Page 15 of The Curse of Ophelia

I chose my words carefully, unfolding the hurt within me and baring it before her, explaining why I went to the clearing the night before, what I hoped to gain, what I did not find, and what seemed to have found me. Reliving the pain of the spear’s appearance felt like something twisted its way through my bloodstream, but when I finished, relief unspooled in my chest. Perhaps sharing the weight of pain truly was a good thing.

Jezebel crossed the shed to wrap her arms around me. We were silent, but I relaxed into her embrace. When she pulled back, she appraised me with wide eyes. So many thoughts swirled in those tawny irises.

“Where is it?” was the first question she voiced.

One locked cabinet remained at the back of the shed. Before the war, it had been the place my father kept his most cherished weapons. Now, he rarely visited the room at all. I fished an iron key from the pocket of my discarded dress and took a breath, unsure why I was so nervous. It was only a spear.

With shallow breaths, I removed the weapon from where I had stashed it last night. The second it met my hand, the familiar heat surged along my arm. It was empowering and endangering all at once, in ways I neither expected nor felt able to handle—it fueled me but also seemed like it could kill me. I did not release it, though. The power surged into my body, stronger now than last night.

Jezebel came to stand beside me, eyes lingering on the place where my fingers wrapped around the weapon, but she did not touch it.

“This shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, tone reverent.

“I know,” I agreed. It should be with Malakai.

“You’re certain there was no one else in the clearing?”

I nodded. “Positive.” I had checked the perimeter extensively before leaving, and with my heightened senses, I would have known if someone had entered the clearing to deposit the spear. Although, I had to admit that I was sick at the time. But anyone planning to leave this there would not have known that was going to happen. It was mere convenience.

“Describe it again,” Jezebel said, still not looking at me.

I adjusted my grip on the spear, searching for the words to explain the sensation when I touched it. “It feels like there’s something in me that’s reaching out to it, and something within it struggling to get to me. Like threads through my veins—tugging. Like my blood was a river whose current was being warped.”

“Could it be the Bind?” Her eyes narrowed at the weapon, and I could practically see her mind turning.

“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “But I know what that pull feels like, and this feels different.”

“But it’s Malakai’s spear by the hands of fate,” she mused, one hand fiddling with the charm on her necklace. “Maybe he’s somehow tied to it—like it’s connected to his spirit, so it calls to the tethers within the Bind.”

I stared at my sister, wondering when she became so profound. I often forgot she was not the young girl who followed us to training sessions each day in secret and watched from the trees. She spoke of the Bind and the forge it drew between two souls as if she had experienced it.

“You may be right,” I said, unsure why the explanation disappointed me.

We stood in silence, the power in my hand swallowing us up. Outside the shed, birds called to each other, and breezes rustled the trees; I found it incredible how the rest of the world could seem so untouched by this new mystery in our lives.

Finally, Jezebel asked, “What do you want to do with it?”

I turned the spear over, testing its weight. “I want to use it.”

“You?” She quirked a brow. “You want to use a spear?”

I nodded.

“I’ve been trying to get you to use spears for years.”

“Not this one,” I replied, strapping it to my back. It settled between my shoulder blades as if it was meant to be there, warmth spreading out from the metal and seeping into my skin.

Jezebel’s answering smile was dazzling. “After you.” She threw the door open, the wood creaking as we stepped out into the spring sun and began our training.

With the cool breezes dancing along my cheeks, I truly enjoyed the power of a spear for the first time.

I twirled the weapon above my head, my hands moving swiftly. When I was within striking distance of Jezebel, I slashed diagonally, aiming not for her but for her weapon. It flew to the dirt beneath her feet.

“Excellent,” she cheered. Though I had beaten her, a smile crept across her flushed face. For the first time in years, mine truly matched it.

My chest rose and fell rapidly. Fighting with a spear was different than a sword, and my muscles were not quite used to the exertion. The burn was foreign but welcomed.

“Let’s go again,” I panted, taking large paces backward to put the appropriate distance between us.

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