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The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4) Chapter 65 83%
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Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty-Five

Tolek

“Tolek!”

Fucking Angels, Ophelia’s voice had never sounded so good. Except?—

“What’s wrong?” I asked, catching her as she stumbled up to me outside the Gates of Angeldust, a frantic edge to her expression.

Cupping her cheek, I tilted her face up, exploring those magenta eyes. There was something new there, a heated and haunted light igniting her entire expression.

“We found it,” she gasped over her rapid breaths. “We—we got all the answers.”

Ophelia’s eyes dragged over me, where my leathers were unbuckled and my undershirt gone. “Where’s your shirt? And why are you soaking wet?” She ran a hand through my hair.

Then, Ophelia glanced over my shoulder to Santorina—cradling her now-wrapped wrist—and the Engrossians guarding the fae prisoner. To my sister and the others, on alert with weapons in hand. To Mila draped across Malakai’s lap, still not awake.

And she jolted into action.

“What happened?” she asked, ducking from my arms and rushing to their side. Jezebel and Erista followed, our entire group gathering around Mila as Lancaster worked, with Santorina and Celissia watching over his tending. We’d had no choice but to move her. We needed the fae healing magic to stitch up her head wound.

We recounted what happened in the flooded chamber after Ophelia disappeared into the Hall of Wandering Souls with Jezebel and Erista. The dam breaking, the water sweeping us all in, how Mila hit her head on the way down.

“Shouldn’t it be easy to heal with your magic?” Ophelia asked Lancaster.

“It will be.” He gritted his teeth. “But given what lurks in the water, I have to separate anything that could infect her bloodstream.”

Malakai spoke for the first time since the fae began working, his voice as dark as the khrysaor’s scales. “What do you mean?”

“Those waters are tainted by spirits,” Lancaster ground out.

“They’re not tainted,” Erista snapped. “They’re blessed by the Angels and Artale.”

“Same thing,” Lancaster muttered, his lethal hands braced tenderly on Mila’s head.

“You’ll be able to get it out?” Malakai asked, focused solely on the woman in his arms. “She’ll be okay?”

Lancaster nodded. “She’ll live.”

I didn’t point out that wasn’t what Malakai had asked, but I met CK’s eyes over the group. Based on his stony stare, he’d noticed, too.

“There’s something else,” Cyph said. He dragged Brystin forward a step, demanding, “Tell them.”

Brystin pursed his lips, but Ophelia stormed toward the fae, that light in her eyes slipping across her skin and gathering in her palms. “Tell us what?”

She was a threat brought to life. I stepped up behind her, hand on the hilt of my sword, and glowered at Brystin.

But the male remained quiet. Cypherion looped the rope tighter around his hand and tugged, Brystin’s blood pouring from that wound.

“He’s been toying with us,” Cypherion grumbled. “He hinted at a facade in the bargain with Ritalia.”

The sand swarmed around our ankles as Ophelia’s light flared, my own stomach knotting. She clenched her fists against the power, and I braced my hand at her back, her shoulders dropping an inch at the touch.

“How can we know that’s true?” I said. “Could be a twist to his words.”

Based on the glimmer in Brystin’s eye, he was having a damn good time with this.

“Because Ritalia would have been a fool to not have a loophole,” Ophelia muttered. Angellight dimming, she looked up at me, and that stare could burn a thousand corpses to ash. “We knew there was a catch. This… facade is it.”

“We think it has to do with a glamour,” Dax growled, arms crossed as he glared at the fae.

“He’s been quite secretive,” Barrett said. Under his breath, he added as if in a personal challenge, “Persistent, too.”

“Glamour,” Ophelia repeated, her mask of Revered fully slammed up and voice harsh. “Keep an eye on him. Do whatever you must to get answers, but don’t trigger whatever Ritalia swore him to.”

A fine line to walk, but Barrett and Dax looked positively gleeful at the permission, shoving the fae down to the sand and questioning him under Cypherion’s watch.

Ophelia took in the new information, a thread of tension winding tighter between us all. Her eyes drifted across Mila and Lancaster, and it was clear she wanted to question the male but wasn’t willing to disturb his healing.

Looking over her shoulder, she found Mora sitting against the high wall. She took a determined step toward the female, but froze. “Are you okay?”

