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

Chapter 47

Chapter Forty-Seven

Ophelia

“You know her?” Tolek gaped at me.

Aimee cocked her head, curiosity pursing her lips. Yes, it was certainly her. She may have adopted the Soulguider style of garments and accessories with the flowing silk and body jewelry, but that voice was undeniable.

“She was in the Wayward Inn when I rescued you from Mindshaper Territory.” I squeezed Tol’s hand. “She was telling a story of…” Aimee smiled, nodding. “Of the Angels.”

“That I was,” she purred.

“It was about the foundations of the Prime Warriors and the clans,” I said, thinking back to that night. “How they came by their magic from the land, how they created their descendant warriors.” Aimee’s eyes seemed to glow at the mention, something enchanting about her presence. “They fought among themselves, the magic eating away at them, until they eventually ascended. And left magic behind.”

Reflexively, my fingers curled around Damien’s emblem at my neck. It had been Aimee’s words that stuck with me, all through Mindshaper Territory and on the trek back to the mountains. Through the Battle of Damenal, when I’d first seen Angellight burst from the necklace.

It had been that story that finally helped me piece together what the Angelcurse was about. And so, the hunt began.

“I believe you felt the repercussions of those feuds between brother Angels this winter, did you not?”

“What do you know?” Tolek’s eyes narrowed on Aimee. He seemed distrustful—a bit unlike himself, but I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps what he’d heard from her in Bodymelder Territory had been worse than he implied.

Aimee unfolded her lithe body, rising from her seat as gracefully as the winds that whispered to her. With a wave of her hand, the crowd scattered, the pair of warriors on the divan behind her unfazed in their activities.

“I know the stories that are whispered to me,” she said, leading us to a glass side table, delicate gold carvings twining up the legs. She poured herself a glass of deep red wine. “I know what happened with the dead queen.” A lengthy sip of maroon liquid, the notes wafting through the air around us stronger than they should be. “I know where you and your sister visited.”

“The Spirit Realm,” I breathed, that plane of murky light and falling stars flashing through my mind like bolts of Angellight. Quickly recovering myself, I asked, “Is that where Jez and I were?”

“I have only heard legends of the place,” Aimee said.

“Isn’t that what everything you speak is? Legends?”

Her full lips tipped into a smile. “The ones that are true, yes.” With a swirl of her wine and a pivot on her heel, Aimee glided through the nearest arch and down the wide corridor. “Coming?”

Tolek and I exchanged a glance that said it’s why we’re here , and we followed her. All the way into a chamber packed with even more plush divans, wide cushions, and trailing silks. They filled the low-lit space between the fireplaces at either end, not a stone of the floor visible.

This was the true Storytellers’ nest. Half a dozen of them were scattered throughout, voices low, but there were no escapades taking place beneath the bronze chandeliers.

As Aimee wound through the room, nearly floating on her jewel-covered feet to a divan before one of the gaping fireplaces, the others each nodded in reverence to her. She was not only a Storyteller, then, but a leader of some sort. Or at least someone respected.

Tolek and I took one of the plush seats opposite Aimee’s. Over her shoulder, someone pulled sheer maroon curtains across the doorway. An illusion of privacy, though we were far from alone.

I pretended we were, though. “What legends have you heard of the place my sister and I visited?”

“I do not know much of that place,” she said, still swirling that glass of wine, “but I know of the place to which it connects.”

“Connects?” I asked.

“The plane you were on is not quite what you think. It is a bridge. A bend between two very real realms.”

“Where does it lead?” I asked. “And how did we end up there?”

Aimee smiled at that, and when she spoke, her voice was the mystical but authoritative tone of a Storyteller. “So many questions from the minds who know so little.”

“Answer them, then,” Tolek snapped, not taking kindly to the insult.

I placed my hand on his knee, dragging my thumb in soothing circles. Though, truthfully, I’d been about to say the same thing.

“Relax, connoisseur of cards, I mean no offense.”

Tolek only said, voice icy, “Explain.”

