A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Thirty-two

Thirty-two

“Dwyn?”

She recognized the unwelcome voice instantly. Her eyes flew open as she looked up at yet another man who despised her. She remained as still as possible, but frustrated surprise escaped her lips before she could control it. “Fuck.”

Harland looked to where she lay in the bushes, then up to the estate. He’d already drawn his blade, holding it from where he sat atop his horse. “What are you doing here? What are you doing…outside?”

She wondered if he could see the mechanisms behind her eyes turn. She knew her hesitancy made one thing clear: she was not forthcoming. He had been right not to trust her, but she couldn’t tell him that. Instead, she got to her feet as she looked up to the guard who’d pined after the princess from the moment she met him.

“Is Ophir inside?”

Dwyn tensed. “She’s with someone.”

The guard dismounted from his steed and looked over his shoulder. Had he come alone? Perhaps if he’d followed Ophir’s sloppy trail of corpses, Dwyn assumed any men accompanying him must still be burying the bodies of the countryfolk they’d found. If she was lucky, they could be hours behind.

“Who?” he asked.

Dwyn blinked. “We were traveling together,” she admitted. A story wove itself together composed mostly of honesty. She’d never get anywhere with Harland if her words rang too false. “We fled after her meeting with her parents when they told her she was going to be sent to Raascot. She needed to get away from her marriage to Ceneth. I knew no one would support her running, but I did. I still do. I wanted to be there for her if she was truly only trying to escape a forced marriage. It’s her right.” Dwyn emphasized the final word. She searched Harland’s hazel eyes for any sense of relief, but his face held none. She continued, “She’s been safe for weeks, and then she met a man. I’ve seen him before. I think he followed me here from Sulgrave. He has Sulgrave features.”

His face tensed, a tendon in his neck moving at the information—part distrust, part jealousy. Harland hesitated as he looked from Dwyn to the estate. The reins remained bundled in his hand. “He’s a Sulgrave man?”

She nodded tentatively, hands held in front of her to pacify him. “He traveled with us at first for a few days. I hate him,” she said with honest vitriol, “but the princess finds him very fucking charming.”

Dwyn’s words caused Harland’s face to flicker. His eyes tightened. A muscle in his jaw ticked, joining the tendon in his neck that flexed once more. These were honest words.

“I don’t know his intent,” Dwyn continued, watching her message find purchase. She’d primed the soil. It was time to help the seed grow. “They’re in there now. All I want is for her to be safe.”

He looked to the dark estate again before his eyes returned to the siren. “Ophir is in there right now and has forced you to sleep outside?” His question was thick with disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

Dwyn was quick to nod. “It’s not her. The princess I’ve known would never have kicked me out to be alone with a man. It’s this new traveler. His abilities—he can step into the place between things. It’s like a dampening spell, but he cannot be perceived. You won’t be able to see him even if he stands before you. Deceit is his first nature.”

“He has the power to go unseen?”

“Be extremely careful.”

She held her breath as she waited for him to take the bait, breathing only when Harland urged his horse forward and tethered it to a nearby tree.

“She won’t be happy to see me,” Dwyn said, following him quietly. “He’s poisoned her against me.”

Harland’s shoulders slumped. “She won’t be happy to see me, either.”

“The newcomer is dangerous,” Dwyn whispered.

“Stay out here.”

Dwyn fought the urge to scrunch her face. Her lips twitched. “I should go in with you.”

“No,” Harland gestured. “I’ll go. Stay with the horse.”

Dwyn nodded and watched Harland walk toward the house. He made the same decision Ophir had made earlier, forgoing the front door in search of a side entrance. The siren waited until he rounded the corner and then she followed, hugging the shadows as she moved silently near the guard. Harland opened the door to the kitchen and slipped in, leaving the back entrance open behind him. Closing it would have been an unnecessary risk in noise when all he needed to do was secure his princess.

Dwyn tiptoed into the house, following the guard from several paces behind. Harland was as fae as she, but his ears had been tuned specifically to hear his princess. He listened as he crept through the kitchen and into the hall, ascending the stairs. Dwyn waited until Harland had reached the door at the end of the hall, silently hugging the stairwell as his hand gripped the knob.

Dwyn watched as Harland leaned into the door and listened for a moment, hearing Ophir’s voice behind the door. He swallowed once before twisting the handle, opening the door to where Ophir was leaning against the desk in the room, a large, dark-haired man leaning onto the space next to her, his bodyweight on one arm as he pressed into her personal space.

Harland’s eyes widened. His mouth opened to comment, but before he could say a word, Dwyn was behind him.

She brought one hand over his mouth, the other to his throat. He crumpled before he had a chance to realize anyone else was in the hall.

