Page 16 of The Trials of Ophelia

“I don’t think she’s truly given us anything,” I said. Based on what Ophelia told me, Vale had been attempting to read, but when it came to the Angel prophecies and the darkness surrounding Ophelia from Vale’s previous sessions, the Starsearcher saw nothing.

Ophelia seemed to think she was being honest, and that was enough for me, but I was wary of her after the way whatever she’d done had broken Cypherion. He was a different person than before Daminius. We all were, I supposed.

He was harsher, though, lines tightly drawn that not even I was allowed to cross.

“Is that why you’ve been rejecting Ophelia’s request?” Malakai asked, as if only now putting those pieces together. “You don’t approve of partnering with Vale, so you’re withholding on the appointment?”

That wasn’t it. Cyph was too noble to let his pain interfere with the role of Second. “CK, do you truly think you aren’t fit for it?”

He chewed his words as we walked. “Why wouldn’t she offer it to you?”

“Because you’re the better man for it.” It was true, and it didn’t hurt to admit. Cypherion was best suited for the role of Second.

Besides, I had too much messing with me to be in a leadership role, even if Cypherion wasn’t an option. Day and night, remnants of the Mindshaper torture from last summer echoed through my thoughts.

Failure, incapable, worthless.

Words that had been spewed at me during my childhood had plagued me while unconscious. Now, as I crossed the ruined streets of Damenal, they hung in the shadows. I’d been a failure in that battle. I was incapable of any role on the council. I wouldn’t be able to take care of Ophelia.

Those sentiments had dug their claws in much deeper than I realized as a child. When the Mindshapers had directed their twisted power at me, those emotions had latched on to whatever was available. To the instability the Undertaking wrought within me. To the recollections of my father blaming me for nearly losing my mother when I was born. To the nightmares of me being guilty for the death of someone else I loved, blade in my hand and blood pouring over her skin?—

“Good luck,” Malakai said, pulling me from my thoughts outside a dark alley.

“We’ll see you at home,” I said to Cyph. He nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

“He doesn’t do it every night,” Malakai told me as we continued. “More so since we’re heading to the war front soon.”

They’d been planning to leave today, but had postponed until I was fit to ride. Something I was determined to master soon.

Truthfully, I was ready for the thrill of it. For the battle cries as our united front tore through the enemy, for the slice of my sword against those who had driven the city around me into such ruin, for the blood of the queen who threatened Ophelia.

But I didn’t know how that drove Cypherion into organized fights. One look at Malakai said he didn’t either.

“Here,” I said, stopping outside the tavern a staff member at the palace had told me about. “Should I wait for you after?”

Malakai shook his head and flashed a journal. “I sent a note to Barrett to meet me.”

He entered the dimly-lit establishment through the front door while I went around back. Down a staircase nearly hidden in the dark, the light above intentionally off, and through a purple curtain.

And as I entered the gambling den, a bit of the tension rolled off my body. Games had always been a habit I fell into as easily as swinging a sword. The way a victory pumped my blood faster and encouraged my desire to prove I could win. My opponent’s coin falling into my hand a silent seal of approval.

“What are we playing tonight?” I asked, dropping into a seat at the table as if I belonged there.

A glass with cheap liquor was placed before me by a barmaid. The warriors around the table observed me.

“Sanctifiers,” a man grumbled, not unkindly.

Quickly, I flashed through the rules in my head. Seven suits, one for each Angel, two cards per player, the objective to put together the strongest hand of five cards using the two in your hand and ones in the center.

And I grinned.

“Deal me in.”

“What’s all this?” I asked, walking into my suite hours later to find the office door thrown wide open, an array of papers and books spread over the table I rarely used. I kept my most important books in my bed chamber.

“Tol,” Ophelia said, hopping up from her lazy sprawl in one of my chairs, her cheeks flushed. Spirits, I loved that glow. “Come sit.”

She gestured from my cane to the available seats. As I crossed the room and took the one beside her, I hid how my leg was nearly shaking. The hike from the city to the palace was more strenuous than I remembered.

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