Page 179 of The Legacy of Ophelia
“Thank you,” I whispered, my lips trembling. “Thank you for everything.”
For believing in me back when I barely had a title to claim, for escorting me through the uncertain days of early leadership, for being a resolute, dependable ally in the wake of so many threats.
“Tell my daughter…I’m sorry.”
Seli’s bright disposition and radiant enthusiasm flashed through my memory. Seli, who would no longer have her mother to guide her.
“For what?” I asked urgently. The light was rapidly fading from her sea glass eyes, her words no more than breaths.
Ezalia tried to shake her head, only managing one jerk. “She will know one day.” Her hair was matted to the mess of blood on her chest, her body so frail as she inhaled. “I love them.”
Tell them I love them, she meant. Her family—the twins and her partner, Seron—who had given so much for this Angelcurse already.
“I will,” I muttered. “I promise.”
I would not die tonight. Not with this vow in my heart. I looked to the skies, tracking the Angel forms. No, I would not face the Spirit Realm tonight—but they would.
For abandoning us.
For threatening us.
For turning us into a god’s tragedy, another chapter in a war that was not ours.
Standing, I hefted Ezalia’s limp form into my arms.
“Bring her in here!” a woman called from the nearest alley.
Without even considering, I raced after her and toward a doorway propped open halfway down the street. More warriors were flooding the alleys now, shouting directives from their generals, assembling into the uniform legions we’d prepared for weeks, ready for what we were born to do. Defend Ambrisk.
The door closed behind me, sealing out the chaos for a moment. The tiny establishment was a back room in some sort of shop—an office with boxes taking up the rest of the available space, a desk in one corner and a low settee in another. Gently, I laid Ezalia on the cushions, careful not to jostle her, though her chest had already stopped rising.
“Fucking Angels,” I said to myself, a sob lodged in my throat. “The arrow.” It still protruded from her heart, her blood cooling across her chest. “I should take it out. I shouldn’t—shouldn’t leave her like that.”
A gentle hand touched my shoulder, and I jumped, Angellight flaring to life in one palm, the other reaching for the Vincienzo dagger at my thigh. The woman who owned the place gave me wide eyes, stepping back.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed, siphoning the magic back in. “I forgot…”
Forgot she was here. In her own office.
She gave me a sympathetic smile, toying with the dark braid trailing over her shoulder. “I understand, Revered. I can care for the chancellor. I believe you are needed elsewhere.”
Aboomechoed from the square outside.
Elsewhere. Where a battle was raging.
Ezalia was only one of many fatalities we’d see tonight, but if I was fast enough—strong enough to conquer the Angels and their god—maybe we could limit the rest.
“You’ll clean her up?” I asked, swallowing down the tears.
“And guide her home with reverent care.”
Some part of me was so reluctant to leave her, though I had to face this battle. This war brought upon my people and our allies by my own Godsblood and the curses it wrought.
But I was scared. Scared of what would come and scared of whom else we might say goodbye to. If I was sure of anything, though, it was that deep down, I knew there was no room for being afraid. Fear would slow my movements. It would dull the dagger-sharp edge I needed against vengeful Angels.
And right now, as I stared down at my friend whose body was much too still and the echoes of screams tore through the night beyond these walls, that anger morphed into an unremorseful, unrepentant fire.
It ripped through me, seraph magic raging to be unleashed against its Angelic sources.
