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

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ophelia

The reek of death clung to the air, snaking up the stairway descending into the catacombs. Not the grotesque scents of loosened bowels or the iron tang of bloody wounds that smothered the battlefields. No, this was different. This was the musty odor of sordid things long locked beneath the earth. The cloying, assaulting influx of a wooden crate cracked open only to be stuffed with spoiled, rotten truths.

It was unnatural and wrong. A denied decaying.

“Tread carefully, Mystique,” Lancaster whispered in a voice that spoke of centuries of understandings of the world around us. “Things not meant to be disturbed are below these grounds.”

“How do you know?” Santorina muttered. I searched the darkness creeping up the stairs.

Where the dead rest , Tolek had read from the scrolls.

It was Mora who answered, the ornate hilts of her twin short swords peeking over her shoulders. “I can feel them. They are…displeased.”

“Exactly how I like haunted spirits to be.” I sighed.

It was only a resting place, though. If spirits lingered, they could not harm us.

Perhaps I should have brought Jezebel as opposed to the fae or Santorina, who stood between Mora and me. But Jezebel and Erista were staying with the khrysaor and Sapphire, prepared with our belongings in case something went wrong and we needed an escape. And she was guarding the emblems—all but Damien’s which hung around my neck.

“How has your magic been faring?” Lancaster muttered.

Terror from the inn earlier snaked between my ribs. “I won’t be using it.”

He growled, “Mystique?—”

“It attacked my sister,” I snapped, glaring up at him. “It attacked Jezebel.” With the voice of the Revered, I added, “I’m not touching it.”

Lancaster evaluated me. “You may not have a choice.”

“Did the scrolls mention anything about what specifically waits down there?” Rina asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“Only that the dead of Valyrie’s chosen warriors are entombed below. It was an honor to be buried in the Prime Starsearcher’s crypt.” One bestowed upon few throughout history, not even chancellors.

“Lovely,” Rina deadpanned. But she threw her shoulders back, long ponytail swinging down her spine and night-black leathers hugging her frame.

I’d had reserves about her accompanying us, but Santorina had trained hard. She was a skilled fighter, and as she’d so confidently put it, “ What if you injure yourself like you often do?”

I told her the Angellight I could summon was enough to heal me, but she didn’t trust the magic. And I trusted her more than any Angel, even if the light was threaded into my being.

So, she was here, the fae flanking us on either side, our guards on this trial.

I wished they were Tolek and Cypherion, but Harlen had been right in his strategy. Out of all of us, Cyph was going to be the most watched in this city. Titus knew we were here; it wasn’t about hiding our presence so much as evading his notice. Hoping Barrett kept his attention elsewhere.

And the two of them were much better use in that fighting den tonight.

Swallowing the fear twisting through my chest at the many ways this plan could go wrong, I evaluated the archway framing the catacomb entrance. The cream-colored stones were aged and porous, a layer of dark moss creeping up the sides. Across the top, carvings had been dulled by the centuries, but they were visible in the mystlight lamps hanging on either side of the stairway.

“Can you tell what it says?” I asked, pressing onto my toes.

“It’s Endasi,” Mora answered beside me, her voice clear and out of place with the haunting presence twirling up the stairs. “Something about the fates of the Angel’s tributes.”

Exactly as the scrolls implied. I shivered at the many travesties that could have befallen them.

“Did they die down there?” Rina asked.

“Perished or were punished,” Lancaster mused. “Doesn’t matter. That’s where they are now. We’re only wasting precious minutes, and the Engrossians will already be with Titus.”

Which meant Malakai and Mila would be attempting to breach the manor soon. Our time was now.

“At least Harlen was right,” I said, taking a step forward so my boots toed the edge of the descent. “There aren’t guards stationed here.”

Lancaster grunted, his many long knives glinting. “That implies that what’s inside is too ghastly for a patrol to be necessary.”

As if in response to his words, a chill wind whipped from below, wrapping the musty odor around us, but I clung to every bit of confidence it tried to drag from my body, warmed myself with the light of the Angels, and smirked over my shoulder at the fae. “Good thing we’re more deadly than what rests beneath.”

Without waiting for a reply, I stepped to the top of the stairs and descended into the catacombs.