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

Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Santorina

“These Godsdamned splinters are in deep,” I grunted, tilting my head so the mystlight could illuminate Lancaster’s wound further. All the torn flesh and exposed muscle, gleaming red.

When had I become so desensitized to it? To the way blood shone against my skin—even that of my enemies. Perhaps it was when my friends and I first left Palerman. That cataclysmic shift that had occurred within all of us on the journey, preparing us for the people we were meant to become.

Or perhaps it was even earlier, when the war had swept through our home. When it had been my parents’ blood on my hands.

It should have unsettled me. Even now, it didn’t.

No, now, after carefully—painstakingly—finding the many, many minuscule splinters in Lancaster’s wound for an hour, the work was rhythmic. Like a beat beneath my skin to operate to.

I tweaked a particularly brutal shaving of the cypher spear, and the fae stiffened.

My eyes snapped up. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” he said brusquely. “If you can get them out so they stop blocking my magic, I’ll heal the rest myself.”

I scowled at his tone, but one look at the gash in his side and the remaining slivers of wood impacting his magic had me biting back my retort.

Still…I jerked the next splinter from his side, and he hissed. I flashed a small, saccharine smile in response. “That one was in deep.”

Lancaster only glowered. Mora was resting upstairs, under Celissia’s care. If I helped Lancaster, perhaps together we could all restore Mora.

With them gone, though, and having sent everyone else to bed for the evening, the emptiness of the dining room was a weight on my chest. Every plink of my supplies or shift of Lancaster pretending his stifled magic wasn’t a pain was thunderous.

“How does your healing magic work?” I asked, more to fill the silence than anything, the routine of fishing out the splinters now steady.

“It’s an innate force in the fae,” he answered in that bored, flat tone. “To use it on a wound such as this or from a knife is simple. You only imagine the injury being stitched together, and it is done.”

“Is that how you healed Dax, then? When Kakias attacked him at Ricordan’s manor?”

“Yes, though that wound was inflicted with something much more lethal than a dagger. That time, I had to pull out the toxins. Deadly enough ones that a fae of typical power wouldn’t have been able to heal it.”

Arrogant prick . Of course, he had some deep wealth of magic. I was loathe to admit Dax only lived because of this immortal creature and that seemingly endless power.

“Why is yours so much stronger?” I asked, shifting so the light hit a new area of the wound, a dozen fresh ash-white splinters illuminated.

“My what?”

“Your magic.”

Lancaster stiffened, and my gaze shot up. His eyes were narrowed on me. I straightened, wiping my hands. “Why is your magic—and your sister’s—so much more powerful than a typical fae?”

He dragged his tongue over his teeth. Ground his jaw. And?—

“Why aren’t you answering, Lancaster?”

Nothing beyond his nostrils flaring as I said his name and hatred pooling in his dark eyes.

“It’s related to the Gods and Goddesses you’re blocked from speaking of.” Somehow, the fae siblings’ magic was connected to them. That was an interesting fact I’d have to tell Ophelia later. It was also one to be wary of, given we still didn’t know how the gods were involved here.

I continued my questions, seeing what he was able to say. “Does fae healing magic work on things like disease? Or common illnesses?”

Lancaster relaxed a touch. “My kind does not suffer from them, and we haven’t been around humans in the correct capacity to test it.”

Because when they were, the humans were chattel to them . I tempered that response. He could talk about the magic, but not its origins. “Is healing considered a unique gift?”

“You have many questions,” he dismissed.

“I worked hard to hone my skills. To become reliable and trustworthy with the lives of others.” As my mother was , I didn’t add. I wouldn’t give him that piece of information. “I only wonder if what I worked so hard to do comes naturally to your kind.”

“For most, yes. To small extents usually, but Mora and I are fortunate that healing runs in our family line.” His words were tight, but it appeared he was trying to force them out. To share something. “We have stronger abilities than most in addition to our own unique gifts.”

Blessed by the Goddess. We’d have to figure out what that meant exactly.

