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

Chapter 74

Chapter Seventy-Four

Malakai

The cavern seemed quieter without Lyria, but the battle didn’t stop. Not as Tolek sobbed over her body and they exchanged words. Not as Erista held her hand to guide her spirit to rest. Not as Ophelia ignored Ritalia’s echoing barbs and only had focus for Tolek, his head cradled to her chest.

The rest of us had only been still for a moment. One singular second in which that blade sank into Lyria’s heart.

And then, as if we were all fueled by the chasm Lyria would leave behind, we fought back with only her wrongful loss on our minds.

I tore through opponents with one goal—getting to Lancaster.

Tell Mila , Lyria’s words played in my mind as I struck at each fae, not caring where I hit or if I killed them.

I hadn’t heard the commander’s message, but my heart sank like a stone in my chest. Mila . She was going to wake eventually, was going to find out her best friend was…

All I could see was Mila worriedly chewing her lip as she fretted over how to help Lyria. The nights she’d sat up, wondering if Lyria was sleeping okay or if the horrors of war were plaguing her, too. The joy in her eyes as her friend had returned to her these weeks and they’d walked the path to healing together.

Not everyone made it to the end of that road.

Rage poured through me at the heartbreak that awaited Mila, but I tightened my hand around the leather grip of my sword. I’d hold her through that grief.

I used the anger to slice down the fae before me. Again and again. Let their blood bathe the chamber until I lost track of how many I’d killed.

Until my heart stuttered through my chest, and the ground trembled again. I whirled—only one thing could cause that.

Ophelia was back at the Angel statues, backing away from the Soulguider. A red-eyed Tolek urged her on from where he still held his sister. One hand clutched his chest as if struggling to draw his next breath, but he roared at her to go—an unusual steel in his voice that solidified my plan.

And as Tolek tracked Ophelia from Xenique’s figure to Valyrie’s, nothing but cold death lingered in his gaze—no fear at this bargain that could be his end as well, because his sister was already gone, and undiluted hatred filled the space she left behind.

No hint of dread pierced Tolek’s facade as Ophelia placed the fated lovers of Valyrie’s heart into position in the only statue with a face turned toward the heavens, her tall, slender body carved with long hair drifting to her waist—and a hollow in the center of her chest.

As the heart slipped into place, the earth shook again, a riotous boom like stars crashing in the sky. Shimmering, fated power burst from the statue, and Vale cried out.

It wasn’t pained, though. It was a sound of true euphoria as star-laced Angellight washed over us all. And when she opened her eyes, they shone the brightest silver, amplifying the fog that had filled her stare since the Ascension reading.

I used the moment of distraction to spin back to the fight, dodging another opponent with one goal in mind.

Finally reaching the edge of the battle, I gripped Lancaster’s tunic and swung him around to face me, hidden in the shadows.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I roared over clashing weapons.

“I’m not even fighting, Mystique!”

“Not the battle!” I jerked my head toward Tolek, and Lancaster’s eyes followed. “I know you’re working against your queen. So, what are you doing to him?”

He’d admitted it on the flight to the mountains.

I have felt the ill will of bargains that reign through the generations, and will do what is in my power to guide hands to unravel them.

And when Santorina threw her dagger at him and the initial fight broke out, Lancaster hadn’t made a move for any of us. He sank into the background.

“Guard your words, Mystique,” the male muttered, brutal stare flashing to where Ritalia screamed at Ophelia.

“I know that demand is a fraud,” I whispered harshly, gesturing to where Tolek held his chest.

“I assure you, it is very real. Although, there’s been ways to absolve it.”

“What do you mean?”

His jaw ticked. Another thing he was not allowed to share.

“I know you’re powerful, Lancaster,” I muttered. “I read about generational bargains—how they’re hereditary when passed from your goddess. I’d bet something of the sort is laced through your blood, as fae magic tends to be passed.”

I was willing to bet my life that all of these locks were tied to whatever that magic was. That whatever we’d been prying out of him and his sister went back to the gods.

