The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Ophelia

Tolek’s words landed as a knock echoed on the door to our dressing chamber, and everyone’s frolicking voices fell quiet. He stepped back, brows raised expectantly at me in the mirror.

“Going to answer that, Revered?” he purred.

My knees nearly wobbled, his promise still echoing, but I took a steadying breath and strode along the rows of jewel-crusted gowns, embroidered jackets, and Spirits knew what else. Jezebel, Erista, Malakai, Mila, Lyria, Santorina, and Ezalia popped out of the aisles one by one, joining us near the entrance with defensive expressions and warrior blades strapped across their fae clothing. Ezalia even had her bow in hand, the sharpened tips of her arrows peeking over her lace-clad shoulder. Lyria’s sword hung ready at her hip. As the Master of Weapons and Warfare, she took a step ahead of the others, many eyes flashing nervously to Santorina. But our human friend only gave me an encouraging nod.

My sister had clearly found the accessory collection, adorning herself in a number of heavy bracelets that complemented her silver-threaded gown, but nothing gleamed as brightly as the fierce spark in her eye as I marched toward the door. The gilded handle was much cooler than my heated blood, the glint of the flickering candlelight across the shining surface a reminder of where we were and who waited beyond these walls—of the act we needed to play.

Wrenching the door open, I raised the mask of Revered. “Hello.”

“Revered Alabath,” the dark-skinned fae flashed a pointed grin. “My, do our styles suit you.”

He leaned against the door jam, his high collar, breeches, and boots not suited to his casual demeanor.

“And you are?” I asked.

“Brystin,” he replied with a cruel twist of his words. “Bry to those I favor.”

“Brystin, then,” I said. Behind me, Tolek laughed, and the fae male’s attention snapped to him.

Something in those light-brown eyes heated as they assessed Tol, who stood patiently at my shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back. A challenge perhaps. A playful but lethal threat.

A growl nearly rumbled up my throat as the male’s secret-shielding smile flashed again. “What are you considering?” I asked.

Brystin did not answer, but his gaze swept back to me, lingering on the tight bodice strangling my ribs. “Of the two of you, you might be the harder one to fight.”

Not a direct answer to my question, but that was expected. The fae couldn’t lie—not outright. Spinning tricks and devising avoidances were their ways around those rules.

“I’d love for you to find out,” I murmured with false sweetness. “But I wouldn’t want to keep your queen waiting.”

Brystin stepped back, extending a hand toward the hall, and when he smiled again, I got the sense that blood could have dripped from the tips of his teeth.

“We are honored to receive you, Revered. And your lovely court.” His stare raked over each of us as we filed into the hall, and my heels sank into the thick emerald rugs resembling jeweled moss creeping across the marble floors. Mora waited beside the candelabras, looking us all over with quiet satisfaction.

As Mora and Brystin led the way to the queen’s audience chamber, Tolek muttered softly to Lyria about not taking any wine we were offered, to which the commander nodded impatiently. Warrior and human bedtime tales alike told of the risks of faerie drinks. I swallowed the reminder and hoped the rest of our party had been forewarned, too.

Malakai and Mila stepped up to Brystin. “Are you a member of the queen’s guard?” Malakai asked.

The male smiled savagely, and my skin crawled. “For nearly two centuries now—though I’m the youngest and most promising.”

Mila asked, “What secured you such a coveted spot?”

“My tracking abilities and methods for extraction of pertinent information are creative, and my queen adores creativity.”

My skin chilled. As their conversation continued, Brystin answered each question with a slight twist of his words I was certain Malakai noticed.

I fell back a few steps, taking up Mora’s side.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“One of the queen’s most prominent guards.” I thought a bit of disdain hid in her tone.

“Why would she send him to escort us, then?”

“Do you not send your most trusted advisors on the most precious of missions?”

As we wound through gilded hallways, bloodied fae art adorning the walls, my mind flashed to Cypherion, my Second, on an excursion I trusted only him to carry out.

But we were in the queen’s palace—or at least, a temporary one somehow erected here. Could she not simply send any lowly soldier to escort us? Why one of her personal guards?

Mora’s expression remained impassive. Much more guarded than when I’d first met her.

I dropped my voice so even Brystin wouldn’t hear. “Why did you hide in the inn?”

Mora tilted her head, smiling endearingly. “I was not supposed to be trailing my brother. I certainly wasn’t going to reveal myself to him. That was a surprise.”

“You’re welcome for keeping you on your toes,” I said. “Was the story you told me true?” At Wayward, Mora had been pretending to be a battered wife, and I’d wanted so badly to help her.

“It was,” she whispered, keeping that small smile up. “A very long time ago.”