I plucked another small splinter from his side, the ridiculous number of muscles across his abdomen flinching. “I’ve gotten most of the large ones out,” I said.

Lancaster grunted as if to say I have nothing but time and reclined on his hands. The wood groaned beneath him, but I tried to ignore the taut pull of those stupid muscles. He was a beast bred to hunt. The strength, the canines, the speed and grace were all weapons that could end my life in a moment.

Perhaps I was a fool to help him. I should leave the splinters, allow him to suffer for all the blood his kind spilled. For all the humans they slaughtered.

“I know you’re considering it,” he said, deep voice slicing through my trance with the wound.

“What?” I feigned nonchalance and dove back into the carnage.

“You’re wondering why you’re helping me. You’re contemplating the repercussions of leaving this wound to fester, of letting me bleed out.” He paused, eyes burning into the side of my face. “Or perhaps you’re contemplating stitching it up with that thread your Bodymelders make and healing me with the splinters still inside so I will never access my magic again. That would be particularly cruel, but you are a human after all?—”

“What does that mean?” I snapped.

“It means humans are callous.”

I scoffed. “Some humans may be, but certainly no more than you heartless, unforgiving immortals.”

Lancaster mimicked my scoff. “Your kind lives such short lives, you don’t truly understand the rushes of emotions you get. Everything is felt so intensely, but for barely a wink of time. You cannot deeply understand the words heartless or unforgiving in a matter of decades.” He spoke so casually that I could barely believe the claims he was making about my kind. “Your decisions are emotionally-driven and passionate, but you lack understanding of those things and therefore do not truly consider the consequences.”

“And you immortals—who care so little of life and beauty that you would slash countless human throats—understand consequences?”

“Who said we only slash throats?” Lancaster’s eyes gleamed, a predator baiting his prey. My pulse thrummed, but not in fear.

I tightened my grip on the tweezers. “That’s right, you don’t. You brutalized innocent humans during those wars. You tormented them and dismembered them. Do you think I don’t know? I grew up hearing the horror stories.” I leaned closer and pressed the metal against his open wound. His jaw ticked, but he didn’t react. “The ones who got their throats slashed were the lucky ones.”

“They were.” His tone was solemn, but I wouldn’t name the other thing within it. The one that almost sounded regretful.

“How can you say any of this?” I retorted. “You were created to hunt the remaining humans who stood against your people.” I still didn’t know what that meant, but I ignored the curiosity. “Humans who had nothing to do with the wars, whose ancestors died so long ago, we don’t even know their names.”

“Another sorry fact of the short-lived.” Much like your existence , he didn’t need to add.

“Apparently humans are cleverer than you think,” I hissed. When he raised a skeptical brow, I roughly tugged a splinter from his side, taking extra care to prick the torn flesh and draw more blood. “It is unwise to insult the person with their hands in your open wound, faerie. Especially when they are someone as careless as a measly human.”

He growled as I jerked another splinter. “Perhaps not one so rash, at least.”

“ Rash ?”

“You do realize you’re only proving my point with this vindictive game.”

I simmered. He was right, of course. I was allowing my emotions to control how I healed him right now. Exactly as some hysterical, overly-sensitive, unable-to-make-wise-decisions human would.

Not at all how my mother taught me.

Swallowing the mix of indignation and longing that wrought within me, I cleared my throat and got back to work. “You imply that feeling human emotions is so bad, but I would rather feel than live centuries in a cold and cruel mind, serving a monstrous queen.”

“We don’t all have choices,” he muttered.

I breathed through the irritation still bubbling in my chest. Humans could be kind, humans could be good and worthy of peaceful, passionate lives. I would not stoop to his games again.

“If that is the case, you’ll understand how so many humans feel, having had many of their choices taken away from them, too.” I removed another splinter—only a few left that I could see. “It is because of prejudiced beliefs such as yours that I’m leaving as soon as we find the last emblem.”

“Leaving?” he asked, uninterested.

