Page 92 of The Legacy of Ophelia
He laid on his back on a small bed roll, blanket pulled down to his hips and all of his proud scars on display. My eyes snaggedon the one from the catacombs, when he’d been impaled with a cypher stake, and I’d spent hours removing the splinters. Even all these months later, I remembered how warm his skin felt beneath my bloodied hands. How his muscles had flexed, and his low voice grated against my memory. He’d seemed in such pain over the way Ritalia controlled him and his sister.
He is still learning what this new world means.
And as I watched this male study the stars in a territory of his enemies, I thought perhaps, if we fought our way out, it wouldn’t be such a bad new world after all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Malakai
Milaand I rode through the dunes surrounding Xenovia at top speed.
Well, as fast as Ombratta and Luna would deign to go in the sand. Spirits, I’d missed my horse. And even if the sand wasn’t her preference, being out here now, beneath the afternoon sun, was the kind of freedom I’d craved while in Damenal. No chains, no threats, just Mila’s pealing laughter and the way it rolled along my bones.
Each day, I was healing a little more. I’d pulled myself back from the dead before; the physical and soul-level pain of the myth magic was nothing in comparison.
Thick gray clouds rolled across the desert beyond the city, but the sun beat down on the Soulguider capital. As we tore around the borders between cyphers and cacti, Ombratta seemed to flourish, too.
“Come on, Warrior Prince! I have something to show you,” Mila called, voice trailing on the wind with her braid. And for a beat, I forgot about war and gods and realms, and I just followed the girl I loved with my shadow horse.
We stoppedwhere a network of thin streams converged among stony fields of cacti, shimmering waters lacing through the desert like they were woven by some ancient, monstrous hand. Like Artale herself had painted them when her demigoddess daughter became the Angel.
“The Spirit streams?” I asked Mila as we dismounted and approached the central point of this cluster of waterways.
“Mm-hmm, I found this patch recently,” Mila hummed, crouching beside the water. “All leading back to the Gates of Angeldust.”
“Have you visited the one in Xenovia?” I asked, sitting beside her.
She was quiet for a moment, then she shook her head. “I was afraid of what I’d find.”
All Gates of Angeldust had a heart, a well of deep magic flooded with the power of the Spirit Rivers. It came from beneath the ground, a source connected to the Mystique Mountains, but the rivers gushing through the Gates branched out into streams all across the deserts. It was these networks the Soulguiders used to escort spirits home. This magic Mila succumbed to when she was swept under the current and knocked unconscious.
I scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Do you feel anything?”
I sure as shit didn’t, but my stare flicked between her and the streams, studying both. It was just a misty layer of water to me, the sand dark at the bottom. Mila’s gaze shifted about the slow tide, searching for something.
“The visions are more concrete around the waters,” she admitted. “I can’t summon them at will, but I’m able to see more.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“The few times they’ve been the most vibrant have been when I was near fountains that were fed from the Spirit Rivers as opposed to other sources of water.” She blinked a few times as she trailed a delicate hand through the very edge of the stream. “And?—”
A voice sliced over the dunes, hauntingly high and otherworldly. “Mistress of myths beyond the walls…”
Mila and I both shot to our feet, the streams forgotten. In the distance, a woman floated about the desert, her pristine white dress flowing around her and making my heart race. My skin burned with the memory of myth magic.
She was wandering away from us, away from Xenovia. Like she’d just left the capital. From here, we were partially shielded by the cacti jutting six feet into the air.
“Is that…” Mila began.
“Yes,” I answered, swallowing the riot of fear in my fucking throat. “One of Echnid’s. Is that who you and Tolek saw?”
“I think so.” Mila dared a step forward, peering around the plants. Then she gasped, and her eyes became glassy.
“Fucking realms,” I muttered. Those visions had the best fucking timing. Cupping her cheek, I shuffled us toward the horses and turned her to face me. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she said, voice haunted. “But I can see other things.” She squeezed her eyes shut, like she was trying to fight through it.
“What things?” I held her closer, pressing her palm to my chest, letting my heart beat against her so she knew I was here. We were still here.
