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

Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

Cypherion

“Got what you need, Stargirl?” I asked, finding Vale at the front of the tent Erista had led us to. Or pretending to find her.

I never wanted to let Vale out of my sight again. She called me overbearing, but she smiled every time she said it. And every one of those smiles seemed a little more like she was coming back to life, finding her new self after the ordeal of the tattoo severance. Like she’d been forged into something new, more ruthless and determined than ever.

Now, as my hand landed on her waist, stroking that bare inch of skin above the band of her long skirt, and she flashed me that same knowing smirk, I waited for her retort.

“Acting as if you didn’t see me pluck it from the crate over there?” she teased and gently placed the tinctures she’d been after into the draw-string pouch hanging across her body.

“I’ll be more discreet next time,” I said, bending to kiss her forehead and turning her back to face the street.

I could have feigned innocence, but the way her voice had lilted up at the end…I’d missed that. I’d missed her. I was soaking up every minute, especially the ones as simple as strolling through a market together without Titus on our heels.

Even if it took every ounce of carefully-honed control not to take her back to the inn and make up for those weeks we’d been apart. To remind her I came back for her, she was free, and no one could take anything else from her.

My hand tightened on her waist, and she froze, turning to face me.

Damn all the people in the stalls—all the vendors and patrons and even Erista, kindly pretending not to overhear our conversation as she wandered ahead with Celissia. Because Vale’s face was serious once again, her eyes dim.

But she asked me , “What’s wrong?”

I blinked at her, my other hand resting on her waist. “What?”

“You’re tense.” She rubbed her hands down my chest. “What happened?”

I sighed. “I prefer being the one doing the observing. My mind was wandering,” I admitted, and she understood where it had gone.

“Mine does that often.”

“I can tell,” I said as we ambled down the street. “A light fades from your eyes when you’re thinking about it. Like all the stars in the sky have gone out.”

“Sometimes”—Vale swallowed—“it feels like they have. But when that happens, you’re there. You’re brighter than the stars, Cypherion. When I can’t fight through the darkness, you’re brighter.”

“You’re more than all the damn stars, Stargirl,” I whispered.

From the soft tones of our voices, I wouldn’t have thought we were in a public place. The lack of privacy somehow made the conversation more intimate. Deciding to forget the bartering vendors and children running around, to be able to have this conversation right here and share this reassurance.

I kissed her, thinking of how she tasted under the moonlight in the hot springs. When a Soulguider in the tent across the alley whistled, I pulled back, bristling.

“Let’s go,” Vale said, catching my hand and tugging me toward Erista and Celissia. The Engrossian was asking Erista about how her magic replenished during the Rites as they browsed elaborately embroidered blankets woven with shimmering gold thread.

“Where to next?” Vale asked the Soulguider when they were done.

“I told Celissia I would lead her and Barrett to the city council hall first thing in the morning,” Erista said, nodding at the Engrossian. “We’re going to head back to the inn to wait for Jezebel and the others.” She turned her amber eyes on me, brows raised.

Vale tilted her head questioningly. I hadn’t mentioned this idea to her yet, mainly because I was afraid I wouldn’t follow through. But I had asked Erista for directions in case I wasn’t a damn coward.

I cleared my throat. “We’ll be visiting that vendor.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Vale asked, voice soft.

I squeezed her hand as we wound through the market, moonlight and an increasingly-searing heat paving the way. “Pretending you haven’t figured it out, Stargirl?”

“I was going to allow you to explain first,” she said with a mocking sigh.

I laughed. “I’m tired of us living without answers.”

Us .

Something in this entire mess—her staying with Titus, me finding out about my father, the mission to get her back, everything it had devolved into—had cemented the concept of us in my brain. I’d been ready to lay my life down for hers before, to sacrifice anything for her, but it was somehow more real after all the risks.

Perhaps it was being back with my friends. Seeing how they considered Vale a part of our family certainly made the weeks we spent in Starsearcher Territory less of a dream and more of a foundation for a future.

But I wouldn’t lead her into that future without a sure understanding.

I pulled her to a stop in front of the tent Erista had told me about. Orange light glowed from the sliver between the flaps, heat sliding underneath the unsecured edges.

I took a deep breath, but before I could enter, a hand cupped my cheek, turning my attention toward her. “Whatever is said in there, it doesn’t change a thing.” Vale’s thumb stroked across my cheekbone, her olive eyes boring into mine.

I nodded, kissing her palm softly.

She could have gone on, but Vale always knew precisely when to speak and when silence said more than anything. Tonight, the support flooding through the quiet was louder than words.

