Page 12 of The Curse of Ophelia

I staggered up on trembling legs, breathing heavily over the hole widening in my heart. The intimacy of this space only intensified my loss. A phantom hand dragged nimble fingers up my spine in that familiar fashion, and I shivered, my eyes stinging.

Coming here had been a mistake.

If possible—standing here in our personal cocoon—I felt further from Malakai than ever. This space, the moonlight against white petals and glassy water, pushed me toward what I had fought for so long—breaking. My breaths came quick and shallow as I looked to the sky, one star brighter than the rest, winking at me.

I turned my back on the clearing and lifted the jasmine curtain, praying to the Spirits that the stars had not stopped shining on him.

The white petals were bathed with the barest hint of yellow as they moved, and I froze. Something within my body stuttered—like my blood had flowed backward for a moment, only to ricochet back in the right direction. Everything within me seized at the unnatural sensation, my hands clenching around the flowers and ripping them from where they hung.

The tightening within me hurt as deeply as the tearing of my heart, like something was tinkering with the very essence of my life.

But as quickly as the feeling washed through me, the pain was gone. I was left standing with a sheen of sweat across my brow and a pale, trembling hand gripping delicate strands of jasmine.

The world spun. I collapsed to my knees, vomiting into the feathered grass until my body had nothing left to give.

I wasn’t sure how many minutes or hours passed as I remained curled over my knees, forehead pressed to the dirt with only the moon and stars to keep me company. My body alternated between dry heaves and waves of pain, quiet moments of night echoing in between. Through it all the only thing I could think of was how this moment confirmed the tarnishing of this clearing and everything it once stood for.

When my legs regained enough strength to support me, I rose slowly, bracing a palm against a cypher. Unsure if I could ever return to this place, I cast one last longing look over my shoulder.

And what I saw nearly knocked me to the ground again.

It was impossible. It hadn’t been there before I was sick, yet it now slashed a golden line through the middle of the clearing.

I approached slowly, as if rushed footsteps would scare it away. A voice in the back of my mind laughed at me—it was not alive. It could not flee. It had appeared here somehow, though, meaning it must also have a means of escape. Objects did not simply spring into being.

My legs wobbled as I knelt beside the spear where it was cushioned by pillows of grass. The golden metal shone, an impeccable ray of sunlight amid the darkness of the night, but I knew it would have that effect anywhere. I could see it in my memory: a streak against the sky, lighting a path where it swung.

A trail of engravings traveled from end to end, etching a story along the length of the shaft. Flowers and vines tangled together, the thickest and roughest starting at the bottom with the most delicate wrapping toward the blade. They circled a jagged emblem holding tiny aquamarine stones in the shape of a mountain, symbolizing that this was a historic weapon forged to guard all Mystiques.

Hesitantly, I dragged my fingertips along the cool metal. It rolled toward me, and the gems gleamed in the moon’s reflection. The largest stone in the center cast light on the smaller ones trailing it, like a crown on a weapon fit for a future Revered.

For Malakai.

Malakai’s spear.

It shouldn’t be here. He had taken it with him when he left for the Undertaking, and it would have gone with him into the Spirit Volcano. My breathing turned ragged; my head spun. I whirled to my feet, searching the clearing. Was he here? Had Malakai returned?

“Hello?” I called, my voice weak.

Only the pounding of my heart answered.

“Malakai?” Saying his name felt like dragging a hot iron through my throat. Like tearing a spirit from their living body. A part of me knew that there would be no answer, and I shook my head at my false hope. If Malakai had truly returned, he would not play such games. He would not hide from me. Nothing on Ambrisk could keep the two of us apart if there was any route around it.

I looked back to the weapon on the ground. Curiosity mingled with another emotion—fear. Some sense within me was frightened by its presence.

Regardless of the foreboding swirling in my gut, I stooped to pick it up. It warmed in my palm, the golden metal flaring like a burst of mystlight in the night. In time with the spark, something within me thrummed, the odd, reversed blood flow sensation returning. I bit down on my lip against the pain, but it settled in the hand that grasped the spear, like it was speaking to the weapon. I didn’t understand how, but a kinship was forming. Perhaps already had.

Half of my mind wanted to abandon the spear here, arguing that I should not trust its suspicious appearance and sentient feel. The other half wanted to bind this weapon to my body and never release it—one last reminder of Malakai.

He may not be here, but I had this piece of him. I could feel his spirit pulsing within the weapon that had been handed down to him at birth as the future Revered. The only weapon he ever wielded. His most cherished possession.

By right it was his, and I didn’t know how I found it now, but I knew that leaving it behind would be like leaving him, and that was something I could never do. The Bind pulsed as if in agreement as I hugged the spear to my chest.

Something else pulsed along with it, a second heartbeat pounding through my body.

Chapter Six

“It’s only three days away, sweetheart, and you haven’t given us any indication of how you’d like to celebrate.” My mother’s attempt at a calming tone had the opposite effect on me. I was too consumed by the discovery of Malakai’s spear and the subtle pulsing sensation that had yet to leave my body to care about my upcoming birthday.

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