There was a story beneath her words, one laced with pain and the strength of a survivor. And something entwined within it tugged on my instinct to trust her, despite the fact that she was our treaty-born enemy.

“You’ve done well since then?”

“Very well,” she said, chin lifting. “Better than his rotting self.”

And I got the sense she meant rotting literally. “Good,” I said.

Mora nodded in agreement and strolled ahead quietly, shrewd stare on Brystin.

I slowed my stride, falling back to the middle of our group between Rina and Tolek, away from prying fae ears. “Are you all right?” I asked Santorina.

“Fine.” But her voice was much too high to be honest.

“Santorina…” I whispered.

“I’m focusing on my task with the humans and studying my healing practice,” she said stiffly. “I’m proud to be able to represent the strength of a human force against the fae.”

“Rina,” I said even quieter, and she deflated a bit, “you can talk to us.”

“It’s—” Santorina’s hands curled in the fabric of her deep purple gown—the shade was so dark it was nearly black. The shining onyx trim framing the bodice and weaving throughout the skirts shimmered as we passed under another wide candle-lit chandelier. “It’s not the queen I’m worried about. She’s tied to the treaty with the warriors through some sort of magic. Her court may not be, but it’s a small comfort knowing the queen cannot harm me upon meeting her.”

“What is it, then?” Tolek asked.

But when Rina’s lips pressed into a line, I answered for her, “Lancaster.”

Santorina nearly growled at the fae’s name, the guards sparing us a glance at the inhuman sound. “You mean that cursed faerie who tried to kill me and then had the nerve to make bargains with both of you?”

I exchanged a guilt-laden look with Tolek. Though we’d talked to Rina extensively about our bargain with the fae, it was a sensitive topic.

Tolek’s hand slid into mine. He blamed himself, but those bargains got us a place to hide in Mindshaper Territory during the war, and it brought Lancaster and Mora to our aid against Kakias.

Besides, Lancaster had healed Dax when he was within an inch of his life. Rina’s anger was entirely justified—I was angry, too—but we’d needed the fae more than once.

“Neither of us have forgiven him for what he tried to do to you,” Tolek growled.

“And if he ever touches you again, I will cut off both of his hands,” I swore.

“Go a step further,” Tol encouraged. “His tongue, his cock, whatever the male favors, it’ll be gone in a heartbeat if he steps out of line.”

That had Santorina laughing, but tension still framed her expression.

“If that fae dares to touch me again, I’ll take care of that last one myself.” And there was an inferno in her eyes as she said it, one burning as hot as the Spirit Fire itself.

As fierce as a warrior’s heart.

I whispered, “Got your dagger?”

Rina flashed me a wicked grin. “Always.”

We may not have brought every weapon in our arsenal as a show of the smallest sliver of peace, but a few blades were not mistrusting. They were simply smart. And would the queen wish to confer with unwise rulers?

Starfire and Angelborn warmed as if in agreement.

“Now, let’s try to keep it out of Lancaster’s neck,” I mumbled, following the others down a set of grand stairs.

Heels and boots echoed on marble, nearly drowning Rina’s next words. “Something tells me we’re only running toward that fate.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, and I didn’t get a chance to ask, because we arrived at the grand wooden doors to the audience chamber, the arched frame stretching twenty feet high, and I strode to the front of the group.

As Mora and Brystin pushed them open, I slammed up my mask of Revered. Angellight whirled in my veins, providing silent strength. I lifted my chin, pressed my shoulders back, and assumed the aura of the ruler of the Mystique Warriors.

At the far end of the chamber, upon a regal, gilded throne carved with roses and their jagged thorns, a faerie brimming with power rose to her feet.

“Welcome, warriors.” She spread her arms, a silver chalice in hand, her red gown coiled tightly around her. “This meeting has been waiting in the eons.”

Queen Ritalia, the bloodthirsty monarch of the fae, grinned at me with nothing but immortal grace as I strode into the chamber with my council. An ancient gold diadem crusted in rubies sat above her high forehead as she beckoned us.

Tolek remained at my right, assuming the place of my Second until Cypherion arrived. Hopefully we’d finish these discussions quickly, before that mattered.

Santorina stood behind us, Mila and Malakai on either side of her, and Ezalia was on my left. Jezebel, Erista, and Lyria filled in our last line. We marched to the center of the audience chamber, stopping before the steps to the throne.

A string quartet played a dreary tune in the corner, and every attendee’s movements seemed to flow to the music as we stopped walking. Fae gathered in clusters around the room, muttering so low, their words were nothing more than eerie whispers. Behind the throne, velvet drapes swayed against the wall ever so slightly.