Ophir was caught in the middle of her exclamation. She’d barely begun to gasp his name when she turned to Dwyn. “What did you do!”

Dwyn shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Ophir crossed over to him, kneeling to check his pulse. Her golden eyes burned a molten shade of melted gold as she stared up at the siren. “What did you do to him!?”

“I stopped him from dragging you back to the castle.”

“I’m asking—”

“You’re asking what power I used?” Dwyn crossed her arms. “You’re asking if I called on a borrowed power? Yes. I did. I used a bit of his blood so that I could summon an unfamiliar ability. You want to know why I came to Farehold? It was because this is what I do. I’ve used the bloods—the lives—of others to tap into borrowed powers. The old gods spoke of ways to secure borrowed powers so that they were no longer…borrowed. It’s how they became the old gods. The legends say that they were little more than fae who’d elevated themselves to deities.”

“The All Mother—”

“This isn’t the All Mother.” Dwyn shook her head. “These are men, women, and fae who became gods.”

Ophir shook from where she knelt on the ground, hand still against Harland’s throat. She had run from the castle, but she’d never wanted harm to come to him. “And… You want to make stolen powers permanent?”

“Yes.”

Their eye contact was unbroken, underlining the honesty of her answer. She had not come to lie. Across the room, Tyr had remained completely still. Whatever Dwyn chose to say next could change everything for the man.

“What do you need from me? To use me like you used Harland?”

“Harland will be fine. He’ll wake up with a headache and little more.”

Ophir stood and stumbled to the middle of the room, backing toward the wall. Her face was painted with the night’s turmoil. Exhaustion mingled with her anger as she demanded, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Dwyn closed her eyes slowly as she lowered her arms. She leaned against the doorframe; Harland’s strong, powerful shape was little more than a pile of muscles and armor on the ground. “Don’t worry about Harland,” she said again. “What do you know of blood magic? What do you know of those who borrow power?”

Ophir shook her head wordlessly, but the movement of her hair and the set of her jaw indicated rejection rather than curiosity.

She went on. “Do you know of the Reds? I don’t believe they operate outside of Sulgrave, so there’s a chance nothing like it exists in the south. The Reds are a powerful arm of the church, serving the All Mother with their magic and swords alike.”

Ophir pulled in ragged breaths. Dwyn knew from the spark of recognition that she’d heard of the assassins trained to fight for the goddess.

“Your dog here was a Red.” She gestured to Tyr. “He might be best qualified to speak on the topic. The religious nutjobs are trained how to pull on unnatural powers. For example, a fae who has the inborn gift of changing the weather might be able to call upon the ability to influence moods or walk through dreams. These powerful fae know it’s a trade one makes at great risk. Nothing comes for free. Whatever you take, you must give. With the Reds, their own blood is the penance for the use of abilities that don’t belong to them.”

Tyr spoke for the first time. “It’s the price of magic.”

Ophir took another step backward. She positioned herself so that she was farther from each of them, creating a triangle with their bodies. “My magic…”

“Your magic comes at a price, too,” Dwyn said quietly. “Royal hearts are the most powerful, as they draw on the blood of their kingdom. You don’t have the heart of one fae, Firi; you have the hearts of millions. Sulgrave has no monarchs for this reason precisely. Our mountains are ruled by seven equally powerful Comtes, all selected democratically. Sulgrave didn’t used to be this way. We had an Imperator long ago, until it became clear that our royal family would face what Farehold is undergoing now. Our imperator’s final act was to step down after his royal children were served up like piglets on a silver platter. We’ve had no royal bloodline for a millennium. There’s no succession in the north. The southern kingdoms, however…”

Dwyn chewed on her lip as she looked at the princess. It appeared from the unsteady pulls of air that Ophir’s lungs would not fill completely. She trembled as she asked, “It’s true, then? That’s why my sister is dead?”

“Yes. They killed Caris for her power. They took as much as they could of her blood, and if they hadn’t been interrupted, I’m certain they would have harvested everything. They wanted her heart. Tell me: Caris was a virgin?”

Ophir’s face twisted in disgust at the question. “Why does that matter?”

Dwyn sighed heavily, but there was no use in lying. She spoke slowly, but none of her message came out with condescension. Dwyn was choosing each word carefully not because Ophir lacked comprehension but because understanding might be too terrible to swallow. “Because, once you’ve claimed your own autonomy, you’re more… yourself . Your willingness to take lovers brings you into your own body. You don’t belong to others, to society, to the kingdom…not in the same way she did. She was saving herself for others. She didn’t belong to herself the same way that you belong to yourself.”

Ophir was speechless. Her pink lips parted wordlessly as she gaped at Dwyn.

“Well thank goddess I’m a whore, then?” Ophir finally said, sputtering the words with both disgust and confusion.

