Page 48 of The Myths of Ophelia
I held my breath, watching Rina as she swallowed. “You touch me, and my blade will be the first of the nine Ophelia counted. And I cannot promise it will only land in your gut.”
“I am inclined to believe you.” Lancaster grimaced, canines gleaming. In return, Rina offered a slight nod. Silence stretched between the two of them, lengthy and weighted with their temporary truce.
“How exactly does Ritalia’s magic work?” Malakai asked, pulling us all back to the topic at hand.
“As I’m sure you can imagine, a power as subtle yet expository as the queen’s can be imperative in the politicalworld.” Lancaster crossed his arms with smooth grace, leaning against the arched doorway into the sitting room. “It offers promise to your own bloodline and a threat to your enemies’ secrets.”
“Ritalia used her scenting to ascend the throne and ward off any competitors with threats of exposing their sordid pasts or magic they kept hidden,” Tolek said.
Lancaster and Mora were silent, which was answer enough. The queen had spoken in riddles yesterday; I wondered if any related to her power.
“Why was she so unnerved by Cypherion’s arrival?” I asked, exchanging a glance with my stone-faced Second. “Did she scent something within him?”
Get your cousin out of here, she’d yelled.
Lancaster sighed as if exasperated by our questions. “You warriors do not understand how much of your world is prophecy to ours.”
I straightened. “What does that mean?”
“It means they know a lot of shiny secrets about us,” Tolek said.
Lancaster’s gaze cut to Cypherion. “Did your mother or father ever tell you where your name originated?”
“My mother didn’t.” He shook his head. “I never knew my father.”
Lancaster looked between Cypherion and Malakai, as if putting a new piece of the puzzle together. His throat bobbed. “I see.”
“Regardless,” Mora said, reclining against the cushions, “the name Cypherion is actually from an ancient fae tongue that’s been lost to time.”
Cypherion blinked at her. “My parents weren’t fae.”
“Over many centuries, the name has been adopted by warrior kind,” Lancaster explained. “Now it is a reference to the conduitsof magic in your land. In the closest literal translation, it meansof the cyphers. The ones that have grown since the dawn of the world, but that were changed when the treaty was signed between fae and warriors.”
“Changed how?” I asked.
“A sorcia enchanted the earth of Gallantia to reject fae spirits. The magic is rooted in the cypher trees.”
“Reject fae spirits?” Jezebel echoed. “How are you here now?”
“We are allowed to walk on this land. Though the treaty specifies otherwise, magic of any kind does not prohibit that. But if a fae dies on warrior land, our spirits never find rest as yours do. Your Soulguiders cannot guide us home.”
“That’s true,” Erista said. “We’re always taught we can guide warriors, humans, and other creatures of Gallantia, but not the fae.” Her brows scrunched. “I never knew it was because of the cyphers.”
“It is a guardrail of the treaty—one of many.” Lancaster shifted, leaning against the wall with a forced casualness. “To keep us in line.”
“To keep you from launching an attack on Gallantia that would end in deaths on both sides,” I elaborated. “Because the souls of the fae killed here would never find rest.”
“What does this have to do with me though?” Cypherion crossed his arms, likely stifling his impatience with the fae. “It’s only a name based on a tree.”
Mora pushed upright and answered, her tone grave, “There is a fae prophecy given to our queen upon her ascension to the throne. She had a grand coronation, with all varieties of attendees. One carried the power of predictions in his veins, and when she asked for a reading of the future, he said:He who is named for the trees will be the downfall of the royal bloodline.”
“Ritalia heard you all say his name when he arrived and believed him the fulfiller of the prophecy, thus leading to her directive to remove him from her presence immediately.” Lancaster looked between Cypherion and Malakai again. “She assumed you two already knew of your familial ties and would not have expected to be revealing such secrets.”
Malakai and Cypherion both ignored that, the latter skeptically asking, “So I’m destined to kill the queen?”
Mora shrugged, her long brown curls swaying around her ample frame. “The problem with prophecies is they do not appreciate specificity.”
I laughed. That was surely true.
