A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Forty-seven

Forty-seven

12:15 AM

6 hours and 30 minutes until execution

“So?” Ophir’s heart skipped. She leapt from the bed the moment her door cracked open and padded toward the center of the room. Relief was overdue. She’d been unable to relax as Tyr wandered about the palace with her translation cuff. It was impossible to know what he would or wouldn’t learn, but her imagination played an infinite loop of worst-case scenarios. She’d almost made a new vageth just to have something to play with that might distract her, but she didn’t know how she’d get rid of it when someone other than Tyr entered her room. She’d struggled to pass the time, nibbling on a few of the crescent-shaped cookies filled with cinnamon, nuts, sugar, and a tart orange marmalade, but rather than finishing any of them, she just took singular bites out of three separate pastries to see if they’d all taste the same. Her table was now a graveyard dedicated to abandoned, half-eaten cookies. Her throat knotted when she saw that Tyr was not alone.

“Dwyn?”

“Firi!” Dwyn’s face lit with delight. She ran to the princess and threw her arms around her. Ophir blinked in surprise, failing to return the hug. The wave of mint hit her along with a bucket of memories, of being slapped on a windswept cliff, of being doused with water when night terrors had engulfed her in flame, of being told she’d tasted like sunshine between the sheets. Dwyn seemed unbothered by her disconnect. The fae gripped both of Ophir’s shoulders and observed her at arm’s length. “Oh my goddess, I don’t know much about the fashion in Tarkhany, but please tell me you’ll start to wear this dress when we get back to Farehold. Have one made in every color.”

Ophir was once again very aware of just how exposed she felt in the sheer fabric. She gathered her thoughts. “But, nothing has changed. You still lied.”

Dwyn straightened her shoulders. “You’re right.”

The admission caught Ophir utterly off kilter.

“I wouldn’t have saved you from drowning if you’d been a random maiden swimming beneath the moonlight,” Dwyn went on. “I traveled to Farehold because I was motivated by power, and for no other reason. But then I met you, Ophir, and I’ve meant everything I’ve said since our night on the beach. I’m committed to keeping you safe. I’m determined to help you step into your magic. If I told you I didn’t care about you, it would be the only outright lie to leave my lips. Let me be here for you, Firi, however you need me.”

Her words struggled to keep up with her thoughts. “So, you aren’t...”

“I’m not pretending to be anything I’m not. Tyr thinks I’m a power-hungry bitch? He spoke the truth. I came for your potential. I stayed for the woman who possessed it. Now, have we crossed the desert to make Tarkhany our bitch, or what’s the plan?” Dwyn winked.

Ophir pressed her index fingers into her temples. “I thought Tyr—”

“Tyr came to the palace without me because he’s a dickhead. Please get rid of him. I have a laundry list of reasons he doesn’t deserve to stay. But in the meantime, you know me. I’m not one to be left behind.” She changed the topic, releasing Ophir in pursuit of a pitcher of water. She wrapped her fingers around a crystal glass and filled it to the brim. “So”—her voice stayed bright—“the buzz around the city is that some beautiful foreign princess is set to execute a traitor at dawn! You’re amazing. Tell me everything.”

Ophir couldn’t quite place the separation she felt. She rested a hand on one of the bed’s posts as if to steady herself. She looked at Tyr to search his face for an answer, but his gaze remained fixed on Dwyn. It was odd. He was usually so quick to insult her, to push back. Perhaps it was his expression that aided in her unease.

“Tyr?” Ophir prompted.

Dwyn stiffened, slowly turning to include the third in their conversation.

He inhaled through his nose before turning to face Ophir. A slow smile tugged his mouth upward, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wish I could say I was surprised to find her in the courtyard, but what did you compare her to? A venereal disease?”

Ophir fought the edges of a smile. “I’m pretty sure that was you .”

“No.” He pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking up and to the side as he moved forward. His smile grew with every second. “I’m confident you said it about her. You’d never say such a thing about me.”

Tension began to melt at their familiar banter. She missed them even when she hated them. They didn’t judge her. Dwyn was her advocate, her champion for chaos and violence. Tyr was markedly less supportive, but it was nothing compared to the bottomless well of disapproval that poured out from Harland every time he looked at her. And even though they’d followed her across the desert just as Harland had, their arrival was entirely different. They did not come with judgment or tradition or disapproval. They were here to support her to the bloody end.

