Page 185 of The Trials of Ophelia

Emerging on the other side of their force, we carved a path around the back, the troop I led surrounding this cluster of warriors. Success sang through my blood, mingling with adrenaline to form a dangerous combination.

Mila led the other half north, and though I’d lost sight of her, I knew in my bones she was slaying warriors without remorse. One for every mark placed upon her body.

Make them bleed, she’d said.

I would. For everything they’d done to the both of us, I vowed to make the Engrossian-Mindshaper army bleed.

With her scars and broken sobs echoing in my mind, I gritted my teeth and allowed that promise to fuel me. I still needed to memorize where each scar carved a story of her pain across her body, but I’d ensure my death count tonight was higher than them.

We were circling around the edge of the battle when Ombratta let out a pained whinny. One of the only sounds that could slice through the haze to me in that moment.

She reared up, and I clutched the reins to stay seated. Whipping my head around, sweat-soaked hair clinging to my face, I saw it: A Mindshaper’s jagged dagger piercing my horse’s flank.

No fucking way.

Stab me if you want, but touching my horse was a way to ensure you met the Spirit Realm.

I dismounted, and Ombratta spun in place. She would heal quickly—warrior horses benefited from Mystique magic the way we did—but that pain demanded punishment.

“That was a cowardly move,” I spat, stalking toward the man. “We respect our animals in Mystique land.”

I gripped him by the neck of his armor and swung the handle of my sword into his temple. Not hard enough to kill him, but enough to send him to the ground.

He didn’t deserve a quick death.

I sheathed my weapon and crouched over him. “Don’t.” A blow to his jaw. “Touch.” Another. “My.” A third to the throat that left him gasping. “Fucking.” One to the temple. “Horse.” I beat until he didn’t resemble a person anymore. Until his face was mottled, swollen, and streaked with blood.

His head lolled to the side as I threw the gutless warrior to the ground. My gloves dripped red, flicking to the snow as I shook out my hands.

I turned back to Ombratta to assess the wound, but it had already clotted. Should I remove her from the field?

No. I knew my horse. She had a heart like Sapphire or Erini or Astania. They’d been raised beside the rest of us to run toward fights, and if I was finally doing so, she’d want to be with me.

As I was finishing ensuring she was fine, the energy across the battlefield shifted.

In the distance, a small troop of about two dozen warriors scaled the highest lookout peak with impossible speed, as if they were puppets pulled by invisible strings. Up, up, up they went, trampling our army, running them through with daggers and axes alike. Wolves pounded toward the summit, tackling warriors as they landed.

Fire flickered atop the mountain, torches casting an orange glow across the battle. And even from this distance, I could see her shadow. Perched atop a rock in the center of the lookout, dark-armored frame gilded by flame, hair whipping around her face as enemies closed in.

And my heart jumped into my throat.

“Jezebel.”

From how still she remained, I could envision her with her eyes closed and face turned to the sky, drawing on her spirit power. Flashes of blades catching the light around her told me she was guarded, but it wasn’t enough. Not with the unnaturally quick way those warriors scaled the craggy facade.

Maybe I hadn’t fought for Jez before, and I’d hurt her when I left, but I’d dive into the Spirit Volcano before I left her in danger now.

I swung myself onto Ombratta’s back and dug my heels in. “Let’s get to the lookout, girl.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

Ophelia

The guards’ voices drifted through one of the stone archways leading into the interior of the manor. Two of them, based on the conversation and tempo of their gait.

I positioned myself behind a stone pillar on one side of the arch, Santorina beside me. Barrett hid across the way with Rebel sitting primly against the wall.

“Why are we the poor saps stuck in the snow?” one warrior complained. They were nearly to the exit now. I curled my fingers around my dagger at my thigh.

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