A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Forty-eight

Forty-eight

12:30 AM

6 hours and 15 minutes until execution

“I knew it.”

Tyr’s laugh was humorless. “I very much doubt that. I didn’t figure it out myself until about twenty minutes ago.” He knew he was at a disadvantage. These men neither knew nor trusted him, and Harland certainly didn’t like him. Tyr walked to the desk and turned the chair around, swinging his leg over it to straddle it while he continued facing them. It was meant to put them at ease, posing in a way that would leave him disadvantaged in a fight. This was not how one sat if they needed to throw a punch.

He did his best to look relaxed, but his ears hadn’t stopped ringing since taking a bow from Dwyn in the dungeon. They’d barely survived their attacks on one another, and his adrenaline wouldn’t let him forget it. He wondered if her heart was also thundering, if her stress hummed through her body, if she felt hot and cold at the same time as if under the threat of an oncoming flu, if her eyes danced with the dizzying stars of nauseating, impending unconsciousness. Probably not. He was beginning to doubt she felt anything at all.

Harland stood firm. “I did know it. I knew from the moment I met Dwyn that she was not Ophir’s friend. She knew what Firi could do. Somehow, she knew. She was behind this. I just couldn’t have fathomed…”

“How deep the rabbit hole went?”

Samael followed suit and took a seat. Harland shot an uncertain look at his companion, then relaxed, though not fully. Samael leaned back in his chair, twisting his lips as he considered the information. “If this Dwyn person is behind Berinth, why is he in Tarkhany? Why isn’t he in Sulgrave?”

“Because Tarkhany has motive for revenge. Not only did she create and frame so-called Lord Berinth, but she crafted a failsafe. Tarkhany was primed to be framed for Caris’s murder, should her Berinth scheme be discovered. It’s why she sent him to the farthest corner of the desert before her hold on him came to an end,” Tyr said.

Samael pressed further. “You’re saying this with certainty. What do you know?”

With little to lose and Ophir’s life at stake, Tyr told them everything.

He explained that he could disappear into the space between things. He told them of the Blood Pact, of the tattooed bond and its restraints, of following Dwyn down across the Frozen Straits. He told them of the shapeshifter in the gardens and the conversation of stolen lands. He told them that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dwyn wanted power enough to do anything. The others looked on with abject horror as he explained her borrowed powers, her ability to drain, and the trail of husks she left in her wake.

He’d known she was a witch, but he’d made one critical error. He’d severely underestimated just how wicked she was. Dwyn wasn’t just motivated to win Ophir’s heart. She was conniving enough to create the situation that had required Ophir’s need for hope, for a friend, for a lifeline in the first place. Ophir had been in dire need of salvation, and Dwyn had offered it.

She wouldn’t get her own hands dirty, of course. It would have been too easy to cut her out if someone had seen a girl from Sulgrave plunging a dagger into Caris’s abdomen. But what if someone were clever? What if they were smart enough to understand that Berinth wasn’t a lone actor? What if they traced him back and found that such a name had existed for only two years, that such a title, such a man was entirely new to the continent? Had she really thought no one would check?

…had no one checked?

Tyr had been thinking it through in the moments he’d seen her panic, in the minutes when she thought she was about to die. He’d assembled the puzzle pieces when she’d offered her power and when she hadn’t denied her role as puppet master. He hadn’t given her enough credit, but she’d given him too much. She thought he’d figured it out and had snuck away to inform Ophir.

She’d been wrong.

Her powers had their limits, of course. She could brainwash a man to a point. But she’d have to either eliminate anyone who’d ever known Berinth before he took on his new name or come up with a contingency plan, should he be discovered. Alas, their journey had led them to Tarkhany. Two Sulgrave fae on two horses traipsing across the blistering desert—a woman who always knew it was where she’d end up, and a man who was just along for the ride because she couldn’t kill him, and he wanted the powers of shadow, flame, and ice.

“You have to go back,” Samael said to Tyr.

