his shoulder and licked the base of his neck, then cast a quick glance to the lines of black ink that peeked through the slit in Dwyn’s dress. She wondered if such markings were common among all Sulgrave people but decided it was neither the time nor the place.

Dwyn glared. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He leaned against the stone wall and ignored Ophir to address Dwyn directly. “I told you to stay away from the princess. You’re as bad at listening to instructions as she is.”

Ophir wanted to be angry over Tyr’s constant invasion of privacy, but she’d have to find time for her emotions later. “Fine. Let’s all be bad at listening to instructions together. Are you in, phantom, or are you out?”

Tyr looked between the women as if considering his options. She knew he could yell for her guard, though then he’d have to explain why he was in the room. She dared him to make a move.

The threat lingered between them until at last, he said, “I guess I’m in.”

Ophir eased open the mirror without waiting for an answer. She’d had one foot on the staircase beyond the hidden space before the words had left his mouth.

***

Ophir knew that in a few hours, Harland would check on her only to find her door barricaded by the chair. He’d undoubtedly bust the door down, crumbling the chair beneath it, causing enough noise for other guards in the castle to be alerted to the disturbance and call for aid. They’d search her rooms, but they’d find nothing. Rumors had spread over the years that Ophir might possess the ability to step through walls, though she’d never admitted to any such power. She’d also never dispelled this gossip, preferring to wink anytime someone mentioned that she was a being with multidimensional abilities. Her parents would be informed of her escape, and the entire kingdom would be on high alert. Guards and constables and citizens would be rallied to search for the missing princess. Everyone in the kingdom would be desperate to find the last hope of Farehold.

But their efforts would come too late.

She was gone.