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

Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty-One

Santorina

Goddesses be damned, I rarely wished to be one of the fae, but as I tore through the Lendelli Market and my lungs caught on fire, I wouldn’t have minded having their stamina or physique.

A gust of wind slammed down the alley, shoving me into the wall.

“Gods,” I cursed as my shoulder caught my weight.

I braced a hand on the stone, struggling upright, but a much larger, warmer hand dwarfed mine. I opened my mouth to argue, but the body pressed me to the wall as another blast of wind shot down the street, and the frame of the person behind me eclipsed me from the force.

When it passed, a voice growled, “Keep your head down, Bounty.”

I spun, pain radiating through my shoulder, and came face to face with Lancaster. Pressed firmly between his disgustingly honed immortal body and the building, the sand barely lashed me.

“Get off of me!” I forced.

His brows flicked up, and he stepped back in time for a smaller gust of wind to throw sand in my face. Over his shoulder, Mora scolded him and Celissia eyed us. Barrett and Dax had gotten separated from us when a burst of wind sliced between our party a few blocks down, but they were with Malakai, Mila, and Lyria.

“She’s human,” he shot at his sister. “She shouldn’t be here.”

“Why do you care where I am?” I asked, wiping the dirt from my eyes.

Lancaster paused, narrowed stare flicking over my face. “You helped my sister.”

“Then I am perfectly capable of helping here, too!” I shoved his chest to step around him, but he barely flinched. Lancaster eyed the shoulder I was still massaging. Damn immortals and their quick healing. The storm barely seemed to rock his sturdy frame.

“Stay with us,” he demanded, and he took off down the alley, Mora and Celissia waiting for me to go ahead.

We helped the Lendelli citizens cover up windows, the worst of the storm being in the center of town. Cypherion and Vale were in this stretch with us, the Starsearcher beneath a shelter reading. Cyph flicked nervous glances her way as he helped me latch a set of broken shutters with a strong length of rope, Soulguiders, Celissia, and the fae working hurriedly opposite us.

“We should get inside,” Cyph called as the howling wind picked up.

But it was Vale, in a distant voice that didn’t sound like herself, who called, “Wait!” She emerged from beneath her shelter, unbothered by the sand and wind. Her eyes swirled with silver. “Something is happening.”

Vale turned toward the center of town, head tipped to the sky.

And then, light pushed through the clouds. It was incremental, a scattering that peeled back the storm and bathed the city under siege. It crept around corners and alleys, piercing the dark night with a warm golden glow, and reached to something within me.

“What is that ?” Lancaster asked, squinting as his stony features were illuminated.

“That,” Vale gasped, voice still eerie, “is Ophelia.”

Cypherion and I exchanged a look. Angellight .

Ophelia’s Angellight stopped the storm. I didn’t understand how—the citizens of Lendelli were even more confused—but it calmed the riotous sand clouds tearing through the market enough for us to begin restoring the alleys.

Using a small amount of magic, Mora glamoured her and her brother’s ears. She, Celissia, and I took charge of one lane where barrels and crates had been overturned, stalls shredded like claws of wind had ripped right through them.

As the fae righted a cracked barrel, grain spilling over the stone street, she rolled her shoulder. I paused my sweeping, bracing an elbow on my broom.

“Is it still plaguing you?” I inquired. Mora turned her keen, immortal stare on me, and I nodded to her shoulder.

She checked down the alley, ensuring she wouldn’t be overheard. “Yes, but I do not want to alarm my brother.”

Celissia’s head lifted from where she was folding empty burlap sacks.

I balked. “Why?”

Mora went on rearranging the stock of the stall we were restoring, the tent shredded but some of the goods still intact. “Because it is beyond his capability of fixing.”

“Why?” I pushed, hands tightening on the broom.

Mora’s lips rolled between her teeth.

“Right.” I sighed. “Locked.”

So whatever reason Lancaster’s magic wasn’t working was tied to the secrets the fae had been sworn to. And as we’d guessed so far in our gentle prodding over our travels, all locks tied back to the gods.

Though it felt like days ago at this point, questions from Vale’s reading nagged at my mind.

“What did you think of what was seen before the storm hit?” I chose my words carefully. While Lancaster, Cypherion, and Vale had all drifted away to aid other parts of the market, there were still plenty of warriors around. I dropped my voice even lower. “Of the Gods…harming the Angels.”