“I’ll be traveling back to our human training camps and working with those who wish to no longer be defenseless.”

Lancaster cocked his head, hair slipping across his shoulders. He watched me, an indeterminable look in his narrowed eyes. “You are training them?”

“I am. Encouraging them,” I explained, a rush of pride warming my cheeks. “You say humans don’t understand our emotions and the consequences, but I’d argue we feel everything so much deeper because we understand on the same level, yet it’s compacted into a much quicker, more heartfelt timespan.”

Heartbreaks were more monumental, deaths more life-altering, injuries more damaging because the years were so few.

Lancaster said, “When you live for thousands of years, you understand more than you care to.”

Ignoring the heavy presence of his stare on my face, I gently removed the last few splinters and straightened up, wiping my bloody hands on a damp cloth.

“There you go. Try your magic.”

Lancaster gritted his teeth, both of us watching the wound. After a long, tense moment, I gasped.

Before my eyes, the gash began to heal. In small stages, given that his magic was still recovering from the impact of the cypher spear, but I waited in stunned silence as ancient faerie power clotted the blood and slowly began restructuring the torn skin.

I’d never seen something like it. I’d always appreciated the beauty of healing, of the strenuous, precise work mending took. And while this magic alleviated a lot of what I found so satisfying about my practice, it added a new wonder to the art. Chills spread across my skin.

Eventually, Lancaster closed the wound.

“It’ll scar?” I asked, looking at the spot where a fresh white mark marred his torso.

His abdominal muscles tensed under my stare. “With the cypher’s curse, this one will.”

I studied the scar. It wasn’t a neat, stitched up disfigurement, but one with points stretching away from it, almost like a sun. It stood out among the numerous others covering his strong body.

“Why not make it even?”

“Because it is a mark of something I survived in the catacombs, and a simple slice could belong to anyone.” He grabbed his tunic and tugged it back over his head, hiding the wound. “This will always be a reminder of where it came from.”

I considered that, reluctant to admit it was somewhat poetic. Godsdamned fae probably thought I couldn’t understand that either with my small human mind. Well, this human had managed to get him to hint toward what he couldn’t share of the Gods, and that was important.

“And by the way, you were wrong about one thing you said, Bounty.”

I glowered at the name. “What?”

“You said my kind care so little about life and beauty.” He paused. “I can assure you, I appreciate beauty more than most.”

He stomped up the stairs, leaving me in the echoing silence of the dining room.

I was dunking my tools in disinfecting tonic when footsteps sounded down the stairs.

“Can I help clean up?” Celissia asked.

“Sure, if you want to start gathering the towels and sorting them into those we can salvage and those we’ll discard, that would be great. Thank you.”

She nodded, and I turned back to the bucket. Thank the Gods Harlen had arranged for this inn to be private. I didn’t know how we would have handled tonight otherwise. With so many deep injuries, access to the kitchen and dining room were imperative.

Plus, there was something comfortable about working here. Organizing my supplies along the worn bar top was familiar.

“Santorina?” Celissia asked after a moment, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Why are you helping the fae?”

I sighed, letting the metal tools rest in the bucket. “He may be a twisted, deadly, entitled predator”—Celissia snorted a barely audible laugh—“and he may be bred to hunt me, but my mother was a healer.”

Celissia sobered. “Was?”

“She died during the first war.” I turned to start re-corking my various jars of supplies and noting which would need to be refreshed. “A fatality of an attack on Palerman.” The memory of that day tightened my chest, but I breathed through it.

She approached the bar, setting down a pile of folded towels. “I’m sorry for all the pain these wars have brought between the clans. So much of it seems unnecessary for the masses.”

“It does,” I agreed. “But Ophelia was the one who picked me up when my parents died, so I’ll face anything for her.”

Celissia smiled softly. “As I would for Barrett. He supported me similarly when we were young. I didn’t suffer a loss like your own, but in my worst moments, Barrett was always there.” She spoke of the prince with such tenderness, one that he’d earned based on what I’d seen of him.

