Page 108 of The Trials of Ophelia

It was almost a teardrop shape but elongated with small details carved into the curved surface. Turning it over, the underside had veins running through it.

My head snapped up, taking in the flowers around us.

Then, I looked at the Angel statue.

At the orchid tattoo on his back that now had one petal missing.

The one resting in my palm, having been fairly earned by the warriors who deciphered what it wanted, initiated the test somehow, and sacrificed to prove their worth.

A living piece of an Angel.

“What is it?” Mila asked. Behind us, Esmond was stirring. Gatrielle ran to care for him.

It was…how the fuck was this happening? I didn’t know, but there was one thing I was sure of?—

I looked at Mila. “This is one of Ophelia’s emblems.”

This was a piece of a Prime Warrior’s power. Solidified, hidden among a field of fire flowers, and guarded by the Angel and earth itself.

Why was I able to find it? Why had me touching the statue set off this reaction? Ophelia was the cursed one.

“How do you know?” Mila asked.

“I can…” I wasn’t sure how I knew. But like when Ophelia’s spear had first broken and I’d held that emblem in my hand, a presence slumbered in this gilded case. “I just know.”

“Why, though?” Mila asked, gently lifting the petal from my palm and holding it to the sun. “And does it do anything?”

“I don’t know those either.” I straightened up. “But we should get it to?—”

In the distance, beyond Firebird’s Field and through the burning expanse of Gennium’s gnarled tree branches, from the direction of the Fytar Trench, a scream I recognized cut through the air.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ophelia

The poison from Kakias’s dagger dug its claws in deeper, that point in my arm centralizing. The Angellight from my necklace speared back against it—two living entities of magic battling.

It made my head ring—my bones shake—but I tried to focus over it.

We retreated from the cliff, drawing weapons as Santorina screamed. Whirling, I found her in the grip of a dark-armored soldier. More ran from the trees.

Engrossians.

Cypherion dove for the one holding Santorina. “Forward, Rina!”

She leaned as far as the warrior’s grip would allow, and Cypherion’s scythe sliced through his arm. He screamed, and Rina tumbled away.

The limb dangled at his side, connected only by thin fibers of skin and tissue, leather armor gleaming red.

Santorina pulled her own knife and jammed it into the Engrossian’s neck. Blood sprayed across her.

We exchanged a vengeful smile as I raced past. Another warrior raised her ax, but I slid across the grass, an inch below the scarred blade, and swiped Starfire across the back of her calf.

She crumpled to her knees. Popping to my feet behind her, I raised my short sword and swung down.

The booming of Damenal as it exploded echoed through my ears with the motion, followed by the memory of rocks slicing against my bare feet as I ran to find my father’s body. The pride in his eyes when I’d last seen him. The empty, lost feeling upon realizing I’d never see him again.

And as my sword that had been a gift from my father sliced across the woman’s neck, her head rolling from her body, the hungry thing inside of me, the one surviving on grief and promises of revenge, sang.

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