Mora shuffled about the shredded tent, her step not faltering, and I pretended to focus on the pile of rubble I was amassing as she said, “The Angels mean very little to me beyond a subject of study such as the scrolls.”

“But does that justify what the Gods may have done?” Celissia asked, stacking her neatly-folded pile along the back wall.

“There is no proof the Gods and Goddesses did anything,” Mora said, not unkindly.

“Suppose they did, though,” I challenged.

A cluster of Soulguiders passed the stall, arms laden with goods from shattered crates. Mora took a step closer, voice sharp as the blades at her thighs. “I have studied my…Aoiflyn in depth in my many centuries, and there is no account of her walking this land with the Angels.”

“Perhaps it’s been forgotten. Like those bargains that hold your tongue, perhaps the histories have been similarly tied up.” I shrugged, but Mora averted her eyes. “You clearly do not believe the Gods are guilty of the acts Vale thinks she witnessed. It unsettles you.”

Celissia’s eyes flicked between us as I pushed the fae.

“No,” Mora said. “What unsettles me is that the warriors do not know what the Gods and Goddesses are truly capable of.”

“What do you mean?”

Again, her lips rolled together.

“Gods and Angels, Spirits and Fates. Even those beings not worshipped on this continent. They are all masses of power. They have wrung wars through the heavens, leveled worlds at the blink of an eye.” Mora shivered, the motion so quick it could have been my human eyes playing tricks. “Your friends find my queen brutal? They find the cruelty of their own leaders hard to grasp?” Her face paled. “They are small compared to the might of the six.”

Her words raised goosebumps across my skin.

“Then you do find the Gods capable of harming the Angels?” I asked, searching her expression for any hint of what she wished to say beyond this vague warning, but it was veiled. Damn tricky immortals.

“Capable, certainly.” Mora sighed. “But there is no account of Gods gracing your continent in the long fae histories, so I do not believe it happened as the Starsearcher saw.”

She turned back to the barrels, hefting another up with a grunt. Celissia went on with her work, largely staying out of the conversation, but I didn’t believe for a moment she wasn’t tucking away every syllable. I grabbed my broom again, but didn’t resume sweeping. A clawing instinct gripped my gut, my fingers tightening on the wood.

“I have worshipped the Gods my entire life,” I whispered. “My parents instilled the practices in me. They taught me my morning and nighttime prayers as a girl and told me when I was in distress or lonely, the Gods would care for me.”

A warmth filled Mora’s eyes when she turned to me now. A kinship. “And it pains you to consider that the Gods and Goddesses may not be as wholesome as you were led to believe?”

“It is a hard fact to reconcile.” A dichotomy my brain couldn’t understand.

She nodded. “From what I have seen, your friends are dealing with similar questions of their own Angels. Who to trust, who to follow.”

Celissia scoffed, striding across the alley to another tent. “That’s simplifying it.”

“And now that it appears the Gods may have harmed them, does that not throw our beliefs into question?” I hated that I used the term our , but even though I would never admit it out loud, humans and the fae did share this one common ground—the Gods. It was ironic that the most basic foundation was the only similarity we could acknowledge.

That was all I’d consider of that, though.

“There is a complexity in all religions. One most humans have not lived long enough to grasp.” I glowered at Mora, but she held up a hand and continued, “I do not mean offense by this, but it took me many centuries of study to fully understand. I still am not certain I do. In a way, we all believe the same thing, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many species and races tend to claim their deities for similar reasons. For guidance, protection, and solace in the face of the unknown. A story of creation, a fear of destruction. Life and death and rebirth. We tell similar carvings of the world’s beginnings and endings, but with different symbols and figureheads.”

I considered what she meant, digging into my expansive—or limited, according to her—knowledge of the Gods and Angels. The magic may be designated differently between them, the powers they instilled or protected varying, but there were trends that could not be denied.

A Goddess of Fate. An Angel of Starsearching.

A God of Nature. Angels whose territories tended toward the seas and land.

A Goddess of Death. An Angel who guided souls.

They were segmented differently, but when names and titles were removed, it was impossible to deny that the symbols they represented, the comforts they provided, were similar.

“But how does that change when the Gods and Angels are no longer only symbols or figureheads?” I dared to ask.

Celissia, back in our stall, added with a sympathetic nod, “How does all of this change if they walked among us?”

Mora didn’t argue that the Gods had never walked the earth this time. Instead, she said, “I suppose that is a question only fate’s misty hands can answer.”