I followed Ophelia’s stare. Mora’s skin was even paler than it had been earlier. Her energy drained. Despite the glamour threat and the fact that the female was the only glam among the fae present—and a powerful one at that—it was clear in the look Ophelia, Celissia, and Rina exchanged that they were concerned.

“Just tired,” the female said with an unconvincing nod. Dynaxtar’s wing curled tighter around her. “Tolek?” she called, voice weak.

I jogged over, Ophelia and Celissia on my heels, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Mora extended the scroll with the coded language about Ascension Day. “I noticed something in the patterns. I think it’s mentions of warriors.”

“Of the ones from the age of Angels?” I asked, looking over the passage Mora indicated as Celissia whispered to Ophelia behind me.

“At first that’s what I took it to mean,” Mora said with a heavy breath. “But if the tense of the language works like our modern one, it’s speaking of future warriors.”

Future warriors? Was it about Ophelia bearing the Angelcurse?

I took the wrinkled parchment from Mora. “Thank you. I’ll continue on this.”

“Mora?” Ophelia asked crouching before the female with a much more tender stare than she’d given Brystin. “Can I look at your shoulder?”

The fae nodded, and I stepped back beside Celissia as Ophelia and the fae discussed in low voices. Ophelia pulled back Mora’s bandage to reveal?—

Fucking Angels. My stomach turned. The wound was…festering wasn’t quite the right word. Because it didn’t seem to be infected in any way, but it wasn’t healing nor did it bleed. A gaping loss of flesh stared up at us, an eerie blue swimming through Mora’s blood.

“It’s some kind of tainted magic,” Celissia whispered. “Her brother can’t heal it, so she’s trying to hide it. But…”

Ophelia could try to soothe the wound with Angellight, as she had after the catacombs.

She hated using the power. Feared what it would do, especially after how big it proved itself to be during the Rite.

But there, crouched in the sands of her grandmother’s land, Ophelia seemed to glow. That difference I’d noticed in her when she emerged from the gates, her eyes wild with a thrill, it was radiating around her now, almost a visible sheen to her skin.

No. It was a visible sheen—all around her. Similar to the Angellight wall she’d erected while fighting Kakias in the final battle, but now it wrapped her frame like the thinnest, softest silk.

With her hands gently braced against Mora’s arm on the borders of the wound, Ophelia pushed that light into the fae, and gold slithered around Mora’s shoulder.

I stepped closer to pick up what Ophelia was saying to the female. “This is the Angellight—the gift I can control because of the Angelcurse and the emblems. It’s different than the mythos magic. That’s the one I don’t know as well. The one we saw with the phoenix and in the catacombs.”

The fel strella mythos …the one the fae and Storyteller had told us of? What else did she know of it?

I didn’t ask yet. Only watched as Ophelia glowed—both literally and figuratively. Because not only was her frame alight, but each word she spoke carried utter strength and dominance. Every blink and breath filled with wonder and ecstasy that crept along the sand and straight into me.

Angels, she was a manifestation of myth and power itself, and it consumed her.

“How’s that feel?” Ophelia asked after the thin sheets of magic formed a bandage. It was similar to what she’d done immediately after the catacombs, but it was somehow more . Like she’d untangled the threads of power living inside of her and stopped being afraid to use them.

Mora nodded, but her face remained gaunt. “That venomous instinct is still there.” She closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall. “But it’s easing. I think I’ll stay here and rest while the magic takes hold.”

Celissia seemed satisfied. She squeezed Ophelia’s shoulder before heading back to the others.

“Damn phenomenal, Alabath,” I said, dragging her to her feet and walking a bit away from Mora.

She gave me a dazed smile I wanted to see every day of my life. “The magic practically has a life of its own. It wants things to be whole and pure; I simply willed it to achieve that.”

“Alabath,” I laughed, shaking my head.

She pulled her attention away from Mora, blinking up at me. “What?”

“You say it like it’s such an easy thing to do.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I pressed my lips to hers to stop her. “You command the power of Angels, Ophelia,” I whispered, against her lips. “There’s nothing simple about it, or you.”

She looped her arms around my neck, kissing me with fervor now. Spirits, was this all over? Could we go back to the inn and lock ourselves in our room for days?

Too soon, she was pulling away. “Come on,” she said and slipped her hand into mine. Right…we still had Brystin and the emblems to deal with.

When we traipsed back to the group, Lancaster was saying, “It’s done. She should wake soon.”