“What?” Harland’s brows nearly disappeared into his hair. His first word came out a bit too loud before he controlled his temper. “No! We need to go in there and secure Ophir. If she’s still with the witch—”

“You need to know,” Tyr said, cutting Harland off. “Ophir is not helpless. I know you see in her a certain light because you’re her guard, but she is immensely powerful. I don’t just mean that she can manifest. She crossed the desert on her own. She survived the worst horror a person can endure. Perhaps vengeance isn’t the most noble of fuels, but she isn’t defenseless, and she isn’t weak. She’s resilient and more competent than you or anyone around her gives her credit for.”

Harland sucked his teeth. It was clear from the hostile tick of his jaw that he did not appreciate the correction. He quickly learned there was more to it, as Harland said, “We were trying to conceal that she was a manifester. Thanks for that, Tyr.”

Tyr flicked away the criticism like raindrops on metal. “You can’t expect your people to act to the best of their abilities while keeping them in the dark.”

Harland tensed. “Aren’t you lying to both Dwyn and Ophir?”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” Tyr said.

Samael was unfazed by the information. He might as well have been informed that Ophir was the secondborn princess. Even the crackling tension between Tyr and Harland left the astute fae unruffled, and Tyr suspected he knew why. It no longer seemed like men arguing over how to neutralize Dwyn. This was going to become a territorial pissing contest if someone didn’t redirect their attentions.

“Dwyn needs her alive,” Samael said. “She is powerful enough to do whatever it takes to keep her that way. Ophir is probably safer with her right now than anywhere else on the continent. And if what you say is true—about Dwyn’s use of blood magic, that is—then it sounds like she has an unused power up her sleeve. We can’t go in there until she expends it. We’d get ourselves killed and put the princess in danger of exposure. At least for now, the safest place for Ophir is in the dark. It will ensure that Dwyn stays calm. It would be a mistake to put her on high alert.”

Harland twisted his hands in his hair. “She’s in her room right now with the person responsible for Caris’s murder, and you want us to act like nothing happened? To let her sleep next to a killer?”

“Tyr can’t let on that anything has changed,” Samael insisted.

Harland’s face demanded explanation, wordlessly begging the others to see reason.

Samael flattened his palms, displaying their options. “Ophir won’t be able to act the same around Dwyn once she’s informed. If Tyr does anything to tip Dwyn off, who knows how volatile she might be? The one thing we do know is what she’s capable of. Tyr is most effective when he’s present as a first line of defense.”

“He’s right,” Tyr agreed. “I hate Dwyn more than any of you, but he’s right. Ophir is safe with her…though not for the reasons a person should be safe with someone.” He inhaled slowly though his nose, both seeing the wisdom in their plan and struggling with acceptance. “I can keep her in the dark, only because it will ensure her safety. Dwyn’s defenses will be down tomorrow because we’ll be in public. Her attention will stay on Ophir during the execution. If you don’t mind attacking a woman in broad daylight in front of a crowd, you’ll have a much better chance of taking her out.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Harland began to pace. Tyr wished he would sit back down. Their room didn’t have any dampeners, and even the sounds of Harland’s shoes on the floor put him on edge. “She killed Caris to get to Ophir—why didn’t she take Caris’s heart? Why let Caris’s blood, heart, and vital pieces go to waste? Why did Berinth only leave with a liver?”

Samael answered for all of them. “Not only did it make Ophir vulnerable, but it eliminated the possibility of anyone else getting their hands on a princess. Dwyn doesn’t want anyone to share her power.”

“And if she’d just taken Caris’s heart directly…”

Tyr tugged on the collar of his shirt, revealing the tattoo that licked up the edge of his neck like a black flame. “She won’t chance direct ascension to that kind of power. Not if it means anyone else might benefit.”

“How can she know? How can she know that anyone else in the Blood Pact would gain the power?”

Samael frowned. “Maybe they wouldn’t, but how can she be certain when it’s never been done? Perhaps she’s unnecessarily cautious. But if the Blood Pact did ascend with her, it would be too late to undo once she’d realized her mistake. Why risk sharing godhood?”

“She’s evil,” said Harland.

“She’s brilliant,” answered Samael.