Page 4 of The Legacy of Ophelia
My chest seized, a sob catching in my throat.
Never again.
I would not be their puppet. I would not condemn warriors to bend to the whims of gods who had abandoned us. I would not be weak in the face of their schemes.
“Malakai?” I croaked, fingers curling against the sweat-damp sheets. Angels, it hurt. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, and I gritted my teeth against the tremors seizing my muscles.
Malakai’s breath shuddered, hands gripping the edge of the mattress. “Yeah, Phel?”
And as fire ravaged my body, as salty tears stained the bed, as a stray, sticky feather brushed my skin and my entire being flinched, I whispered, “I’m going to make them all burn.”
Chapter Three
Malakai
“I’m goingto make them all burn.”
She could barely force the words out, but there was nothing but malice in Ophelia’s croaking voice. And I swore Angellight flashed behind her vacant stare. A power so mighty, so Spiritsdamned terrifying, it held the potential to incinerate the whole of Ambrisk.
And though Echnid was a god, though seven Angels roamed the halls of this palace under his thumb, there was such conviction in Ophelia’s voice that I thought she just might turn them all to ash.
The door creaked open, but in her vengeful, fevered stupor, Ophelia didn’t notice. I met a pair of glowing purple eyes through the crack, gold light filtering into the room from his powerful wings.
“Yeah, Ophelia,” I agreed, holding Damien’s stare over her body. “You fucking are.”
“Damien,”I whispered, less reverent than I once would have been.
I pulled the door to Ophelia’s bedchamber against the frame, not shutting it all the way. She’d quickly fallen back asleep after I forced a few sips of water down her throat, but I wanted to be there when she woke again.
Plus, I didn’t trust these fucking Angels to not flash into existence wherever they wanted, including her private quarters. At least the one before me now had the decency to use the door, even if he didn’t bother to knock.
“Former heir,” Damien greeted me.
I bit back a growl at the name. “What the fuck is happening to her?”
Damien’s feathers ruffled, his chest heaving. “I do not know.”
“What do—” I cut off my shout, peeking into Ophelia’s room to make sure I hadn’t woken her. She slept soundly, wings crimson-tinged and splayed on the bed beside her. I’d tried to clean them as best I could when we arrived—in the Revered’s Palace of all places—but every touch had her crying out in agony until she’d fallen unconscious.
Tamping down my anger, I faced the Mystique Prime Warrior again. He stood with sandals on the marble floor, a sight that still took me by surprise every time one of these immortal bastards showed up. That they walked as mere warriors did, not always floating or beating those imposing wings through the halls, though, they certainly did that, too.
I took a breath. “What do you mean you don’t know what’s happening to her?”
“It is…unprecedented.” His jaw ticked.
“She haswings,” I hissed. “Of course, that isunprecedented, but whatdoyou know?”
“Has the power slipped again?”
Again. Two nights ago, a flash of lightning had shot from Ophelia’s body and splintered the window, wild and trying to escape. She hadn’t even woken when it happened. If anything, she’d seemed to sleep more peacefully afterward.
“Stop avoiding my fucking questions,” I growled, taking a step toward Damien.
“Stop avoiding mine, son of the valiant.”
I ignored his twisted, purposeless titles. The Angels were as bad as the fae queen sometimes. “Last night. She had…I don’t know, a nightmare or something. The entire room felt like it was on fire. And the light”—sweat beaded on my skin at the memory of the living inferno that had wrapped the walls—“oranges and reds, the very center bright blue.”
“The Firebird,” Damien muttered of the Bodymelder Angel, Ptholenix.