Sure enough, the wound on Mila’s head was sealed, the blood crusting her platinum hair dried. Malakai’s chest—still entirely bare and streaked with blood—sagged. Though his eyes were locked on Mila, he was clearly not speaking to her when he said, “You haven’t even asked about the emblem.”

“Because I already know you have it.” I looked down at Ophelia, but she continued, “Can I see it?”

“Here.” Vale’s voice drifted over the group as she pulled out the orb—the glass shining like a moon plucked from among the stars—and passed it to Ophelia.

In her hands, it lit up. Images swirled within, obscure and storm-drenched.

But Ophelia frowned at it. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the right one,” Malakai said confidently. “I could feel it.”

Ophelia nodded. “It is, but…” She rolled the orb between her hands.

“It’s not burning you?” I asked. Ophelia looked at me, confusion in her magenta eyes. Squeezing her hip, I added, “That might be a good thing.”

“All the other ones burned,” she mused, attention dropping back to the emblem, a token of Xenique’s power held in the palm of her hand. Sapphire nudged her, and Ophelia looked up at her pegasus. “Any ideas, girl?”

She handed it to me, and CK and I observed the thing, dumbfounded given that neither of us could feel the magic like Ophelia and Malakai could. It seemed laced with ether of some kind, but truly, I would never have been able to identify it.

I rolled the orb between my hands, a ridge in the otherwise-flawless glass scraping against my palm. “What’s this?”

Ophelia leaned closer, casting a small bud of Angellight between us. An indentation cut into the surface, etched and worn by the centuries, but still clearly there.

“It looks like a crescent moon,” she said, brow furrowed.

“The symbol of Xenique,” CK said simply.

“Yes, but…” Ophelia fingered the carving. Then, her gaze snapped to her sister. “Jezzie…give me your necklace.”

“What?” Jezebel’s hand flew to the chain around her neck—where a crescent moon pendant hung inlaid with an amethyst. A gift Erista had given her when their relationship was still a secret.

Erista gasped. “By the Angel!” Her sandaled feet flew over the dunes as she circled the group, stopping at Ophelia’s side to trace the symbol in the glass

“Can someone please explain?” Lyria huffed, kicking the sand.

“I think baby Alabath’s necklace fits into this carving on the orb like a puzzle piece,” I guessed.

“Why, though?” Jezebel asked, unclasping her necklace.

“Because this emblem—out of all of them—is most precious,” Ophelia said, eyes locked with her sister. “It’s a tie to the Angels and to the gods .”

“The gods?” Santorina asked.

Erista said, “My father has always claimed we had items that belonged to Xenique in our family trove. That’s where I took the necklace from. And perhaps…” She looked at Jezebel, hope shining in her eyes. “Perhaps it was always meant to belong to you, J. That’s why I gravitated toward it.”

Jezebel scoffed, crossing her arms and looking to the Gates, still shining gold beneath the night sky. Something about the Soulguider’s words clearly bothered her, but Ophelia frowned and mouthed later to me.

“That doesn’t explain the gods,” I interjected, failing to keep up.

“Sorry,” Ophelia said, shaking her head. “We have to start at the beginning to explain.”

And Damien’s unholy cock, did she weave a story. That this magic of the fel strella mythos literally allowed her to raise myths, and she’d used it on a sphinx inside the hall. A sphinx who had once been a guard of Xenique—the Prime Soulguider Warrior—who was not only an Angel but a fucking demigod.

“But this emblem wasn’t the hardest to find,” Malakai proposed, still cradling Mila in the sand. “Shouldn’t it have been if Xenique held that esteem?”

“Not for you,” Ophelia corrected, “because you could hear the siren song. One I bet I triggered when I used the mythos magic to wake the sphinx. I bet only you and I would have been able to hear it, making us the only ones who could find the orb. And without Jezzie’s necklace,” she added, fitting the crescent into the mold, “it’s useless.”

She pressed down on the pendant.

And golden light erupted like a burning wind. It was feral and uncaged, a being freed after millennia of pounding on its glass enclosure. It speared toward the sky like a pair of wings fluttering and tasting the desert air for the first time.

It wrapped around us, and everything felt more possible and powerful as it explored, but it was followed by a weightlessness—like a Spirit floating through the world, untethered.

Finally, after whirling and dipping across the night-bathed dunes, the light seemed to realize it wasn’t finding what it sought. And it retreated back into the orb.

“What the fuck was that?” Malakai asked.

