Page 155 of The Trials of Ophelia

They grinned back. “Thank the Angels,” Barrett said, his eyes flicking over my shoulder. “I see you’ve remained unchained?”

I turned to see Vale’s eyes drop to her wrists, rolling and flexing her hands. “Earned my way out, much as you did, Prince.”

If possible, Barrett’s grin widened, all white teeth on display as a laugh burst from him. “To those who have broken their chains.” He offered her a small nod, but I didn’t think he noticed when Vale averted her gaze. I thought of the brand marking her shoulder, now tattooed over with silver ink. She had spent too much of her life in chains, and that was another reason I would honor the request she made of me outside—with my own parameters, that is.

“Artale will see that queen rot in the Spirit Realm for what she’s done to you,” a voice I recognized called from the living room. But how?—

Pushing past Barrett and Dax to step into the cabin fully, I found Erista perched on the back of a leather couch, arms firmly around Jezebel’s shoulders in front of her.

“Erista!” I rushed over, hugging the two of them and meeting the smile my sister couldn’t hide. “What are you doing here?”

Over her shoulder, Tolek smirked at me. At his side, Cypherion talked animatedly with Lyria and three warriors I assumed were the generals. Ricordan stood with them, acting as our official liaison with the Mindshaper rebels.

“Research can only be so helpful,” the Soulguider offered. I understood. This war was pressing down on all of us now, and we wanted to act. “Meridat and the other apprentices will handle things on that front. The Spirits have been loud lately; I needed to be here.” She rested her chin on my sister’s shoulder, and my heart thudded. Not only for them, but for all of us. For this band of warriors stitching itself together to fight this battle. There were armies beyond these walls, yes, but in here—these were the people who led the charge. The ones who made me feel whole. Unstoppable.

Stepping back, I assessed the room for the first time. It was a large open space with stairs leading up on one side and a hallway off the back. A kitchen took up one side of the cabin, Esmond’s supplies littering the counters, though he, Gatrielle, and Santorina were in the infirmary tent. A simple light fixture hung from the ceiling, orbs of mystlight undulating within and matching ones fixed to the walls. Walls that had been decorated with plans and maps and lists of troops. Numbers and names and strategies.

The permanence of it all struck me, unsettling something in my gut.

I brushed it aside and circled the large table strewn with information, sigils defining the location of various clans’ forces. Not for the first time, the depth of this war settled on my shoulders. And my inexperience pressed down with it.

I had been raised to be a hand in diplomacy, but that was vastly different from actually standing on a front line. I had been handed prophecies and sent to find emblems. That was territory I was comfortable navigating, though it held so many mysteries. As my eyes roved the pages pinned to the walls, I knew the breadth of what we faced went beyond me.

Lyria and her generals, though—they had done this. They had survived this before. Fought for this. Defended this.

We were in capable, victorious hands.

“How has it been?” And with my question, the mood shifted, weighing heavily on all of us. Conversation faded, eyes and smiles dropped, and everyone turned to Lyria.

“There’s no point hedging it.” Lyria strode to join me at the far wall, the pleats of her leather skirt swinging around her thighs, her boots echoing hollowly against the wood. Vambraces shone with sharpened knives against her wrists as she extended a hand. Always ready for her next fight, the commander embodied every bit the war leader she’d become. “They’re planning something. We don’t know what. See here.” She dragged a finger down a piece of parchment scribbled with dark ink. “These are the accounts of their recent attempts.”

“Each has been short,” Dax continued, coming up on my other side. “Testing different points in our defenses. They’re erratic and unpredictable. Not the organized strategy their infantry took in the Engrossian-Mystique war. All pull back before they become too devastating for us or them.”

“Have any been devastating for them?” I asked, stepping closer to take in each skirmish.

“Less so than us,” Dax confirmed, grimacing. We still stood, though. Hope was not yet lost.

“Tell her of the shocks,” said a warrior I didn’t know with long dark hair braided in a coronet.

“I take it you’re the Starsearcher,” I said, noting the sigil printed across their leathers and the blue cloak. “Nice to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

“Cyren Marvana,” they said, nodding their chin. “And likewise.”

“And this is Amara, cousin to Chancellor Ezalia,” Lyria said, gesturing to the next general. Her hair was as sandy as their beaches, and she shared Ezalia’s sea-glass eyes. “And our Soulguider General, Quilian.”

“Brother to your beloved Erista,” the man added. They bore the same bright smile and thick eyebrows, though Quilian appeared much older.

“Our parents can never seem to decide when they’re finished having children.” Erista answered that unspoken question as if it was one they often received.

“We have a sister nearing her first century,” Quilian continued. “But Erista and Temy are the youngest.”

“And the most beautiful and wisest,” Erista bragged.

Despite the tension in the room, their banter calmed me. It reminded me of the ease and levity we were fighting to restore.

“I suppose we’ll see who’s the wisest after this meeting,” I joked. “Now, you mentioned shocks?” I turned back to Cyren, but it was Barrett who stepped forward.

“Ripples of power have been rocking the mountains. We believe they’re coming from my mother.”

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