“You’re still royal, and you still have the heart of your people. Caris was their preferred target, but in the wrong hands, you’d do just fine.”

She looked from Dwyn to Tyr.

“You’re safe,” Tyr said quickly, raising his hands. “We’re not the wrong hands. Well, I’m not the wrong hands. The witch is a little less trustworthy. Goddess, Dwyn, could you do a worse job explaining the situation?”

“At least I’m being honest.”

Ophir’s lips moved noiselessly as if struggling to find words that wouldn’t come. She struggled to ask, “What do you want with me?”

“Power,” Dwyn said. She said it so Ophir would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she did not lie.

“But you said…”

“I meant what I said. I have no intentions of hurting you, and I never will. There are violent methods to achieve these means. Berinth’s tactic may work. Perhaps gutting you would yield the results he might want. But once he slaps you on the table and takes a dagger to your stomach, what if he fails? Then what? He’s taken his one chance at power and squandered it. You’re the only princess left. They only get one more shot at this.”

“I—”

“But what if you’re alive, Firi?” Dwyn moved farther into the room. “What if you live, if you thrive, if you come into your own? What if you become wholly yourself, if your heart—beating with the blood of millions—courses through your veins? What if you fully own your power?”

“What would you gain?” Ophir asked. “What would you gain from me finding my own power?”

“You said you knew,” Dwyn said quietly. “You said that you knew I wasn’t here altruistically, and that it didn’t matter, as long as I wasn’t going to hurt you. I never will, Firi. I swear it.”

Tyr spoke for both of them. He didn’t enjoy collaborating with Dwyn, but it was clear that his allegiance with Ophir faced equal fragility unless this was untangled with delicacy. “I first encountered Dwyn in Sulgrave using blood magic. I’ve followed her for years. She’s discovered what none of us have, and the bitch won’t share her knowledge.” He cast her a sour look, and she pulled her lips back from her teeth in a noiseless snarl. Tyr finished, “She’s the key to blood magic that doesn’t injure the user.”

“So, you’re just as power hungry?” Ophir clarified numbly.

Dwyn deflated at the sight of the princess. The vibrant, beautiful fae so full of life usually had eyes as gold as the family crown. They’d dimmed to a flat shade of ochre, shoulders slumping, heartbroken as she looked at Tyr for answers. Dwyn’s fists flexed at her side as she begged Tyr not to fuck this up.

The phantom shook his head. “We have very different motives, trust me. Dwyn’s an elusive sprite and the continent would benefit from her death, but she’s clever. There is a clan—the blood gang she’s referred to…” He redirected his words. “Well, I followed her here to Farehold with the intent of bringing her back to Sulgrave. They—the Blood Pact, that is—want to be able to do what she does. And yes, Ophir, I want to know how she does it every bit as badly as they do. Dwyn funnels power through others. The selfish witch won’t tell a soul.”

“Fuck off,” Dwyn growled.

Tyr exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring as he waited a moment for his patience to return. “Once I got here, I realized what a beacon you and your sister had been for those seeking blood magic. Raascot’s king has no children—you and Caris are the only heirs in all of Gyrradin, which has drawn a few unsavory figures to Farehold. While trying to locate this plague of a siren, I found Berinth. Fortunately for everyone, Dwyn seems to believe that your heart is more valuable while beating.”

Dwyn shot him a warning look.

“But…” Ophir’s word was a breath. Sedit had been lying curiously on the ground, eyeing the party while they spoke. As his master’s emotions shifted, so did his body. He sat up and crossed to Ophir, crouching at her feet. He seemed to sense her distress well enough to position himself against the Sulgrave fae. “I met you first,” she said to Tyr. “I met you at the party before I met Dwyn. You tried to stop the man called Aemon from drugging me. You carried me to the castle.”

Dwyn smirked. She pushed away from the doorway and went to sit on the bed. “Your turn,” she said to Tyr.

He spoke through his teeth. “The world would be a better place if you died, witch.”

“So you’ve said.” She shrugged and reclined against a stack of pillows, picking at her nails with all of the idleness in the world. She was doing her best to communicate that she did not fear the outcome of the conversation.

Ophir looked to Tyr like he was a life raft in a storm.

“They’re not secretive, princess. The people who want power…well, I wanted Berinth to meet his end just as badly as I continue to desire Dwyn dead,” he said. “I was at the party to intervene. Removing you from their hands was the best I could do.”

Dwyn wanted so badly to comfort the princess, but she forced herself to remain still as she watched their exchange. Tears threatened Ophir as she blinked at him. “Why?”