Harland had chased her down because duty compelled him.

Dwyn and Tyr had followed because they were her friends. She learned something new when she looked at them. Despite her need to run, to hide, to push anyone and everything away, the true friends were ones who looked “the monster of her self-loathing” in the eyes, planted their feet, and remained steadfast.

If she thought about it any longer, she’d begin to cry, and she had far too much to do to allow the emotion.

“Your room is fabulous, Firi. I’ve always said there aren’t enough pillars in Farehold’s architecture.”

“You’ve always said that?” Ophir quirked a brow.

“Ever since I developed the opinion, which was roughly ten seconds ago, yes, I always have. But my, the fabrics are so luxurious! The translucent curtains, the airy fashion within the palace, the chandeliers of incense and fae lights, everything in Midnah is so beautiful! Are there gardens? Can I see them? I want a tour. Wait.” Dwyn slowed. “Never mind. Now is perhaps not the best time. I guess I’m just excited to see you.”

Ophir wasn’t sure how to categorize Dwyn’s energy. She expected Dwyn to be angry with her, to resent her, to demand apologies and explanations. Instead, she wanted a tour of the gardens and six dresses in this style? It was unsettling, even if Ophir didn’t know why.

“Tyr?” Ophir called to him again, which irritated Dwyn to no end.

“Firi, stop. Forget about him.”

Ophir shook her head. “I’m talking to him, Dwyn. You’re not the only one I care about.”

Tyr’s eyebrows rose noticeably enough to set Dwyn ablaze. She snapped with an unpredictable thoroughness. She’d been a tinderbox ready to ignite, and this was the match she needed. With an uncontrolled rage, she spit out, “For fuck’s sake! You want to keep your pet, that’s fine. Let the mongrel stay. But I hate it, and I need you to like him a little less. It’s annoying.”

Ophir’s lips twitched.

“I’m serious!” Dwyn balled her fists in irritation. She thrust her finger at Tyr. “He and I have called a temporary ceasefire, so I’ll tell my archers to stand down, but you don’t have to like him. Stop showing him favoritism.”

“Dwyn, are you jealous?” he teased.

It was the wrong move.

“ Jealous ?” She sounded as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “He’s still in love with the memory of whomever he left behind in Sulgrave! I can’t be jealous of someone who doesn’t deserve your affection.”

Ophir stiffened. She didn’t mean to look at him with so much hurt, but she couldn’t help it.

“Excuse you?” Tyr asked, teeth clenched together in disgust as he stared daggers at Dwyn.

Dwyn crossed toward the middle of the room. Her words tasted of poison. “Stay! Clearly Ophir doesn’t want to get rid of you, and I’m resigned to give her what she wants because I care about her. You’re my horrible teammate, no matter how much I’d prefer to have you killed. So, stay. Be here with us, Tyr. Remain and learn and be a friend, but don’t continue this charade. This bit you do where you act like you like Firi, where she keeps giving you attention under this false pretense of yours? You came down from Sulgrave for another woman. Admit it.”

“I didn’t—”

“Admit it!”

The air had been knocked from Ophir’s lungs. She didn’t understand the gaping hole punched through her center at the thought that Tyr was here for another woman. Her world had been tipped upside down for months, each new horror worse than the last. She wasn’t sure how much upending turmoil she could stand before she broke altogether.

Ophir hadn’t realized a hand had unconsciously gone to her chest. She fought to reconcile the thorn protruding from her heart with the facts laid before her. She brushed at her sternum as if her fingers might snag against the thorn and pluck it free. She looked at Tyr, then quickly away. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, reacting this way, looking at him with this well of pain in her eyes. So what if he didn’t care about her? So what if he loved someone else?

“Ophir—” Tyr moved toward her, but Dwyn put herself in his path.

She stared him down, teeth bared like she was Ophir’s guard dog. “I’ve known for months that you came for someone else. You need three powers to avenge the woman you love. You’ve said so yourself. This entire fucking mission for you is for ice, fire, and shadow. Tell her! Tell the princess you’ve been toying with her, and stop playing games with her heart. Remain in Midnah, do what you have to do, learn what you have to learn, but cease your cruel charade.”