Aimee reclined against the rolled back of the divan, turning her eyes to the fire. “Those who roam this continent—this planet—are aware our magic benefits other worlds. There is the Spirit Realm, the one we are most comfortable discussing. But beyond that there are many, many more. They are all locked away by the precision of that very magic.”

“Our magic doesn’t work that way. We can’t walk between worlds,” I hedged.

Aimee turned those dark eyes on me. “Warriors know but a drop of what the earth commands. Your pact with the magic binds you to the land, feeds it to your souls, but you do not retain the ability of manipulation that is required to open those doors. Warriors are no Realmspinners.”

“Who is?” I asked. Then, my blood chilled, and I dropped my voice. “Can the fae?”

But Aimee shook her head, and the reassurance steadied my pulse. “The pointy-eared near-immortals cannot either.”

“Then who?”

“It does not matter who,” Aimee said, “but what and why.” When we were silent, she sat up, long bare legs curling beneath her. “What do the realms hold, and why were two young warrior sisters able to travel to a bridge between them?”

What did the realms hold? The concept of them existing was nothing unusual. Aimee was right; we’d always known other realms subsisted. That the magic of the mountains was so potent in our land because it seeped into all worlds in existence, providing for them, as well.

But if each realm varied…

“Are the bridges unique to the realms they lead to?”

Aimee said, “It is believed so, but that is where legends diverge.”

“Assuming that’s true, though, a bridge would likely reflect either end of its scope?” I’d practically seen our world imprinted on that murky gray sky when Jezebel and I had been there. The mountains and Kakias’s power spearing toward them and…

“Does the fel strella mythos mean anything to you?” I asked, heart thundering. That’s what had been at the other end of that plane. The constellations falling and winged creatures. Aimee’s answering smile was indulgent. “It’s true then? How the pegasus and khrysaor came to be?”

“I’d heard claims that the beasts roamed our lands once again,” she muttered, almost reluctantly, a stark contrast from that smile a moment ago.

“They do. I—” I bit my lip, loathe to give up this information, but I forced the words out. “My horse is one of them.”

That was enough to win over her curiosity. “You saw that on the plane?”

“I saw beasts flying through the sky and constellations crashing to earth.”

Aimee evaluated me. Tolek remained silent at my side, allowing me to lead the conversation and reveal what I found necessary, though he doubtlessly tracked every movement Aimee made.

Finally, she crossed one leg over the other and said, “You learned of the creation of the two? Did you learn who ruled them?”

“They were plucked from their positions in the sky by a holy being who desired children,” I answered.

“Correct.” Aimee nodded. “But that is who breathed life into them. What about who controlled them?”

“Is it not one in the same?” I asked.

But Tolek answered, “Apparently, there was someone else.”

“You are clever,” Aimee told him with an approving once-over that had my hand tightening on his knee again. Before I could let out my snappish response, her voice became mystical again. “There were others. A pair of formidable sisters—long before the warriors you stem from walked Ambrisk. The very same being who formed her sons from the stars imbued these two with the powers of life and death. One to raise the constellations, another to hold their leashes. A summoner of myths, and a destroyer of them.”

Chills spread along my skin, and my heart nearly stalled. Beside me, Tolek was so very still.

“The mark of the gods was within them,” Aimee went on. “It was always told they would come again. Though no one knew how, when, or why.”

A pair of formidable sisters. The rulers of the pegasus and khrysaor, set to walk Ambrisk again .

It shouldn’t have been possible. And it didn’t explain how we’d ended up on the bridge or what waited at the other end, but regardless…

Angellight pooled in my palms. No, it was the other magic. The untamed one.

Imbued these two with the powers of life and death .

We were…my sister and I were?—

As if summoned here by the Angels themselves, Jezebel’s voice flooded the room. “Ophelia!” She burst from behind the sheer curtain, Santorina right behind her.

“Jez!” I shot up from the divan, but at the frantic look in her eyes, every thought of the fel strella mythos faded, the light in me winking out. “What’s going on?

“We need to go,” Jezebel insisted.

“Ah, Mistress Death,” Aimee purred. The name shot through me—Ritalia had called Jezebel the same.