“He’s going to make a great king,” I said. “A leader the world needs.”

Celissia cast a wistful glance toward the stairs. “I only hope he sees that, too. He’s the only person I can envision ruling our clan the way they deserve.”

“Is that why you agreed to the ruse with him?”

“He didn’t even need to ask,” she said. “That, and, selfishly, I’ve always dreamed of seeing the world. Of getting away from Banix for a while.”

“I’ve heard your father…”

“My father should not hold power,” Celissia snapped. It was clearly not directed at me, so I let her continue. “He’s fine as a councilman, likely balances out some more impertinent decisions, but as a ruler?” She scoffed. “I fear him.”

“Why?” From what we’d been told, he was greedy, but dangerous?

“Some people base their hopes on injustices that have already been redeemed. They get stuck on them. I think he believes he’s fighting for a worthy cause, when truly, it’s one that does not involve him.”

“What sort of cause?” I asked.

“The kind that, frankly, I think wants to be forgotten.” Celissia shrugged, picking up a pile of bloodied rags and moving toward the door.

She disappeared outside, ducking back in as I was finishing tidying the bar. “Your mother was human, correct?”

I nodded.

“Where did she learn to heal with warrior practices?”

“She didn’t have magic, but she studied with a very inclusive group of Bodymelders when she was young. She adopted their techniques. It took more work, more time, since Bodymelders can use their power as influence and she couldn’t, but it only made her want it more. Work harder for it.”

“That’s why you’re helping Lancaster, isn’t it?”

“My mother taught me most of what I know, but the best thing she taught me was that no one deserves to suffer. I can’t say I necessarily agree, given the crimes the fae have committed.” I scowled. “But I can’t dishonor her by forgetting.”

Only the thought of her careful ministrations as a healer and her thoughtful guidance had me outlasting the disdain the fae wrought.

“Lancaster implied something earlier,” I began as we extinguished the mystlights and traipsed toward the staircase. The rest of the inn was quiet, thank the Gods. Everyone needed to rest after tonight. “I asked why his and Mora’s magics are so strong, and he wasn’t able to answer. I think it’s connected to the gods.”

Celissia’s gaze drifted to the dimly lit hall above. “Did your mother ever teach you about healing practices besides those of the Bodymelders?”

I shook my head, not following that train of thought. “Did your tutor in the citadel?”

Celissia clasped her necklace, a large oval stone with a rainbow hue when it caught the light. “No, but my family has ties to very powerful healers, so I’ve always dug deeper into the practice.”

“Bodymelders?” I asked.

“Some old, ancient bloodlines that tended toward it. Mostly dormant now. But I’ve found that there are some sources of magic we really should be learning more about. Things from the isles and beyond.”

“The Sorcia Isles?” I asked, and Celissia nodded.

Sorcia magic had been locked behind their gates for thousands of years. No one on Gallantia knew details of it, save the rogue nomadic sorcerer. They used spells and talismans to work, things that Bodymelders didn’t rely on given their abilities came from the land.

“How did you pull Vale from her session tonight? Not even Cyph can normally draw her back.”

Celissia avoided my eyes as we stopped at the top of the stairs. “I tapped into some unique branches of healing practices while in the citadel.”

“Isn’t that sort of study restricted?”

“Isn’t it difficult for humans to learn warrior ways?” she countered. I was about to argue that restricted and difficult were not the same thing, but perhaps that was her point. “Your mother sounds like a spirit the world could have used more of.”

“She was,” I said. “Especially with the hatred and greed stemming through Ambrisk today.”

Celissia smiled. “Much like your mother, I want the world to suffer less.”

“Thank you for your help tonight,” I said, the sentiment wrapping around my heart. “I couldn’t have done it all on my own.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Good night, Santorina.”

“Good night, queen-to-be.”

She waved off the title, but I couldn’t help but think that if it hadn’t been a ruse, if she and Barrett actually were to rule together, perhaps they’d create a throne worth bowing to.