Page 50 of The Curse of Ophelia

“And?” I pressed, knowing the early hour of their indulgence would not be cause to linger in a town where you had committed theft.

“We overheard them talking, and the things they were saying…” Rina’s words cut off with a shiver.

“There’s unrest,” Cypherion explained. “People are suffering even worse outside of Palerman than we knew. Turren is one of the only towns where the market has been steady, and that’s solely thanks to their position near the Solistine River. Most lost so many in the war that they can barely keep their families fed and clothed.”

I sank to the ground, holding my head in my hands as he continued, “They’re growing tired of it. There’s talk of rebellion against the Revered.”

“The Revered?” Tolek asked. He and I exchanged a nervous glance, the echoes of our encounter with Lucidius on my birthday coming to the forefront of my mind. He had not seemed concerned.

Cypherion nodded. “They think he should be doing more to help those hurting.”

“We spread all of our goods throughout Palerman,” Jezebel argued, but I knew from her slackened shoulders that she understood it wasn’t enough.

“Palerman is not the only Mystique town,” I deadpanned.

Unrest. Starvation. Rebellion. These were not things I felt equipped to face, nor were they things I had time to consider now. But my mind—my responsibility to my people—would not let me forget it.

“We will have to do more,” I said. “We’ll send food to other towns, too. We’ll talk to Father when we return home and have him send word to the Revered. We will fix this.” The promise etched itself into my brain alongside Damien’s prophecy. Perhaps it was all connected, and this journey truly would guide me to save the Mystiques who suffered. If it did not, I’d see to it myself with every hour the Curse spared me.

They all nodded in agreement.

“There’s more,” Rina said, and my heart sank. How could there be more? “The oldest of the warriors—they had to be nearly five centuries old—they kept saying that they felt a shift coming. Like something was building in the atmosphere, waiting to combust.”

A veil of unease fell across our group as her words sank in. “They did not say what?” Tolek asked, leaning forward.

Rina and Cyph shook their heads in unison, the former explaining, “No, but it was ominous. The way they spoke about it brought a trickle of something cold and terrifying slinking through the air. Like whatever it was, it was already here.”

“They spoke of their ancestors, claiming tales from those who had felt it before. But it all sounded like fables to me.” Cypherion did his best to sound reassuring, but his hands clenched at his sides.

I inhaled, holding the breath in my lungs for as long as possible before letting it hiss through my teeth. I was not sure what any of this new information meant for me, how it tied into the path I had carved out for myself. A slinking tendril of the affliction in my blood stretched out, curling itself around a vein with a tug. I had a sinking feeling that I’d find out.

Chapter Twenty-One

“If we survive this journey, Tol, you need to lose weight.” I nearly buckled under his lean muscles as the hours I had been supporting him started to pinch my back. My Cursed arm shrieked in pain under Tolek’s weight, but I bit back my groan. His injured leg dragged over roots and brush, and each grimace that crossed his lips pained me, but we had opted to stay close to the tree line since we would be moving slower.

“You could amputate my leg,” he drawled, eyeing my sword. “That would take a lot of the weight off.”

“Don’t say that.” I scowled up at him, but that pained shadow slithering across his face cracked my angry resolve.

His comments about his family came back to me, and I pulled his arm tighter around my shoulder as our friends’ horses pranced around us. Cypherion led Astania, who demanded to stay close to Tolek’s side, eyeing him with worried brown eyes. Sapphire nudged my shoulder, reminding me that she was with us. Her touch soothed a bit of that discomfort within me.

“I’m convinced that you love my muscles, Ophelia, and would in fact be very disappointed if they were gone.” Tolek grunted as he lifted his leg over a knotted root. The amber specks in his chocolate eyes danced as he wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve seen you watching in training before.”

I reeled in my retort, reminding myself that if he was joking it meant he wasn’t suffering too much. The wound was imprinted in my memory, shining muscle and bone flickering behind my eyelids with every blink. I could still feel the blood across my skin though I had scrubbed it away at first chance. It clung to my memory, the heavy, sticky sensation and stench of metallic death. Tolek’s death. Tolek’s blood. So much blood.

I ducked beneath the sweeping leaves of a willow and let them wipe the spiraling thoughts away.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I responded coolly, though I clearly remembered the way both Malakai’s and Tolek’s muscled backs and arms curved and flexed with each swing of their swords and slice of their spears. Cypherion, too, when he joined us. My cheeks heated at the memory of the days they chose to spar shirtless, the Palermanian sun causing a sheen of sweat to form across their golden skin, dripping down their backs.

Both of them were rather beautiful.

Tolek smirked, eyes on my blush. I had the impression he knew exactly where my mind had wandered, but then his foot dragged over a rock and his howl of curses cut through the air. I wrapped my arms around his waist, keeping him on his feet.

He turned pained eyes to mine, biting his lips to keep from crying out again. The horses stopped, Astania releasing a desperate whinny.

“Come on,” I encouraged, all humor from our previous conversation vanishing. “We’re halfway to the mountains. You’ll heal faster the closer we get.” The magic would work its way into his wound. It had to.

He nodded, his beautifully tanned face paling.

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