Page 103 of The Curse of Ophelia

I was picturing the feel of the leather against my skin so vividly that I missed Jezebel’s rambling. “Ophelia? Are you in there?” she asked as she unfolded from her position on the lavender chaise—her favorite in her chambers, even though it was in the dressing room—and approached me. Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

I turned as Divina instructed and looked down at my sister. “Sorry, what was that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Daydreaming again?” But her lips quirked up in a smile, and I knew she was relieved with the shift in my mood over the past few days. Even more relieved when she had learned that the Curse we had feared was taking my life was in fact a farce, brought about by the Angels. She had burned the note I gave her before the Undertaking—dropped it into the mouth of the Spirit Volcano when I told her what Damien had admitted. We’d watched it turn to ash while questions lingered between us.

Jezebel toyed with her necklace’s pendant where it fell to her chest. “I said Father will be here in a few days.”

My stomach sank. “He will.” And he would be sequestered with the other Mystique Council members until they could be questioned about aligning with Lucidius. We fell into a contemplative silence, neither voicing the possibility of what that would mean.

“How did you feel after it? The Undertaking?” Jezebel asked, reaching up to fiddle with the ends of my hair.

I considered, unsure where she was heading. “I felt…whole. Like a piece of me had been fulfilled. And I felt powerful.”

She pursed her lips but was silent.

“How did you feel?” I asked, turning back to face the mirror and running a hand through the fringed fabric along my thighs.

She bit her lip for a moment before speaking, and tension radiated from her. “I was underwhelmed,” she admitted. Jezebel’s tawny eyes met my magenta, our faces so similar, but our insides so different. “I thought I would feel as you did, but I did not.” She paused, and I allowed her the time to gather her thoughts. The only sound in the room was Divina’s stitching. “Something within me shifted, and I believe that was the moment you are describing. Like a spring that had coiled in my gut all my life finally sprung free, but it was not fulfilling as you said. Like perhaps this piece of me that I gained was not the piece I sought.”

“You are a full warrior now, Jezzie.” I placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned her face up to mine. For a moment, she looked so young—so uncertain. A girl with questions on her heart and dreams in her mind. “You have fulfilled that piece of yourself. Now, we can find the other pieces you feel are missing.”

She smiled softly and leaned her cheek against my hand, soft hair falling across my arm. “I think they may be far off, yet.”

“How far may that be?” My heart jumped, afraid of what she would say next.

Our eyes locked. “I am unsure, sister, but perhaps very far indeed.”

*

“Are you ready?” Malakai’s head peered around the door of our dressing chamber, his freshly trimmed black hair falling around his face. It still curled in messy tendrils, but the few inches we sheared off after our ordeal seemed to take some of the memories with them. Jezebel had enjoyed cutting it so much that she’d insisted on Cyph letting her do his, as well. Tolek had threatened to draw his dagger if she came anywhere near his precious hair.

Malakai’s eyes lit up when they landed on me—almost like they used to. The subtle shift inflated my heart. “Ophelia…” he whispered with awe in his voice, coming to stand beside me in front of the mirror. The tension between us took a reprieve.

He ran a hand across my collarbone, over the leather strap around my shoulder, and down my arm, taking in the beauty Divina had crafted. A chill followed in the wake of his fingers, my skin reacting to his touch like lightning shooting through my veins. His path lingered on the tattoo on my arm, then the scars below, drawing delicate circles over the permanent marks with his thumb as if he could brush them away.

His gaze traced the warm brown leather framing my chest in a heart-shaped neckline, parting low between my breasts, with a panel extending down over the greater part of my rib cage. My stomach was bare to expose the three long, white scars that wrapped themselves around my waist. A proud reminder of what I suffered for our people.

The skirt began below the scars, a thick leather belt holding Starfire. “Stars?” Malakai asked, tracing the design imprinted in the belt. Four tiny ones building to a final larger one with four main points and smaller beams between them. My own personal constellation.

“The North Star.” I smiled up at him as his fingers brushed over the biggest star, nestled beside Starfire. “A last addition I asked Divina to include.”

His bewildered smile nearly took my breath away as he eyed the skirt beneath the belt, strips of leather forming a fan around my thighs. As I moved, they spun out around me, lifting slightly. Perfect for the range of motion I would need.

The whole outfit was designed with purpose—to show off the sacrifices that proved my worth and also allow the freedom I required. Divina had suggested adding golden wristbands, but I denied them, wanting all of my scars on display. When Rina saw the leathers, she’d asked if I should require more coverage, to protect myself.

“I do not plan on needing protection,” I’d responded simply. Besides, should a true battle loom, I could don full leather garb and gilded armor.

I finished lacing up the knee-high boots Divina made to complete the outfit, and strapped Angelborn across my back before turning in a circle for Malakai, my hair flowing out behind me. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face as I watched my dream take shape.

Malakai’s hands settled on my shoulders, fastening the sky-blue cloak without breaking his gaze from my eyes, our mouths so close I could feel his breath against my lips. Unable to help myself, I reached up and brushed the unruly hair from his forehead, appreciating the unfathomable softness of it under my fingers.

He is here, I reminded myself for the hundredth time. We survived.

I caught his gaze with my own, a flicker of pain flowing through his green eyes, and my stomach dropped. Tension coated the air between us, a stark reminder of what he had suffered—what we had suffered, I had to keep reminding myself—and the broken pieces resting inside of us. Shards of glass poised to issue fatal punctures with one misstep.

I shrugged out of his grasp, needing a breath of my own air. In the same moment, Malakai banished that echo of hurt from his eyes. We did what we’d become so adept at: ignoring our pain.

The anger between us had not vanished, but it gave way to this moment. Instead, we watched the fabric trailing behind me catch the light, shimmering like the crystal surface of the sea, and emphasizing the blue threading within my leathers. The color of our people. A sign of hope for us both.

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