Page 190 of The Trials of Ophelia

War was not beautiful. It was not noble sacrifices, poetic retellings, or the romantic letters written home. It was not a place to laze about and indulge in your inner workings. War was base instinct and survival. It was contrived of greedy pursuits and desperation. It was strategy and strength, knowing that either could fail should fate strike when our backs were turned, but still we fought with every breath in our lungs.

As I drove my sword between the shoulders of a man who may have been innocent of any crime and simply in the army for the necessity of his family, the shame of battle and killing washed over me. I was proud to be a Mystique Warrior, born to protect, but I did not want to be a piece of the ceaseless puzzle of this war.

I wanted this fight to end.

Drawing back from the ledge, I returned to Jezebel’s side to assess the raging battle.

Ricordan stepped up beside me. “I don’t understand,” he said beneath his breath. “How did they surprise us?”

“Someone betrayed us,” I murmured.

“Someone who knew our plans,” he answered.

“Dad?”

We both whirled, finding Trevaneth pale and wide-eyed at the back of the lookout where trees turned into thick forest.

“What are you doing here?” Ricordan demanded, storming over.

Trev only watched the slaughter, horror-stricken. I could practically see the scars forming behind his eyes.

“I didn’t mean?—”

And it clicked.

“You wrote to the queen didn’t you?” I asked, and I wanted him to say no so badly.

But all he offered was, “I want my mother back.” Ricordan stared at his son with a mix of pity and shock. Behind us the cries continued.

“Son…” Ric stepped forward.

“I didn’t know it would be…like this…” His voice broke, and I swallowed every reprimand I wanted to throw. This was not the time. Not when he was seeing lives being taken for which he felt responsible.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, I said, “I need you to tell me exactly how this happened.”

“I talked to the intruder in the Labyrinth and he told me how to get a letter to the queen.” Trev shook his head, eyes glued to the fight behind me. “She said if I gave her information and compromised the missive about when they’d arrive, she’d release the Mindshapers before the battle. That the battle wouldn’t even be n-necessary,” he stuttered, then met my stare. “I’m sorry, Malakai.”

I took a deep breath. “You two should leave,” I commanded, looking between the father and son. “Go back to camp. We’ll discuss this with Ophelia after this ends.”

If this ends.

Ricordan pulled his son along after him. Right before they were out of ear shot, Trev spun back toward me, his stare burning with regret. “She’s waiting for her. The queen is waiting for Ophelia.”

And then they were gone, that information echoing in my head.

There wasn’t time to harp on it, though. Trevaneth’s actions couldn’t be undone.

Instead of allowing the familiar twist of betrayal to warp my mind, I jumped back into the fight.

Another ache struck my chest, two more following in quick succession, but I didn’t let it stop me. I forced away the gruesome realities of war and treachery, sinking into the bloodshed. I became the warrior instincts I’d scorned for so long, the ones born in my blood, my only objective to protect.

At some point, Mila raced onto the platform, Lyria with her. The two had vengeance in their eyes. They fell into battle like two halves of a pair of legends brought to life.

As the wave of warriors continued to ascend the mountain, as their numbers drowned ours, I worried that we may not win.

That our alliance wasn’t enough because they had abused power, unrelenting force, and treasonous intel on their side.

Nearly a dozen of the archers on this lookout alone had fallen. Across the peaks, less arrows flew.

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