Page 55 of The Curse of Ophelia

Jezebel and Cypherion burst into the clearing, leathers barely buckled up, hair dripping wet, and identical looks of fury on their faces.

“Kind of you to show up,” I greeted.

After one sweep of the scene, Jezebel spoke in a voice as soft and fierce as death’s embrace. “Now, what is going on here?”

“It looks like someone wants trouble,” Cyph said, eyes locked on that fae blade.

Jezebel chuckled. “I suggest you release her now, or my friend here will sink his scythe into your skull quicker than you can beg the Angels for mercy. Hurt her”—she raised a dagger and flipped it around her hand, a chilling smile parting her lips—“and I’ll do it.”

Cypherion raised his weapon with a threatening growl of agreement.

“I won’t be begging to any Angels,” the fae answered. Jezebel’s hand tightened around her dagger.

“Stand down,” I commanded my sister and Cypherion. They turned aghast faces to me. “He will release her now.” I gave the faerie a look of pure ice, raising my chin and looking down my nose at him.

He bared his teeth, and I heard Jezebel’s and Cypherion’s identical intakes of breath. He gripped the knife tighter briefly but reluctantly shoved Rina forward, a pink line cutting across her throat.

“What are you doing here?” my sister asked without lowering her weapon. Santorina scuttled to my side, shooting a glare of pure vengeance at the faerie. Without breaking my stare, I removed a dagger from my thigh and tucked it into Rina’s palm. Waves of relief rolled off of her as she curled her fingers around the handle.

“He was about to enlighten me,” I hissed.

He held his knife at his side. “Threats to us and our magic are looming. I was sent here to discover what hold they have on your people.”

Threats to the magic. The words landed like a hot weight in my stomach, another piece of Gallantia unraveling before me.

“What kind of threats?” Cypherion asked, his analytical brain likely already putting pieces together.

“You don’t already know?” He relished in his advantage, his full lips tilting upward on one side.

“What is your name?” I fought to wrest back control of the conversation, my question cool though my blood boiled.

He thought for a moment, looking up at the interwoven branches before deciding whether to share his identity. “Lancaster,” he finally answered. I did not know if it was true or not.

“Well, Lancaster, what can you tell us of this threat?” I asked calmly, sheathing Starfire in a show of alliance.

He dropped his dagger into his belt as well. “It will come for you—for all of us.”

“What is it?” Goose bumps rose beneath my leathers.

“We are unsure.” His tone was clipped, as if it hurt to say anything. “Our sources are tracking it, but we don’t know much yet.”

I nodded, tucking away each shift of his shoulders and buckle of his voice, clues to dissect later. “What you learn, we will want to know,” I commanded, though I held no authority over the fae.

The forest was still, everything from the creatures to the trees watching. Waiting.

Lancaster nodded, one sharp bob of his chin as his hands clenched, reluctance pouring from every facet of his body and sharp-eyed stare. I suspected he was under orders to play nice with Mystique leaders.

“Now be gone, and do not harm any others in our land.”

He looked to Rina. “I am sorry for the misunderstanding. We will meet again.” He swept a deep bow before running from the clearing with the unmatched speed of the fae.

I leaned on Malakai’s spear, allowing the weakness in my legs to creep up my body. Another thread being dangled before me, unraveling from the tapestry I had thought so perfect. It begged me to weave the mysteries back together, to clarify the muddled truth of a world much dirtier than I thought.

But the web became more tangled by the day. I was uncertain where each strand belonged.

*

“What did he mean?” Rina asked that night when we settled down to sleep. The sky was black, barely any stars peeking through the trees.

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