Page 19 of The Legacy of Ophelia
“You can,” Damien confirmed. “And it is because of the seraph myth.”
“The seraphs were slain, though,” I said. “I heard you tell Malakai.”
Damien nodded gravely. “We did not think their return was possible. As some of our strongest subjects, they were a threat. The gods saw to it that that danger was eliminated.” Bitterness and mourning mingled in his voice, igniting a fight deep in my gut.
“Do you think there are more out there? In hiding, like me?”
If there were, they didn’t deserve to suffer for the wrath of brutal deities.
But Damien shook his head. “I doubt it, and even if a few somehow escaped the slaughter—even if they mated and their lines are alive today—they would not be like you.”
“Because I have the power of every Angel.” That knowledge sat as heavy in the air as the storm clouds over the mountains.
“Curious, isn’t it?” Damien posed the question. “To be the last seraph.”
And with that statement, that truth hanging from the tips of the clouds didn’t just hover. It compressed, an honorable pressure upon my shoulders. To be the final representative of this race that had been slain, all for the actions of their god.
As it settled within my spirit, a wail bounced off the marble halls, and a shadow crossed over us. Large, sweeping wings beat against the sky, wind whipping my hair into my face as Thorn descended from the highest turret into Damenal.
“Shouldn’t you stop him?” I asked, wincing as the Mindshaper’s thorny black halo glinted in the light unspooling from his wings. Remembering how his power had dug into my mind and manipulated my own myth magic to unleash the seraph, I shivered.
“He is only here because I allow it. No Angel can enter another’s capital city without permission.” He paused, but I tucked that interesting restriction away. “Have you ever wondered why the Mindshaper plains are snow-covered?”
I blinked up at Damien. “No, but I have also never wondered why the Soulguiders live in arid deserts or the Engrossian swamps are so humid.”
“That is not that same,” Damien corrected. “Those regions still experience seasons. But Mindshaper Territory is trapped in an eternal winter.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is much to learn from the Angels, Ophelia.” He didn’t look at me as he said it though, attention shifting inside, trained again on the mural coating the ceiling of the study.
Thorn landed at the foot of the palace gates, his impact with the stone rattling the ground, and he cast a gust of wind to throw the gold bars wide. Even from here, I knew how icy that magic was. How the power of storms ran through his veins—through mine—that cord of Angellight reaching toward him now.
“It was Thorn?” I asked, pulling back the slippery, chilled magic.
“One day, long after that crown graced his brow and stole a piece of him in return, we pushed our brother too far. We tried to tear him from his underground labyrinth.” I thought of thewinding tunnels beneath Mindshaper Territory that the rebels had adopted as their haven. Ricordan, the man who sheltered us down there when we needed to hide from Kakias, told us Thorn had created the place. That he went mad, digging out the pit we’d eventually found his broken crown in.
Damien went on, “During his answering tantrum, Thorn sent a frostbitten gale across the continent. The rest of us were able to shield our lands, but that only concentrated the extreme might on his territory.
“We are not meant to dispel so much raw power at once, but Thorn…he was long past the rules. Lines had been driven between us hundreds of years prior. We had come back together to try to attend to him.”
“A tragedy,” I muttered.
“As I said,” Damien repeated, this time catching my eye, “there is much to learn from my kind.”
Angellight twirled around my hand, dancing up my arms. The warm kind that was a gift of the Angel on the balcony beside me, perhaps touched by a hint of Ptholenix’s fire to combat the chill Thorn’s sad history left across my skin.
Much to learn, indeed.
There were many things I needed to ask Damien. Why had he killed Annellius? Why had he led me down this path? So many truths that would not change history but might help me make sense of it. In this moment, though, it wasn’t what weighed on me the most.
“I refuse to be weak ever again, Damien.” I turned to him, and I swore his purple eyes danced with anticipation. “I want to learn to control my magic. And I”—my wings twitched—“ want to fly.”
“What does seraph magic do exactly?”I asked Damien as we stood on a secluded mountaintop just outside the Northern Quarter of Damenal the next day. The Revered’s Palace sat primly on its peak, overlooking the streets of the capital. Warriors went about their business as usual, but a nervous energy threaded through the city. Furtive glances over shoulders and quicker steps to return home, lest one of the less savory Angels sweep through the cobbled lanes.
Valyrie strolled among the shops, lavender ether swirling from her wings and making her impossible to miss. She’d been frequenting the markets, bringing back tapestries, artworks, clothing, jewelry, and Spirits knew what else.
Malakai had opted not to come with us, remaining in my study with Lucidius’s favored tomes to try to piece together false histories. So far, it had been a fruitless search, but we’d thought the same of his journals originally. Splitting from Malakai rooted a vulnerability in my gut that had me squirming—magic itching to be released.