His face twisted against a complicated emotion. He ran a hand over his face, raking it from his brows to his chin. “Races for power don’t get to tie for first prize,” he said. “Whether it’s Berinth or Dwyn, I’m more invested in keeping power out of their hands than I am in taking it for myself. I won’t lie to you, Firi: I want it. But not as badly as I want them to not have it.”

Ophir looked at her at long last. Dwyn did her best to remain cool and reassuring as she said, “He may or may not be telling the truth. All I know is: he’s a bastard, and I don’t like him.”

Ophir backed into the wall until her spine was flush against the stones. Her hand flew to her heart, covering its beating with her fingertips. From down the hall, the clip-clop of another set of talons approached. Her other hound had let itself into the room, presumably entering from the open kitchen door. She didn’t even look at the vageth as it eyed the fae. It rested its stomach on the stones beside Harland’s limp body, reclining so as to block the exit.

“I still don’t understand.” Ophir’s expressive, amber brows collected in the center as she looked to Dwyn. “If you don’t want to hurt me, or cut out my heart, how could you stand to profit? What can you gain from this?”

Tyr seemed just as interested in the answer as Ophir was.

Dwyn struggled to look relaxed. She couldn’t dare to lose her cool now. She pushed up from where she’d leaned against the bed and threw her legs over its edge. She set her delicate feet on the stones and began to cross to Ophir. The hellhound at Ophir’s feet began to growl, but she paid it no mind. She clasped Ophir’s hands in her own as she leaned in closely.

“I care about you, and I want you to care about me. I want to be with you, Ophir. I understand—sure, I could have killed you. I could have let you drown on the waves, hauled your body to shore, and taken your blood or heart then. I could have, but I didn’t. I swear to you, Firi, I would never hurt you. You’d be gone. I’d be alone.” Dwyn ran a hand up her arm until it cupped the princess’s face. “If we rule together, we have the power of two. I didn’t mean to lie to you. But together…we have so much potential, Firi.”

“I—”

Dwyn dared to brush her lips over Ophir’s—the gentle, tempting graze of a kiss. Ophir’s eyes remained open. Her heart flittered with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings out of alarm, not pleasure. She was not soothed by the gesture.

“Don’t do that.” Ophir tried to pull away. “Don’t try to kiss me now like everything is fine.”

“You liked it, once.”

“That was before.”

“It’s okay if you don’t trust me. I saved you on the waves, I’ve held you, I’ve doused your flames night after night, I’ve shared your bed in more ways than one, I’ve traveled with you, and I’ve even put up with him.” She threw a single vulgar finger over her shoulder to Tyr. “It doesn’t bother me, because I’m in this for it all. I’m not going anywhere. As angry as you might be, I know that you see the truth in my words: I’ve been there for you. I’ve been there for you, protected you, and stood beside you. I helped you become who you were meant to be. And I’m willing to wait until you’re ready to see me as I am.”

“Don’t touch me,” she said, freeing herself from Dwyn.

“Are you okay?”

Ophir searched her expression. After an eternity, she said, “No, I’m not. I haven’t been okay in a long time.”

Dwyn studied her face carefully.

With the sort of pained carefulness as if picking over broken glass, Ophir said, “I’d like to be alone tonight. You two can find another room. I don’t care. Just…don’t be here.”

Dwyn surged with emotion. “Please, Firi—”

Tyr reached out to stop her, and for once, she did not fight him. She watched the princess helplessly. The sudden end to the meeting was chilling. Everyone seemed acutely aware of the night’s temperature and disquieted by Ophir’s sudden stillness. They began to nod with some hesitancy, but Tyr looked down at Harland’s crumpled shape.

Ophir’s voice was flat as she looked at Tyr. “If you could set Harland by his horse, I’d consider it a great favor.”

***

Tyr agreed wordlessly and had already begun to loop his grip under the guard’s arms, dragging his unconscious form backward down the hall. Ophir did not meet their eyes as they departed into the hall. She did not look to them as she closed the door. She did not look at them as she blew out the candle, or as she watched out the window to ensure Harland’s sleeping shape was left safely by his mount. She did not look for them as she created her second inanimate object, manifesting a ladder from little more than breath and thought. She didn’t look over her shoulder as she climbed out the window and crept across the lawn, save to ensure that her very lithe beast had not only the power of a canine but also the feline agility that allowed him to follow her. She didn’t look for them as she called a twisting, knotting pit of vipers to smother the lawn, their rope-like bodies so thick and intertwined that they’d never be able to run after her. She didn’t look to Harland as she passed his fallen body, or to the house as she created her first steed—a gaunt, bony, terrible thing that seemed more ghost than mount. She didn’t look to them as she took off down the regent’s road, and she didn’t look over her shoulder at the high-pitched scream of her name cried over the horizon, barely reaching her ears in the distance she’d already covered.

She vowed to never look back again.