A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Thirty-three

Thirty-three

Harland wished his king would speak. He wanted to be yelled at, to have furniture thrown, to be caned or sent to the dungeon. Instead, Eero had absorbed his message and sank into a chair. He’d rested his hands in his face, concealing the eyes that he shared with the honey-colored features of his missing daughter. Queen Darya had been present at the beginning of the meeting, but she’d wordlessly excused herself. Her unceremonious departure had left the men in the world’s longest uncomfortable silence.

“Your majesty…” He looked at where the king sat at the war room table. The bright windows lit the beige, circular room without the aid of fire or torches.

Eero looked up from his hands. “I don’t blame you, if disapproval is what you fear.”

Harland’s chest tightened painfully. His king’s heart was so saturated with anguish that his words had been more of a punishment than a comfort. He wanted to take his ruler’s pain. King Eero had been a good and fair ruler for three hundred years. He’d birthed two beautiful, intelligent, powerful daughters. He had seen his kingdom prosper and had been ready to hand it over to Caris and her betrothed as he aided the royal visionaries in their efforts to change the world. Everything had been at the tips of his fingers, and then with the plunge of a dagger, it had been dashed.

Harland knew Ophir better than anyone else in the castle. As her personal guard, he was not only responsible for her, but he’d become Aubade’s foremost expert on the wayward princess. He’d requested that the other guards be dismissed as he relayed his findings, and the king and queen had listened. He didn’t want other people to know that Ophir had become a murderer, though it was surely only a matter of time before word of her actions began to spread.

Harland remained at full attention. He hadn’t relaxed his posture in nearly an hour, and his body ached from the rigidity of his stance. His legs were shoulder-width apart, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He couldn’t very well lean against the wall, or recline in a chair. He’d returned to Aubade to inform his king that Ophir had been found and lost once more. What was more: their worst fears had been confirmed. Ophir was seeking vengeance on those who’d taken Caris’s life, and she was succeeding.

“Dwyn…” Harland began to say the name of the fae, and the king shook his head.

“I don’t blame you, or anyone, for her, either,” the king said. “Ophir hadn’t slept in months. She was burning down the castle. My daughter was falling apart. When Dwyn came into the castle, I didn’t want to know more. I was unwilling to learn anything that might lessen my favor for the girl. She had the power to summon water, and she was a friend to my only surviving child. Ophir began sleeping through the night. The castle was spared from her flame. It was a salvation.”

“But she was from Sulgrave—”

“And perhaps I liked her for the same reason you distrusted her. Neither of our reasons was acceptable. She was from Sulgrave, and we know nothing of Sulgrave. You should not find someone suspicious simply because they are from an unknown land, nor should I have given her the benefit of the doubt as wise or benevolent for simply her exoticism. She was a fae woman. Her nation of origin seems unimportant compared to the reality we face. We were ignorant in equal proportion, but in truth, Harland, I would do it again.”

The guard’s brows pinched. His back continued to ache from his stance, but he couldn’t relax. “Your Majesty?”

Eero stood and began to walk toward the war table. “We were losing Ophir, one way or another. She’d attempted to take her own life, hadn’t she? Isn’t that how Dwyn found her in the first place?”

Harland was speechless. He hadn’t told anyone what he’d seen the day after the party. He hadn’t spoken of the pools of salt and sand in her room, nor of the way Dwyn had flippantly revealed that she’d thwarted Ophir’s attempt at suicide. He’d kept it to himself, hoping that he’d be able to get her the help she needed on his own. Secrecy had been a mistake.

“Yes, I’d thought as much. Those were the rumors. The servants reported her entering the castle from the beach with a stranger. I didn’t put the pieces together until much later.” He leaned two hands on the map and looked at the continent that stretched before him. “She tried to drown herself. I would have buried both of my only children in the same year. It bears repeating: we were already losing Ophir. Allowing Dwyn into our home may have just helped us to lose her in a way that kept her alive, rather than lose her in a way that united her with the All Mother.”

Harland shifted closer to the war table, muscles rejoicing at the movement. They’d grown so stiff in his unwillingness to waiver.

“You saw her here?” King Eero pointed on the map to the neighboring city of Henares.

“Five days past,” he confirmed.

“And came directly back to the castle?”

“No, your majesty. I would have been back in only two if I’d returned immediately. I attempted to follow her trail, but the tracks were…unintelligible. I tried for several days before returning to inform you. I apologize for not coming back sooner.”

“None of that,” Eero chided softly. “Self-flagellation will get us nowhere.”

Harland failed to stifle his heavy breathing. He had always been grateful for his king. Eero was the ruler that Farehold deserved. Caris would have been just as wonderful serving on the throne. Now instead they were thrust to the hounds as Gyrradin fell into turmoil. All he could do was offer one piece of disappointing information after the other. “She was with another—a man from Sulgrave. I don’t know his name, nor do I know anything about him. Dwyn didn’t care for him, so I have no reason to believe they’re working together. That being said, she and I didn’t get the chance to speak more than a few words. As I said, by the time I was rendered unconscious…”

He eyed the map. “If Ophir is pursuing Berinth and his collaborators, then that’s what we must do as well.”

“Your Highness? Haven’t we been doing just that?”

Eero released his hands from where they’d been resting on the table. He folded them across his chest and rested one hand beneath his chin. “We have been using the constabulary and traditional means of investigation, including all of the resources available to the southern kingdom. We need to scry.”

The tempo of Harland’s heart increased. His lips turned downward as he searched his king’s face. “But the dark powers—”

“Ceneth is our ally,” he said calmly. “He deserves to know why his betrothed has gone missing. I believe him to be a good man, and that he, too, desires vengeance on whoever took Caris’s life. If there are fae in Raascot’s courts with the power to scry, he will have access to them. I’m confident he would supply us with the abilities we need to find Ophir.”

Harland made a face, shifting uncomfortably.

“Please, speak freely.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Harland.” Eero eyed him seriously. “You remained Ophir’s guard longer than any man before you. She’s chased away guards and maidservants and suitors alike, but she trusts you. You know her well. You know as well as I that Ophir is a complicated puzzle. If you have an opinion on the matter, I will hear it.”

Harland inhaled through his nose, feeling his nostrils flare as he did his best to control his face into a mask of respect. “Sir, if we bring in a dark fae so that we might scry to find Ophir, she will run again. Your daughter seeks vengeance. Dragging her back to the castle with her mission unresolved will be little more than watching the clock until we see her escape once more.”

The look King Eero leveled was grave and empty all at once.

“If you’re going to bring in someone who can scry, then we can’t use their power to find Ophir. We must do it to bring Caris’s murders to justice, once and for all. Don’t give Ophir a reason to flee. Eliminate the reason she needed to run in the first place.”