The underlying implication was clear to everyone in the room. Dwyn may as well have said it out loud. The words left unspoken were: She’s mine. Leave her to me .

If Ophir had looked up, she would have seen the rage that poured from Tyr with a thick, near-tangible stickiness. It was a fury as dark and horrid as the black, tar-like blood they’d witnessed from Ophir’s monsters. If Ophir had opened her eyes, maybe she would have seen how victoriously Dwyn crossed her arms, or how Tyr looked like he was ready to rip Dwyn’s head from her body.

Ophir felt the thorn in her heart grow as each new pulse forced it to bleed. The unmistakable wound throbbed with every breath. She’d been foolish. She’d been betrayed. She’d been so stupid.

Tyr wasn’t denying it. The man’s silence was as good as a confession. He remained seething from halfway across the chamber. If Dwyn was claiming possession, he was declaring to the room that it took everything within him not to murder the siren.

After an infinitely long pause, he spoke.

“She’s not a person.”

Ophir looked at him then, face scrunched. “What?”

“No! Not you, I mean…” He closed his eyes, pinching the place between his eyes. Hatred still radiated from him like a physical heat. “Dwyn, you’re an absolute cunt. Have I told you that lately?” Tyr sucked on his teeth as he tried to take several other calming breaths. She’d never seen him lose his temper. Even now he was angry, but he had a handle on it, even if it was clearly a struggle not to tear her tongue out from where it rested between her teeth. He opened his eyes and lowered his hands. “Dwyn is right about one thing. I’ve spent years looking for three powers. I need flame, ice, and shadow, that much is true. I need to kill three men using the same powers that they used against Svea.”

The thorn tore at her once more with another woman’s name on his lips. “They killed your partner?”

He rubbed at what might have been a budding headache, then looked at her with deadly seriousness. When he spoke, his voice was grave but was free from its hate. “No, Svea wasn’t my partner. She was my family, my best friend, my everything. I know what you’re going to say. I know what you’re going to think. And honestly, I understand how it sounds. I’d had her for six years, and it was she and I against the world. And I had no skills, no powers when I needed to defend her. I was so weak. I was just a teenager, and they were so cruel. I…”

She scoured his face, seeing only his pain.

“Svea was my dog.”

Dwyn’s jaw dropped open.

Tyr looked at his feet. “She was not just a dog. She was all I had. She deserved the world. She was smart, perfect, and loyal, and innocent. And those bastards deserve so much more than what’s coming for them.”

Ophir’s eyebrows shot high, shoulders straightening.

Cord-taut silence strung between the three.

Dwyn’s eyes and lips mirrored one another in near-perfect circles of shock. “There’s no way…”

His lips pulled back in a sneer. He spun on her. “Shut your goddess-damned mouth, you absolute bitch. You want to play with fire? Try me.”

Ophir reeled. “You want the power because…”

He pressed his eyes together as he thought about the best way to respond. He looked at her finally, choosing honesty. “Vengeance fuels a lot of us, princess. Spite is as good a reason as any, don’t you think? Because I don’t think those men deserve to draw breath. The psychopaths who held me down and tortured and killed a dog for no reason other than fucked-up cruelty? They deserve to meet the fate they doled out. They’ve sealed their fate, and I’m on a mission to deliver it. Don’t you think the people responsible for Caris’s death deserve the same?”

“I do, but…”

“I don’t have a sister,” he said. “I don’t have parents or siblings or anyone I care about. I don’t have a community. I had a dog, and she was my goddess-damned world. Yes, that’s why I want to be able to do what your stupid witch does. And no, I don’t talk about it. I don’t think my vengeance is Dwyn’s, or Anwir’s, or anyone’s business. They shouldn’t get to determine whether the men deserve to die. I know they do. She’ll be avenged. I want to be the one to do it. I want to look in their eyes when they die the same way they killed her.”

“For your dog?”

His challenging glare remained. “For my dog.”

The silence that stretched was one of the single most uncomfortable pauses in the history of the written word. Ophir didn’t know how to categorize any of the information she’d been given. She knew why Dwyn had tried to alienate her affections for Tyr—the girl was openly possessive. That part didn’t shock her. What did surprise her was the way the thorn had dislodged, healing itself as if it had never been there in the first place. The idea that Tyr loved another woman had injured her more than she’d been able to absorb. The knowledge that his murderous rage was fueled by man’s best friend was…well, she knew neither what to think nor how to feel.