“I have no idea.” Ophelia’s voice was awestruck, but sobered quickly. “There was more the sphinx said, though. She told us the purpose of the Angelcurse.”

Everyone froze, the air heavy. As if the eyes of every Angel and god were turned on us now.

“Which is?” I asked.

“To free the Warrior God from the prison the six known gods locked him in.”

No one said a damn word, until?—

“What in Bant’s everlasting fuck?” Barrett blurted.

“My reaction exactly,” Jezebel deadpanned.

“There used to be a seventh god,” Ophelia explained. “A Warrior God. But the known gods locked him away.”

“And you want to free this thing?” Lancaster growled, stepping closer.

“I have to.” Ophelia’s fingers curled around the orb in a desperate grasp, and dammit, I wanted to peel away the pressure on her shoulders. “Jezebel and I have Godsblood as descendants of Xenique. That’s what activated the Angelcurse in the first place. And since it merged with Alabath blood—Angelblood—the curse will be active in every Alabath to come. If I don’t do this, someone else will have to.”

Full of immortal arrogance, Lancaster argued, “Or we destroy the emblems, as my queen wishes, and no one has to.”

“The cage is already being pried open!” Ophelia challenged.

“You can’t let him free,” Lancaster roared, storming toward us. “Are you insane?”

“I’d back off right now, fae,” I threatened. “You take one more step toward her, and it won’t only be the Revered of the Mystique Warriors you deal with.”

Cypherion grunted in agreement.

Lancaster ignored me, sharp stare trained on Ophelia. “Give the emblems to my queen. Allow her to end this.”

“She won’t be able to!” Ophelia shouted, voice cracking. “Don’t you understand? All magic has a loophole. The very balance demands it. The magic trapping the Warrior God is unspooling.”

Lancaster blanched. “What do you mean?”

“The Rites, the phoenix, the unsettled magic that sent you here! It’s all connected. The gods each had to sacrifice a bit of their power to lock him up, but because Godsblood and Angelblood have permanently united within the Alabath line, it’s all unraveling. It’s only going to get worse.”

Shock fluttered over Lancaster’s sharp features. Shock and a tugging, causing him to stumble back. “I have to get to the Queen.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened. “It’s in her bargain with you, isn’t it? When she sent you here, she said once you have answers about your magic, you’re to return to her?”

Lancaster nodded, teeth gritted. “Once I find the source of our magic’s stirring and who is responsible, I am to return with haste.”

Good . Now his bargain following Ophelia and I would be relieved for the time being. Hopefully long enough for us to figure out how to get out of placing the emblems in the queen’s clutches.

My hand clenched at the thought, and I realized I was still holding the scroll from Mora. Unrolling it, I scanned the Endasi passage again, trying to interpret it as if it was about the future. Though it never outright used the word warrior—even in the ancient language—there were a few repeated phrases that did directly translate. And if those were about warriors…

“Damien’s cock…”

Ophelia whirled toward me. “What is it?”

“Power challenges and stifled warriors,” I read, the translation not exact, but close. “Magic as mighty as the enemies across seas, gone beginning with the Ascension.” My gaze snapped up. “Did the sphinx say anything about warrior power growth?”

“What?” Ophelia asked.

“If this is right, the gods trapped warrior power in that prison, as well. It’s why our natural speed and strength and senses are stronger than humans but not quite as strong as…”

Every warrior eye turned toward Lancaster. “ Fae ,” Ophelia breathed, and her voice turned venomous. “Is that why Ritalia doesn’t want us to do this?”

Lancaster shook his head, but his eyes narrowed skeptically, as if he too was putting together pieces of his queen’s motives.

“Don’t worry about Her Majesty,” Brystin taunted. “She’s already on her way.”

We all whirled toward where Dax held his leash, the male hunched in the sand.

“ What ?” Ophelia snarled.

Shoulder still bleeding, Brystin grinned. He’d been waiting for this moment. This revelation was why he’d shown himself tonight, why he’d toyed with us. “Queen Ritalia knows where the emblems belong.”

Ophelia bowed over the male, grabbing him by the collar. “How in the Angels’ realm is she on our land?”

“She had some help. Don’t trust bargains based on what you see.”

Those words hit Ophelia like a boulder—sank my stomach, too—and she demanded, “What is she planning?”

“To make sure you never fulfill this curse. That no one can.”

Shoving Brystin away, Ophelia spun to face us. “We need to get to the mountains. Now.”

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