I glared at the Storyteller, looking between her and my sister. “What?—”

“Ophelia, please, let’s get out of here.” Jezzie’s face was so pale, her hands shaking in mine. Rina was whispering something to Tol. As I looked her over, I realized her hands were stained crimson.

“Let’s go,” Tolek said in response, shepherding us toward an exit. By the look in his eye, I could tell he’d noticed the distress in Jez’s voice.

My sister whispered, “There’s a spirit. I could hear it.”

I blanched. “You mean…”

“Someone died.” Her lips pressed together with a flinch.

Even Aimee’s face paled. “Go, warriors.”

Jezebel had my hand tightly in hers, Rina on our heels, pulling her Seawatcher shell out to notify the others. Tolek was a step behind her, his family dagger discreetly at his side as he reached over us to pull back the curtain.

As we spun around the corner, I looked back at Aimee. Spirits, I hadn’t even asked her about the entire reason we’d sought her out. “The Angelcurse. The emblems,” I began, not wanting to say too much. “You know of them?”

Aimee nodded, face tight.

“We have one left.” I looked around. “Xenique. Can you tell us anything of it?”

“The sphinxes.” She bowed her head, saying in a voice I thought was hesitant and forced, “The legends run true. Find them.”

“Where?” I gasped, holding tightly to Jez as she tugged me down the hall.

“Where all dead and riddled secrets lie.”

“Jez! Jezzie!” I held her, trying to stop her shaking as we stood outside the pleasure house.

She was frantic, eyes whipping between the shadowed corners of the quiet street and the stairs leading back inside, like she expected someone to follow her.

“Jezebel!” I said firmly. “Look at me!”

Her eyes found mine—wide and something tortured in them—and I held her cheeks before she could look away again.

I softened my voice. “What happened?”

Tolek and Santorina stood around us, watching carefully while also monitoring our surroundings. Tears tracked down Jezebel’s cheeks. Up the stairs, Malakai, Mila, and Lyria were emerging from the pleasure house.

“I heard—I heard something die,” she said. “A Storyteller, I think. But I don’t know—I couldn’t see, didn’t get to hear their thoughts fully?—”

My heart cracked at the tremor in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Jezzie,” I whispered, kissing her forehead and tucking her close to me.

I met Rina’s eyes over Jezebel’s shaking frame as the others joined us, and Tolek whispered an explanation to them.

“It felt like someone was following us. There was some odd sense in the air.” Santorina shivered, eyes on her crimson-stained hands. The back of my neck prickled at her tone. “Then, a scream came from another room. And it cut off abruptly. I tried to go help, but I was too late. It was a weapon I didn’t recognize.”

Something within Jezebel crumbled.

There was something that didn’t line up here, though. As torturous as it was, Jezebel had been hearing the dying her entire life. More horrifically during the Battle of Damenal. Why had one transitioning spirit caused her to melt down like this?

My own heart raced as I held my sister tighter and whispered, “What else, Jez?”

And she took one huge, shuddering breath, stealing herself. “I think I killed her.”

I couldn’t feel my limbs at those words. At the utter terror lacing them.

I think I killed her .

“What do you mean?” Tolek asked, bracing a hand on my back.

Imbued these two with the powers of life and death .

Jezebel gathered herself. “When I heard—my power reached out. I didn’t realize it was doing it, it just did .”

I met Tolek’s eyes, and it was clear we were thinking of the same thing. Not only what Aimee had said, but of that day in Valyn when my magic had acted of its own accord as Jezebel’s had tonight. Rage tunneled through me, singeing my panic and fear to ash—anger at the control I lacked that day, at what Jezebel was suffering right now.

“Normally, it only listens to them. It doesn’t speed up or delay the dying.” Jez’s tears stopped, but she leaned on me. “This time, though…I don’t know how it did it. But it felt like it ripped her spirit from her body. Like I did. Like I wiped that life from Ambrisk.”

“How…” Rina trailed off.

“I don’t know.” Jezebel shook her head and looked up at me. “Can we go home, please?”

“Of course.” I smoothed her hair and tucked her into my side, starting down the dark street. As we made our way back to the inn in the creeping quiet of Lendelli, I couldn’t fight the feeling that more had unraveled in the pleasure house than we saw.