“Say you’re sorry,” Ophir said quietly, looking at Dwyn.

Dwyn swallowed, lips twisting off to the side as if fighting the urge to argue. She balled her fists at her side, visibly struggling against whatever it was she wanted to say.

Ophir repeated, “Apologize. You did this to hurt him because you were treating me like I’m a toy that only one of you gets to play with. That was cruel, Dwyn. Both to him, and to me. Now, tell him you’re sorry, and stop being a bitch.”

Dwyn inhaled sharply, searching Tyr’s face. She shook her head, black hair dancing around her shoulders like a ghost haunting her. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” Her voice dropped to the register barely above a whisper. “All this over a fucking dog.”

“Dwyn!” Ophir repeated.

She closed her eyes against the scold. She wouldn’t have let anyone else speak to her this way, but she had a vested interest in maintaining Ophir’s favor, and Ophir knew it. The room had seen Dwyn go all in when she should have folded. She’d gambled in an attempt to regain the high ground between herself and Tyr in the princess’s eyes, and she’d lost, badly. All of this and more was clear on her face. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t shame. It was the brand of regret that only came from someone who’d been punished.

Dwyn’s eyes dropped to the floor. Silence stretched between the three of them, triangulating their positions around the room while discomfort hugged its points. “It’s wrong, what they did to your dog. I’m sorry.”

“…and?”

Dwyn exhaled slowly. “And I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” She raised her eyes, then asked “But can you blame me? How was I supposed to guess this woman he was avenging was a dog? How could I—”

“Dwyn!”

“Right, right.” She returned her sights to Tyr, and for the first time, there was no hate in her large, dark eyes. They weren’t exactly kind, but a lack of enmity was a major improvement. Her posture softened as she did her best to conjure sincerity. “I’ve said and done a lot of things to you that I don’t regret. And I do still usually wish I could kill you. I think you’re the worst. But…I would have wanted to murder anyone who had hurt my dog, too. And I’m…” She struggled with the last word, rolling it around her tongue like a child unable to swallow their vegetables. “Sorry.”

“Wow, Dwyn,” he said, voice tart with vinegar. “That was convincing.”

“I tried.”

Ophir remained trained on Dwyn. “Well, could you try not being a bitch in the first place? I’m not trying to get rid of either of you anymore. It would mean a lot to me if you stopped trying to rip each other’s throats out. I hate to pull the trump card, but isn’t tonight supposed to be about comforting me? I have something of a major life event in six hours. I’m not going to get enough sleep as it is. Can the two of you try to hold it together?”

Tyr relaxed into the wall. This wasn’t a secret he would have shared willingly, Ophir knew, but it was out. They knew. Perhaps he understood that the same sensitivity that made him a target for three dead fae walking might very well be the same sensitivity that earned him judgment now, but he was who he was. It was injustice against something innocent. It wasn’t fair, and the men deserved to pay.

“Where’s Sedit?” Dwyn asked suddenly.

Ophir’s lips parted, mind flying to her own beloved hound. She pouted, looking around the room that was empty without her hound. “I didn’t think it would be safe for him in the city, but he crossed the desert with me. I hope he’s okay.” She winced as she returned to Tyr. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He waved her away. “You don’t have to apologize for worrying about your…vague hound. I know you care about it, and I won’t get between you and your pet. Even if I do think it’s a nightmare embodied.”

Dwyn made it clear she was ready to stop talking about Tyr. They all knew it would win her no more friends if they remained on the topic. Her tone stayed dry as she spoke of Sedit. “If he’s anything like your snake, he’s going to be just fine.”

“What do you mean?”

They explained how they’d tried to kill her serpent, only to watch it knit itself together. Ophir was just as shocked to hear this as they had been to witness it. Dwyn began to make a comment about how, if Ophir made all the dogs, then Svea would still be alive.

Tyr looked like he’d been slapped.

“For fuck’s sake, Dwyn.” Ophir gaped at the woman.

Genuine regret rearranged her features. The joke had presumably been born of good intentions for winning favoritism, but it had promptly backfired. She was on a losing streak. Instead, she redirected to painting a very graphic visual of the enormous, black-blooded snake they’d tried to kill in the woods.