My brow furrowed at that frustratingly vague response, but before I could answer, a shadow shrouded the stall.

“We’re returning to the inn. The warriors will continue tomorrow,” Lancaster stated, not even looking at me.

I scoffed, finishing the quick tidying as the siblings discussed the work they’d done to help the market.

As we walked back, Cypherion and Vale in conversation with Lancaster, Mora stepped beside me and Celissia. “Did you truly not know you were a Bounty?” she asked.

I narrowed my stare on her brother’s broad back, not making eye contact with the female. I wasn’t in the mood to be taunted when my beliefs were already so unsteady. “I knew nothing of the Bounties, nor did I know their blood ran through my line. Before my parents died, we lost contact with all remaining family.”

Something sharp twisted inside me, a key almost nudging into a lock. A piece that claimed it would like to know where this power came from, and who survived the slaughter to lead them to Gallantia. Did I truly have the senses to track the fae? Who were my ancestors, and were there more of us out there? How had they evaded such powerful soldiers?

My eyes locked on Lancaster; how had they outrun the hunter ?

Mora tracked the subtle stare, of course. Damn observant fae. “He hates it, you know.”

“What?” I blinked at her.

“My brother hates what he was born to do. Hates that she can snap her fingers and order him to kill.”

A harsh breath sliced through my chest. “How did it happen?”

“That is not my story to tell,” Mora said. “And it is not one he will share freely.”

“How is it you do not have the instinct?” Celissia asked as we rounded a corner, carefully avoiding a pile of shattered glass. The air still held that eerie purple and maroon glow of the Rite, and the shards winked with it.

“Fae magic is all tied to blood, but it varies. It is not guaranteed that because we are of the same line, our power will manifest the same. And beyond that, we do not share fathers. Our mother had many, many children.”

“Is she in the queen’s employ?” Celissia asked. “Is that how both of you ended up there?”

“Not her employ, no.” Mora’s voice tightened, and she didn’t elaborate.

Another unclear response. I sighed. “Do your other siblings share your tendency for glamour or the stronger healing magic?”

“Our line spans expansive territories of power, but Lancaster is the only family I remain in contact with.”

“Truly? With so much family, how could you turn your back on them?”

“When he turned of age, he was summoned by the queen, to the capital where I lived and worked.” Her voice sobered. “He did not take kindly to it.”

Her words faded; she was unwilling to share anymore of her brother’s business. And in those last words, ire burned. A familiar kind, but I was uncertain to whom hers were directed.

“I imagine anyone would hate having their autonomy taken in such a way,” I said, defensively. It didn’t make this fae male different than anyone else. In fact, it aligned him with humans more than he probably cared to acknowledge.

We don’t all have choices , Lancaster had said of his status serving Queen Ritalia when I was healing him. When I had called him cold and cruel.

“I only say it because I do not think you are as different as you believe.”

“Yes,” I deadpanned. “I was bred with an instinct to kill him as well. He should be careful when he sleeps tonight.”

“In a sense, weren’t you?” She inclined her head, and?—

“ Aoiflyn’s tits ,” I swore beneath my breath, kicking a rock. Personal retribution aside, she was correct. Perhaps it explained that carnal need for revenge for the civilizations I never even knew.

“You share his attitude, that is certain.” Mora laughed, and even Celissia snickered.

“Thank you for the opinion,” I said, voice thick with sarcasm.

The female clicked her tongue. “Santorina, it was not meant to be rude.”

“Forgive me if I do not care to be compared to someone whose sole purpose in life is to kill me. Queen or no, that is a difficult bridge to cross.”

“You’re correct,” she said, and I blinked at that agreement, coming to a stop in front of the inn. “We are all players in a game of legends long spun. The moves we make, the sacrifices at our hands, it was all decided long, long ago.”

My anger sank. “That’s a rather sad way to look at life.”

“Or it is freeing. To know there are powers out there guiding us,” Celissia suggested.

“It is both,” Mora agreed, and for someone typically so full of jubilant hope, she sounded starkly remorse. “I envy the shorter warrior and human lifespans at times because of the naivety it allows you all to live under. But the realms appear to be shifting.” She eyed the piles of sand littering the streets. “Though I do not believe what was read in that cave tonight, it is important to remember the game. To prepare for unexpected strings to be pulled, and the most enchanted of royal hands to be played.”

I followed her stare to the sand stirring in the breeze, contemplating precisely what moves the Gods had in store.