Page 101 of The Curse of Ophelia

There was a small part of me—and I was ashamed to admit this—that was relieved that he was gone. That this was all over.

That Ophelia had found me.

Ophelia…

I crossed to the iron doors of the balcony and eased them open. There she stood, the sun forming a pale halo around her head when she turned to me. Her face—which had been pinched in consternation—relaxed, the lines easing.

The smile that lifted her expression was an arrow to my heart, trying to forge a bead of happiness that I didn’t deserve. Bringing that smile to her face was something I would willingly die for, any day of my life. The knowledge that she lost it for so long because of my choice to leave haunted me.

Guilt rattled the cage, but I tucked every rotten emotion into my heart and imagined iron bars sealing across the damn thing.

I stepped onto the ledge and wrapped my arms around Ophelia. The tension was clear between us, but when I rested my cheek against her head, the light of this moment dulled the pain of the dark nights I spent in that cell. Each rise of my chest against her back was a silent patch to the wounds buried deep within my soul. It would take many stitches to heal them, but having her here was a start. I pressed a kiss to her temple, letting my eyes drift shut, and thanked the Spirits.

Yes, I could force away my emotions for the time being. I’d face everything later.

Ophelia wrapped her arms over my own, still wearing her torn training leathers. I supposed she would be needing official Mystique Warrior leathers now. When I said as much to her, she smiled and reminded me she had crafted her design over a decade ago in anticipation.

She’s finally receiving what she deserves, I thought, with only a dull shadow of jealousy. When she had described the pain she felt the last two years, it broke me more than any of the torture I suffered, but I locked that in the cage, as well.

I had thought that after I left she would be safe, but I had been wrong. She was not safe from herself.

I had hoped the others could make her happy. Tolek and Cypherion, Jezebel and Rina. But still she suffered. Never again would she hurt because of me. I pressed her to me as I made that silent promise and felt the beating of our hearts alternating between us.

“There is another thing that’s rightfully yours now,” I whispered into her hair as we watched a pair of birds soar over the mountains.

“You?” she asked dully.

“Until the stars stop shining,” I muttered, squeezing my arms around her. “But that’s not what I had in mind. The spear.”

She craned her neck to look me in the eyes. “Your spear,” she whispered, but it wasn’t a challenge. Simply a reminder of what had changed.

“Your spear,” I responded, assuring her with my gaze that there was no hostility behind my words.

It was rightfully hers. It had been all our lives. Her eyes searched my own before turning back around, and I hoped she saw everything I wanted to convey. That the spear, the position of the Revered, it was all hers. Even if it had truly been mine, I didn’t want it. I couldn’t after the truth of my father’s deceit.

“Do you have a name for it?” I asked, expecting her to say she needed time to wield the weapon before finding one that fit it.

She surprised me when she spoke immediately, in a far-off voice. “Angelborn.”

*

I stood atop the Mystique Mountains, gazing out the tall windows of an empty room in the Revered’s Palace overlooking the white marble temple below. The place where my father lay. Despite the evil he brought into the world, his body would be embalmed in the palace’s temple by the Master of Rites before being tossed into the volcano. It would be up to the Spirits to decide where he would go from there.

Thankfully, beyond saying goodbye with my mother once she arrived, I didn’t have to do anything.

From up here, the temple looked so small. Its steep staircase leading to a square structure surrounded by pillars could have been a plaything of children rather than a house of worship for the Angels. The columns appeared so feeble, capable of being broken by a breeze. Even the Revered’s Palace felt lackluster. With its sweeping walkways and endless lifeless rooms, all pale stone and white marble, it was a cold maze of hazy memories.

The one place that hadn’t felt void of life was the vaults beneath the palace. Built into the mountains, they’d held the Revered’s wealth for centuries. Ophelia and I had visited them, searching for an idea of what type of staffing she could appoint in the palace. With news of my father’s betrayal spreading, understanding of his corrupt rule dawning, more Mystiques were returning to Damenal, and Ophelia wanted to employ those she could.

Descending the stone staircases into the bowels of the mountains had felt ominous, like eyes lurked in the shadows, but the vaults themselves teemed with wealth. Gold littered every inch, shining in the mystlight.

The realization that my father had hid this in order to weaken Mystiques that could have been saved made me furious. I wanted to storm out of the palace, out of the city, and never return. Instead, I added the emotion to my cage.

Near-silent footsteps echoed on the marble, pulling me from the memory. Two sets of them. I forced a smile, but as their presence settled around me a sliver of tension lifted from my shoulders. I had forgotten how much I relied on their steady comfort prior to the treaty.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” I said without looking at Tolek and Cypherion as they stood on either side of me and beheld the world beyond.

The world that now stood at our feet to guard.

---