Page 46 of The Curse of Ophelia

“No promises,” he exhaled, wincing. My heart sank at the sight.

Spirits, this was my fault. All of it. Dragging my friends into this journey, into unpredictable danger. They did not deserve this pain. The attacks, the fear for their lives—they should not have seen any of it. These were risks that I should have faced alone.

Fear was a hot iron stabbing my innards as I remembered the weakness the Curse had plunged into my body. I almost lost Tolek—my closest friend, my guiding moonlight in the dark night, and the knot that tethered me to reality—because of it. I wanted to rip the damned affliction from my wrist, claw it out one dark tendril at a time until it suffered as much as we had.

The Engrossians—this all went back to them. If I survived this journey, and was granted more time by the Curse, they’d be next on my list of targets.

A molten desire for revenge budded in my gut as I looked at Tolek’s face, pale from loss of blood. If it hadn’t been for his sacrifice, I would not have the chance to avenge those I loved so deeply. Though I hated the circumstances, perhaps there was something to be said for not moving through life on your own.

“We can’t stay here,” Jezebel said, wiping her hands on the grass and leaving it smeared with Tolek’s blood. I assessed my sister. Her face was stern but steady. She was covered in dirt and blood—hers or Engrossians’ I was not sure—but she seemed otherwise okay, save for minor scratches. Rina was similarly situated, with a split lip that swelled slightly.

“He can’t ride.” Cypherion sounded offended that Jezebel would even suggest it, and I knew he was going to spend the next few days guarding Tolek like a mother wolf.

“What if more rogues attack?” Jezebel asked, but even as she said it, her gaze flashed to Tolek’s wound and uncertainty lit her eyes.

“I’ll be okay,” he insisted. His eyes were closed as he reclined against Cyph, hands locked above his head.

“Stop being a fool,” Cyph warned.

Tolek cracked an eye open at the tone. “We need to move. Give me something to numb my Spirits-damned wound and replenish my blood. Santorina, I’m certain you have tonics for that?”

Rina was already mixing ingredients from vials in her pack. “I’m not certain how well they’ll work given that I can’t properly measure proportions.” She sniffed a dark concoction, then dropped a white powder into it, swishing it until it dissolved. “Try this.” She mixed a second one hastily, this liquid a deep crimson, and Tolek downed them both.

“Thank you,” he said. Without waiting to see what effects the drugs would have, he dragged himself into a seated position. “Shall we?” he asked, looking at us all as if we were the reason we had stopped moving.

I chewed my lip as I considered the risks of each alternative. “We walk,” I finally decided. Even that would risk Tolek’s leg, but it had to be better than the jostling of a horse and the strain that would put on his thigh muscles.

Tolek’s eyes flashed open. “That will be much too slow. Surely, I can get on—”

“You aren’t mounting anything, Vincienzo.” My voice was firm, but he laughed at the suggestion in my words. At least his humor hadn’t been harmed. “I’ll walk with you; the others will surround us on horseback. We send one scout ahead every few hours to check the way. Should there be a threat, we either divert to another path, or we throw you on a horse and pray to the Angels and Spirits for your health.” Warriors healed more quickly than humans—I only hoped it would start to take effect soon.

His mouth was a tight line as he decided whether arguing with me was worth it, but whatever he saw in my eyes confirmed that it was not.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Someone find my damned weapons and help me up.”

Once Tolek was—painfully—on his feet, arm slung around my shoulders, spear strapped across his back, and sword secured in Astania’s saddle, he said, “Oh, I believe I won our bet, CK.”

“What bet?” Cypherion looked skeptical.

“I did indeed stand up on horseback mid-battle. I may not have fired an arrow, but I think jumping from the saddle counts for something.” His grin warmed my chilled body as he squeezed me to his side.

Chapter Nineteen

Malakai

“Look at me,” he seethed.

I did not. I would not. Because I knew what I would see in his gaze—an expectation of me to accept the truths as he saw them. And that was one of the few things that would break me. So, I kept my eyes on his dark boots, counting the scuff marks on the toes.

“You’re difficult. I had not been told of your attitude.” His voice was gravel against an open wound. Each word sliced deeper into me, tearing and grating.

I smirked against the pain because it was all I could do. Sweat-soaked bangs curled into my eyes, blocking the view of my captor, but he heard my amused exhale. I gripped the wooden arms of my chair and focused on the splinters cutting into my palms as I whispered, “I guess your lapdogs aren’t so loyal.”

There was a beat of silence, then his hand struck me so quickly I didn’t even see him raise it. My head snapped backward, the impact rocking through my skull and down my spine. The force sent my chair tipping onto its back legs and my teeth sliced into my bottom lip as I bit back a growl. I swallowed the iron taste of blood and squeezed my eyes tight against the spinning world. He was wearing a fucking ring, and the large stone in it sliced my jaw, drawing a line of blood down my neck. From the thick gush, I knew it would scar, adding yet another mark to my body.

Fucking Spirits, why is he here? It had been over eight hundred days and he had never once visited. Not since the day he threw me in this cell.

His presence meant nothing good, and whatever purpose brought him here was likely an evil I couldn’t avoid. With a deep breath, I looked up at him, and let the weight of the truth crash over me.

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