“But on the cliff!” Ophir protested. “Harland beheaded the thing. Didn’t he?”

Dwyn cast her an apologetic look. “We rolled it immediately into the ocean, remember? We didn’t give it the chance to self-heal. We could try a few experiments with one of your creatures if you want?”

Ophir recoiled. “Are you suggesting I make something just so we can cut it up? That’s sadistic, even for you.”

“It’s for science.”

“Science can wait.” Ophir sat down on the bed, the world’s gravity pushing down on her with exhausting intensity. “Do either of you need something to eat? Should I get anything? You’ll have to forgive me, but this is all uncharted territory. Tyr, I have no idea how to comfort you. Dwyn, you have been a bitch. He’s right. I don’t really know what to do or how to play hostess in someone else’s palace on the eve of my debut as executioner. I’m sorry if I’m not on my best behavior.”

“Were these not good?” Tyr picked up one of the half-eaten cookies. There was something off about his voice, though she assumed it was something to do with having his shattered heart strewn on display for all to see.

“They were fine. I just wasn’t sure if they’d all have the same filling. They do. I’m not in the mood for orange marmalade.”

No one knew how to proceed, but perhaps that was okay. Maybe there was no right way to act the night before one was set to kill a man. Dwyn sat next to her, looping her arm around the princess’s back. She ignored the idle chatter and returned to the pending execution. “Are you tired? Nervous?”

“Anxious, mostly. I want to do it. I want to scrub him off the face of the earth, no matter how big or small his role in Caris’s death was. He’s still a part of it.” She rubbed her arms almost as if she were cold, despite the warmth of the night. “I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

Dwyn pressed in closely. “I can help with that.”

Ophir’s eyes widened as she looked to where Tyr still stood. She hoped Dwyn was talking about how she used to hold her in order to help her with her nightmares. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to tackle the inappropriateness of the siren implying anything else while Tyr stood arms’ lengths away.

He made a face telling them that he’d understood exactly what Dwyn meant. “I’ll give you two some, um, privacy. I’ll go find the kitchen. I could use a few minutes to myself anyway. Maybe I’ll bring something that isn’t orange-flavored.”

“Tyr,” Dwyn began, frowning, “I am sorry. About…”

“I get it.”

“Great.” She smiled. “Bygones? Over that whole thing? With the…With your, I mean…”

“Stop talking about it, please.”

“Super. Don’t come back,” Dwyn called after him with her light, singsong voice as he stepped into the place between things.

***

Food was the last thing on Tyr’s mind.

Dwyn’s pettiness clung to him with sticky, tar-like insistence. Her attempt to alienate Ophir from him over Svea had been cruel, but it was hardly the most dangerous thing about her. If anything, fighting offered the bit of normalcy he’d needed to distract himself from outing her. He needed to focus on the issue at hand.

No, not there. He eased another door shut. Goddess dammit, how many rooms does this place have?

It took him several tries and pressing his ear into numerous doors before he found what he was looking for. Tyr quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped in just in time to see Harland go rigid. The guard scanned the empty air in search of the disturbance. Samael stood near him against the wall, hands in his pockets as the men discussed Berinth. If they’d been asleep, he wasn’t sure if he would have had any hope of finding them.

Their gazes flew to the opened door, eyes straining against the dim, flameless fae lights for evidence of an intruder.

Though Harland’s room was far smaller and more sparsely decorated, it maintained the high ceilings throughout the palace. If Ophir was nervous, then Harland was a wreck. Tyr looked at the doorframe but was dismayed to find a lack of runes. They’d have to stay quiet.

He closed the door behind him before stepping back into visibility.

Harland was on his feet in an instant. Tyr wasn’t sure what kept him quiet, but the man didn’t go for his sword, nor did he cry out. Perhaps it was Samael’s lack of reaction that kept the guard from lunging for him. Harland’s hand stilled against the hilt at his waist, tense and ready.

“Nice to officially meet you,” Tyr said, wondering if Harland recognized him from their brief meeting at Guryon’s estate. His guess was yes a Sulgrave fae who’d escaped with his princess moments before he was knocked unconscious was hard to forget. “My name is Tyr. We have a problem.”