Perhaps that was something everyone felt with the person they loved. Perhaps it was some deep understanding she read in my spirit, some rightness that proved we were it. Regardless, as I pulled back the tent flap and held out my hand for her to cross the threshold first, I swore I’d do anything to nurture that stability.

“We’re closing up soon,” a gruff voice hollered from beside the forge. Spirits, it was hotter than the volcano in here.

“We’re looking for the owner of the shop,” I said.

The man brought his hammer down, the clang against steel ringing in the small space. “Yes.”

“We were wondering if we may ask a question?” Vale peeked up at me, a warning of we better tread carefully in those olive eyes.

“And?” he asked.

Could he have been less communicative?

I cleared my throat. “We were told that if we wanted to inquire after any sensitive information, you were the man to seek out.”

Another ring of hammer against hot steel, and sparks flew. “Yes.”

With the sinking feeling that this might be entirely fruitless, I released Vale’s hand and slung my scythe from my shoulder. “It’s about this.” I held the weapon before me, angling it as Erista had demonstrated. “Have you seen something of this make before?”

I didn’t know if it was my tone of voice or pure curiosity, but the man set his hammer down. Wiping a dirty rag across his deeply-tanned face, he turned toward me.

And when his eyes landed on my scythe—my father’s scythe—the white’s shone.

“Where did you get that?” He stood from his stool, taking a few steps closer.

“That’s the question,” I huffed. His eyes shot to mine. “It was my father’s. But I never knew the man.”

The Soulguider held out a hand, almost reverently. His guard was still up behind his inquisitive stare, though. “May I?”

My teeth ground, but Vale answered with a pointed look at me. “Of course.”

Handing over the weapon that was as precious to me as one of my own bones, I asked, “What’s your name?”

“Elyrio,” he muttered, “ friendly clients call me Rio.” That hit my gut so hard, I ignored his warning emphasis on friendly. Rio. That’s how Akalain had referred to her brother in the letter she sent Malakai. It was a coincidence, but one that sliced through a wall I’d built.

“Rio,” Vale said, purposefully, “what can you tell us of the weapon?”

Elyrio ran a hand along the shaft. “These three gold bands at the end are significant.”

“How?” I asked, narrowed eyes on his expert grip as he assessed my scythe.

“One would mean the owner of this weapon was an esteemed solider in our army, or a distinguished guider of the dead.” He dragged a finger around that first band of gold in the wood. “A second belongs to the personal employ of a chancellor or a sacred site across our territory. Those who are the most prominent in that guard.”

The fire of the forge flickered across the weapon, gold bands glinting. “And the third?”

“A third band is rarely given.” He hummed, as if digging through his mind. “Only two dozen times in history have they been awarded.”

“And what have they been for?”

“It is an honor reserved for those who have direct involvement in a matter of our Angel. In forging, the blade is dipped in a sacred source and imbued with a rare but powerful magic.” My stomach dropped with his words. “Three bands are given to warriors when a chancellor—or someone with as much sway—called for assistance, and the barer was clearly successful.”

“Would this chancellor have been Meridat?”

Elyrio frowned, likely at my casual use of the chancellor’s first name, but I’d met her numerous times and she’d insisted.

“In the last century, yes,” Elyrio said. “This weapon was likely forged by a chancellery smith.” Reluctantly, he extended the scythe back to me.

“Thank you,” I said. “And those can only be found in the capital?”

I didn’t truly know what I was asking. These were questions I never thought I’d face. The weapon was mine; why did I care where it had come from?

I knew who my father was, that he did something truly incredible to earn the scythe. But still, having pieces of the story without the whole picture nagged at me more than I wished.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Elyrio led us back toward the door. “If you ever find out the story, I’d love to hear it.”

I nodded, lips pressed tight.

“Thank you,” Vale said demurely as we left. She slipped her hand back into mine.

Once we were out of the market and heading toward the inn, she asked, “How do you feel about that?”

Tension rolled from my shoulders the further away we got. The desert night wrapped around us, temperatures quickly dropping, and Vale shivered. I tucked an arm around her as I thought.

“When I’d assumed my father was alive somewhere, chasing after him held no appeal to me. He could find me if he wanted to know me. But now…now that I know he isn’t coming back, and that maybe it wasn’t his choice…” I shrugged. “It sounds like he did some incredible things. Maybe his legacy deserves to be remembered. To mean something.”

“His legacy does mean something,” Vale said, rubbing a hand down my back. “ You are his legacy, Cypherion. Last name or not.”

Deneski or Kastroff, did it matter?

I once wouldn’t have cared to carry on the life of a man I didn’t know, no matter how much the lack of information had tampered with my own beliefs of myself. But perhaps we all deserved to be remembered.