“Seraph Child,” Queen Ritalia said, and my attention whipped toward her, Angellight flaring in my veins. Brystin, Mora, and Lancaster took up positions behind her throne. “How I have been so curious of you for some time now.” The queen’s words slipped between a snow-white smile. Her eyes, green as the stems of the roses lining her halls, assessed me as I did her.

Curious of you . Not happy to meet you , or even waiting to . Simply curious.

“And I have wondered about you, Your Majesty.”

Ritalia’s head tilted, her hair piled atop it shifting like a nest of golden snakes. “What is it that you’ve wondered?”

“What you are doing here, most prudently.”

She waved her chalice. “A matter we will get to after our welcome.”

“In that case, I believe your welcome is better addressed by the ruler of this territory,” I said, directing my attention to my left.

When we’d first arrived here and wandered around that cliff bend to find the palace perched above the sea, heat had flamed behind Ezalia’s sea glass eyes. It returned again as the queen’s attention fell to her.

“Might it?” Ritalia asked, sipping her wine. Not a drop of the maroon liquid stained her teeth. The unnatural, gleaming white smile worked a shiver down my spine.

“Ezalia Ridgebrook,” the chancellor said, “leader of the fourth minor clan of the Gallantian Warriors, the loyal followers of his Prime Gaveny, Seawatcher. And the rightful ruler of the isle we now inhabit.”

From atop her throne, Queen Ritalia looked down her nose at Ezalia. The condescension skittered beneath my skin, and I had to clench my hands in the folds of my gown to stifle the Angellight pushing at my fingertips. The ridiculous skirts were good for one thing.

Tolek cast me a subtle, wary look as Ritalia said, “Pleasure.”

“You are very welcome for hosting you,” Ezalia said.

“I do not recall thanking you.”

“I know.” I hid my smirk at Ezalia’s words, the others shuffling behind us, and the chancellor went on, “Might I ask how this beautiful palace is here? Given it was not only a few weeks ago.”

Ritalia seemed utterly satisfied by that question, a gleeful smile flicking up her lips. “You find our magic impressive, then.”

I started because that wasn’t what Ezalia had said, and the queen was not supposed to be able to lie. Tolek met my gaze from the corner of his eye, and I knew we were both considering it. But I shook my head, communicating in our silent way that apparently it did not matter whether what the queen said was true, only that she believed it to be true.

And as a conqueror who held her throne for centuries, she had learned how to twist others’ words and digest them as truth. To her, us lowly warriors were enthralled with fae magic.

“We are quite curious,” I cut in.

“Did you create it?” Erista asked, scanning the decor. The bright tattoos on her palms glinted in the candlelight as she gestured toward the elaborate details, candelabras dripping in rubies, and her full dusk-colored skirt shifted. “You must have, right?”

“Not I,” Ritalia said, and her gaze landed on Mora and Lancaster. “A glam and a crete are poisonous weapons to have on hand.”

“A crete?” Santorina gasped. With her and Lancaster’s attention locked, every warrior present shifted into a defensive stance. Angelborn pulsed against my spine.

“What’s a crete?” Jezebel asked.

Ritalia’s eyes snagged on my sister, a flicker of something predatory and curious flashing through her stare. Both Jez and Erista stiffened at the attention, the latter shifting a step closer. My hand fisted at my side, and Tolek’s slipped atop it, discreetly unknotting the tension.

“The young Mistress,” Ritalia said, drawing out that word as she scanned Jezebel’s silver gown and jewels, “requires an explanation.”

“A crete is a branch of power for our kind,” Lancaster said, voice stony as always. “It means I can conjure something out of nothing.”

Silence fell across every warrior as that revelation sank in. My mind skipped back to when I’d collided with Lancaster in the Wayward Inn and how he’d mysteriously refilled his glass without needing to rise from the table.

“When we battled Kakias,” Tolek said, “you dragged items out of the air as if it was nothing.”

In the rush of Ricordan’s manor and Sapphire and the Spirit Realm and everything that had followed, I’d forgotten about the powers the fae had displayed.

“And you,” I addressed Mora, “a glam refers to glamour, correct?”

In an instant, Mora’s facial features shifted to a near replica of my own. Around the audience chamber, everyone jumped. “Correct,” the female answered in her voice, not mine.

“Not a perfect illusion, then?” Malakai said.

Ritalia glared at him as she answered, “As near perfect as any fae to ever grace my lands, Star Tied One.”

I narrowed my eyes on the queen at her nickname.

That was the reason Mora was in this court, then. Why Ritalia kept the siblings around. Their deep wealth of power.

