Page 5 of The Curse of Ophelia

I met his eyes and imagined the smile on my face matched the one he flashed at me, every soft curve of our lips full of a love so powerful it threatened to break us.

“My North Star,” Augustus whispered, bending to brush his lips over the freshly inked spot on my arm and sending shivers down my spine. “So that we may always come back to each other.”

Chapter Three

Present Day

My fingers curled around the cool metal of my fork and knife as I dug into whatever roast bird my mother had prepared for us. I chewed each bite methodically, missing the plentiful meals we used to indulge in before the war. With so many lives lost, those remaining had to redirect their work. Trade suffered under the new organization. Mystique cities throughout the territory had to sustain themselves, rather than exchange goods as we used to. All efforts were now internal, leaving us without even the minor clans to deal with.

Before, any given meal was rare game and rich produce from the Wild Plains, foreign seasonings brought from the eastern lands of the Seawatchers Clan and presented to my father in exchange for dealings with the Mystique Warriors.

Sure, we still had more than most due to our last name. My father’s bloodline and rank as the Revered Warrior’s Second afforded us a more comfortable life than most after the war, but it was little in comparison to the old days.

Our home, once overflowing with an abundance of rich foods, luxury goods, and well-compensated staff, was now reduced to the bare necessities for survival. Expensive paintings that once adorned the walls had been sold, leaving the grand dining room an echo of what used to be.

Only one long table with a dull green tablecloth occupied the space below the mystlight chandelier. I sat at it now, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows to my left that framed the soft pink sky of a setting sun. At least we still had beauty amid this dreary world.

The built-in bookshelves to my right were emptier each time I entered the room, the belongings sold piece by piece to provide for the Mystique Warriors and Palermanians. I did not understand why, two years later, artwork, statues, artifacts, and books were still required to be exchanged for food and clothing to keep others alive.

The dining room had two entrances: one into the foyer of our home, and one swinging door into the kitchen. Illia, our lone remaining housemaid, was the only one to enter through the latter now. What used to be a room fit for divine feasts had been stripped to its bones.

My mother kept the house running with the help of Illia and my sister, but the difference was stark. Our lives were dimmer, like a layer of decay had settled over our home, city, and people. Each day, it ate away at us more and more. The war had ended, the Curse was lifted, we worked to restore our land, but still Mystique Warriors suffered. They lost loved ones—a feeling I knew too well—and without them, it was hard to move forward.

My stomach twisted with guilt at the thought of those suffering.I set my utensils down, unsure I could continue to palate the dull food, though my sister ate as voraciously as she always had.

“I was wondering today, Father,” Jezebel began, spearing a roasted carrot on her fork. The conversation had been a distant buzz in my mind, but the mischief coating her tone caught my attention. “We haven’t discussed the progress of the Curse in some time.” She popped the carrot into her mouth.

“That’s not a question, dear,” my father responded, cutting himself another generous slice of dry bird.

Jezebel’s brows rose. “I have many questions.” She tore a piece of bread.

“Don’t get her started,” I mumbled, my chin lowered and eyes glued to the muted blue fabric of my skirts as my fingers fiddled with the lace cuff at my elbow. I hated the color—too soft. I hated the lace—too dainty. I hated the way the binding ran up my back and framed my torso, the skirts wrapping around me—too restrictive.

My mother shot me a glare, but my comment went otherwise unacknowledged.

“Curiosity is a gift, Jezebel. What would you like to know?” my father encouraged.

I gaped at him, unable to believe he was indulging her when I had spent the past two years searching for answers and being told it was a hopeless cause. The light in Jezebel’s eyes only infuriated me further.

“Where did it come from?” she asked innocently, though I knew she knew this already. Everyone knew it. What was she playing at?

“The Curse was placed on the Mystique Warriors during the war, my dear. The leader of the Engrossian Warriors, Queen Kakias, recruited a sorcia from the Northern Isles for this purpose.” My father spoke with patience, but I could feel the wonder bustling beneath his skin. Clearly, he also suspected a deeper meaning behind Jezebel’s questions.

I clenched my fingers in my lap, tearing my skirts slightly at the mention of the Engrossians, the guards of the pools of dark magic in the Engrossian valleys to the far southwest. As the only other major clan, their jealousy of our mountains was the root of all my misery. Their wicked queen’s vendetta against us was the reason the Undertaking was suspended.

Of all the clans, the Engrossians were the only ones who referred to their leaders with the regency titles. It reflected their inability to accept shared power—a trial we felt the repercussions of in the war.

Our groups protected the two largest sources of magic on Gallantia—truthfully, in all of Ambrisk—but ours was stronger, winding through the land like a living being. While dark magic was manipulative, there were goals only our power could achieve.

Envy and suspicion had positioned us as enemies for centuries leading up to the war, when their queen sought to wrench the mountains from our grasp. Though a truce had been reached, I often felt as though we were waiting for the day she would strike again.

Jezebel nodded, pursing her lips in mock consideration of our father’s words. This conversation was clearly progressing as she planned. “How did the Curse manifest itself?”

“Jezebel, what—” my mother began, but paused when my father held up a hand, intrigued by his younger daughter’s game.

“It started with the darkening of the veins, the paling of the skin, and the redness of the pupils, until all sense was lost. It drove one mad, bloodthirsty, turning them into a threat to everyone around them—even those they cherished the most. If it had continued, it would have meant the extinction of our people.”

“And how—”

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