Again, a muscle feathered in his jaw. I squinted at him, and he forced out, “Some things do repel?—”

“Ancient magic,” I whispered.

Ancient magic repelled goddess magic. We’d read about that in the books from Ritalia’s library. Mora’s glamoured phoenix had been nullified by Ophelia’s ancient mythos magic—Lancaster’s healing didn’t work against the enchantment in the corpse bite on his sister’s shoulder.

And they couldn’t speak of their Goddess Aoiflyn, nor could they speak of the roots of their magic.

Beside us, Jezebel slammed one of the dead fae soldiers into the wall, tackling an opponent, and I shook off the budding theories. We would deal with Lancaster’s secrets if we survived tonight.

The male ground his jaw, growling impatiently. He was giving me pieces, so slowly but they were there, prying them out of his locked tongue one word at a time. “Myth. Magic.”

My head whipped to Ophelia, then Jezebel.

Ancient magic repels goddess magic.

“They can break it,” I gasped.

“Not here,” Lancaster said, my attention shifting back to him. He watched his queen, unease framing his expression. “Not in view. But they can.”

Because Lancaster didn’t trust Ritalia entirely, and he couldn’t outright disobey her, but he could silently work against her, laying his own trap. Like insisting that Ophelia and Jezebel needed to learn how to use their magic.

“What are you doing to Tolek?”

The fae’s eyes roved over Tol kneeling at his sister’s side, over Ophelia at the statue, and finally his queen. “Specifications matter,” he muttered.

“What was it?” I asked, eyes flicking back toward where Tolek was clearly breathing difficultly.

Lancaster’s jaw ground, the words struggling to get out. “I said he would die.”

My heart thudded desperately, and then I said, “Not instantly.”

The slightest nod.

I nearly laughed. “So subtle, Ritalia didn’t even notice.” The queen would expect her loyal hunter to weave a more complicated bargain, but there was one problem she didn’t foresee. Somehow, she’d turned her subject against her, and he’d used that misstep to write her own downfall.

“The breathing,” I clarified, “that will get better?”

“An illusion of the deal,” Lancaster said. “As a gifted crete, I created a block.”

I didn’t care about clarifications of the magic, waving him off and turning toward the battle. To tell Ophelia to continue with the emblems. Tolek would be perfectly fine. He’d die one day, but not right now. Not because of this.

I’d barely taken a step when Ritalia roared, “Return another emblem, Revered, and his life is next!”

“Tolek, what—” Ophelia’s voice broke off abruptly, and my gaze snapped to them.

At the queen’s voice, Tolek had pushed to his feet. In the flurry of Lyria’s death, he’d lost his sword and dagger across the cavern, but he was rushing to Ophelia’s side. Nimble fingers reached for her?—

For the dagger sheathed at her thigh.

Before any of us could blink, Tolek ripped it from her and launched the blade with a silent, furious precision only grief could derive.

And that dagger—a weapon Cypherion had gifted Ophelia—tumbled end over end across the cavern. I swore, even over the roaring fight and clangs of weapons, the whistling of the blade pierced the air. The dagger sank between skin and bone—into the queen of the fae’s heart exactly as another had Tolek’s sister, sealing the debt of her death in ruby red.

The air seemed to shudder, time suspending for a moment.

Ophelia and Jezebel would not need to break the godly bargain with their mythos power. Not tonight at least. Because Ritalia’s body crumbled to the ground.

Tolek stood still, breathing heavily, Ophelia blinking wide eyed at his side.

Cypherion and I locked stares, silently exchanging the weight of what had happened. Tolek had killed the queen—had ensured the demise of the royal line—thanks to a blade gifted to Ophelia by a boy named for the cyphers.

Not only was revenge sealed, but a prophecy was fulfilled.

And Tolek, without a hint of myth magic in his blood and with only pure determination and one sure, vengeance-seeking throw, severed bargains centuries in the making.