I swept the rest of Ritalia’s court. What other threats lurked within?

“There are slight differences,” Tolek said, looking between Mora and me. He didn’t seem to notice Ritalia’s stare narrowing on him, but I took a step closer. “The eyes are a giveaway.”

I leaned forward, squinting with the little aid of the candlelight. Mora’s likeness of my odd magenta eyes—a mark of the Angelcurse—were a deep purple, almost brown.

The female shrugged. “Nothing can be perfectly mimicked.”

It was unsettling to see myself out of a mirror. Another fae trick to be aware of. Pushing my shoulders back and stepping forward, I tried not to grind my teeth.

“You two built this entire palace?” I asked as Mora shifted back into herself, a bit of reluctant awe slipping between my words. The ceilings towered impossibly high and ivy twined up the stone columns between the windows, cooling the sun piercing the glass.

“We did,” Mora confirmed. The pride she’d displayed when she showed us to our dressing chamber resurfaced. Much of this place was only a glamour, then. Perhaps the decor? Lancaster had crafted the foundation beneath our boots out of nothing, and Mora adorned it with an impression of wealth.

The palace was elaborate. No wonder they’d been waiting here for the queen for so long. They likely needed days to recover after selecting the location and crafting it.

“That is very impressive,” I told them despite the discomfort that level of magic planted in my gut. When I turned to Ritalia, her smile only fanned it. If these were merely her guards, what depths did the queen’s powers stretch to?

“How diplomatic of you,” she said and took another sip of wine.

“I give accolades where they are due.” I nodded at Lancaster and Mora. “These two helped save our lives. We are here under pleasant circumstances, are we not?” I asked.

“Indeed, Seraph Child. Pleasant for those of us on this earthly plane.” Ritalia assessed me, but before I could untangle those words, she declared, “You would have made a triumphant queen, Revered Alabath.”

I inclined my head, and the quartet in the corner increased the speed of their tune. “You must be confused. Warriors do not honor queens.”

“Don’t they?”

The reminder of Kakias flashed in her stare. That she knew our business so intimately and was so comfortable wielding it against us.

She was picking us apart like carrion, even as we stood as honored guests in her halls. With every evaluating glance, every twisted turn of phrase, she was storing more and more slivers of us within her vaulted mind.

Every time she turned her eyes on another one of my party, my ire flamed. It only fanned it more that I had to behave . We were at such a disadvantage, thanks to the bargains and the unknowns of the fae’s magic. I couldn’t play the queen’s games at her level for fear of how she’d react.

Did she have soldiers in boats heading toward Gallantia, ready to disturb the peace of those serene Western Outposts despite the truce? Did she have fae with abilities beyond Lancaster and Mora, with eyes trained on us? And did the tempo of the music increase as I spun questions in my head, or was I imagining it?

One wrong move from me could have her rewriting history. Have her saying my people crossed a line in the treaty if she truly believed it herself.

“May I ask, Your Majesty,” I began, tempering my anger, “what intel have you gathered about your mission on our continent?” A subtle reminder that we’d known Lancaster had been on our land, but because he had been under instructions to play nicely with warrior leaders—and because we’d had battles among our own kind—we did not call her on the violation of the treaty.

But we could.

I shifted my hips so the slit Jezebel added to my dress flashed my thigh—and the dagger strapped to it.

A war could so easily be flipped in this very chamber if Ritalia wished.

“Studying the magic,” she said frugally.

“And what were the findings?” I asked.

“You would think them interesting.” Ritalia danced around the answer. “Things of gods twisting through the universes, dancing among realms. Of legends falling from the sky and painting the fields with deep crimson blessed by beings of winged might.”

I picked it apart, each tidbit of information she hid within her words, buried so that us warriors would have to work to decipher what she meant. Gods and realms. Legends and blood. Winged might?—

“But there is something more prudent to your arrival here, Revered Alabath,” Ritalia said. The music’s tempo increased, grating on my skin.

“Is there?” I asked. To me, there wasn’t. I was here for three reasons: keep the fae away from Gallantia, ask questions of the gods, and appease the bargain.

The bargain .

If Ritalia’s smile was any indication, she knew the moment I recalled the threat. My palms burned with Angellight.

“You made a deal with one of my own, and surely you knew something would have to come of that.” Ritalia swirled her wine, the red liquid coming to the lip of the chalice with every pivot. “There is an abundance of Bounties seated among us, is there not?”

“Bounties?” Lancaster’s deep voice rumbled through the room, a threat chilling it.

My head whipped in his direction, only for his eyes to lock on Rina. His nostrils flared.

Then, in a fit of rage, Lancaster exploded where he stood.