Page 42 of The Trials of Ophelia

“When my mother nearly died giving birth to me, I think something changed in him. He became so desperate to hold on to her. I think…” This was the part I was still attempting to figure out. “I always felt like I was meant to do horrible things because of my mother.”

“That’s not true, Tolek,” Ophelia said, sitting up.

“That disdain was always what I’d known, though. When I was younger, I didn’t realize it was wrong.”

I hadn’t understood a parent should not make you feel unworthy, like you’d fail at everything you attempted. That those lessons weren’t supposed to be imprinted on your soul.

And they followed me, Mindshaper torture latching on to those memories and generating horrifying images of whom else I might kill.

I wasn’t ready to voice the rest of it, yet. To bring the memories of what my father did to me to life or tell her about the haunting possibilities my mind conjured because of it.

“You are meant for great things,” Ophelia whispered. “Do you want to know how I know?”

“How?” I humored her.

“Because you’ve continued to fight for everyone around you despite the lies your father fed you. Only someone truly strong could do that. You’re the brightest star in my life, Tolek Vincienzo. Truthfully, some days you’re the only reason I can face all of this.”

That confession was like lead in my chest.

“Come here,” I said, pulling her into a seated position between my legs. “I want to show you something.” Grabbing the book I’d dropped in the sand when we arrived, I angled the cover so the words stamped in the leather caught the light.

Ophelia squinted. “This isn’t our language.”

“I’ve been studying others.”

“Since when?”

“Since we moved to the capital. Not every night I can’t sleep is spent winning other warriors’ coin.”

Her brow creased, but I’d tried to avoid her often when we first arrived in Damenal, and forcing ancient languages into my head had been a helpful distraction when my drug of choice was in another man’s bed. I considered myself a scholar of many arts, and language was one of the most beautiful.

Laughing softly, I kissed that line between her brows. “I figured it was a good thing to know,” I said, flipping to the story I wanted. “This is Endasi. It’s practically a dead tongue now, but it was once?—”

“The language of the Angels.” She flashed a satisfied smirk. I tucked that one away, too. “You aren’t the only one who’s studied, Vincienzo.” The little attitude flipping up her words had me hard again. Dammit, I loved when she displayed that confidence.

“My apologies.” I pointed to the scrawl titling the story. “Do you know what this says?”

Ophelia shook her head. “I know what Endasi is, but I can’t translate it.”

This time I let out a satisfied hum, and she gently smacked my arm in return. I caught her hand in mine and pointed our clasped fingers to the page. “This word in particular has a few translations. In short, it means forever, but it also means eternal saving grace or a promise unto the heart and earth.”

“That’s lovely,” she said, studying the word.

“That’s what you are to me, Alabath. My saving grace, my promise.” Her eyes softened as she inhaled sharply, and those lips popped open. “My infinity, apeagna.”

Ophelia was still for a moment, my words sinking in one syllable at a time. Then, her arms were around my neck, and she was turning in my lap to straddle my hips. Her fingers drifted absently across my collarbone, and I had to chase off the fear that she was searching for a tattoo she’d never find there.

“You’re mine, too, Tolek. I may not know ancient languages to repeat it in, but you are.”

I didn’t need fancy words to know she meant it. She was slower to understand it than I was—I’d been settled into these feelings for years—but it was in the way her body relaxed in my arms, the way her eyes studied me, and how she gently pressed her lips to mine.

If I could be good enough, we’d get there.

Chapter Thirteen

Malakai

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Barrett’s voice snaked through the opening to the tent I’d claimed at the war camp. We’d only been here for a night, but when I returned after breakfast, a note had been resting on my cot.

---