Page 69 of The Curse of Ophelia

She was right. On solid ground, it was merely a large step. But hundreds of feet in the air, breathing in hazy ash, along a narrow platform that was crumbling beneath our weight…it was more than worrisome. As we looked, another six-inch chunk of the rock broke off, widening the gap.

“Don’t step too close to the edge. It’s clearly not solid.” I cleared my throat and looked to Cypherion and Tolek. “And you two,” I instructed, pointing to each of their injuries in turn. “Be extra careful.”

They didn’t have any sarcastic responses.

With the smoke around us, it was difficult to see a mere yard beyond the gap, but a piece of me was grateful that in this step, it was only me versus this latest challenge. No distractions ahead, above, or below.

Tentatively, I stretched a foot across the gap. Jezebel braced me from behind. I prodded the ledge with the toe of my boot, ensuring it could hold my weight. When no stray rocks fell, I lunged. My core and the wounds across it clenched, every inch of my body focused on balancing my weight on the precarious surface. In a way, it was what I had been doing for years: teetering over the point of death.

My scars ripped further, blood dripping down my skin, but the stretch of rock was solid beneath my foot. I dragged myself across.

Both feet landed on the other side, my heart stuttering with relief. My fingers dug into the rock wall for support.

Scooting along, I made room for Jezebel, stretching a hand toward her. My breathing came in short, panicked inhales as her feet left the opposite side of the gap, a graceful, fearless leap across the distance. She stood about two inches shorter than me, and I prayed those two inches would not be her weakness.

They weren’t.

Once my sister was safely beside me, our hands locked together to stifle our nervous energy. I nodded at Cypherion.

Awkwardly, he leaned his back against the wall for support, stretching one leg out to the side across the gap. In a moment that sent my heart plummeting to the earth, his supporting leg—the one healing much more slowly after his spinal injury—buckled.

Tol was there before I could gasp, pinning Cyph’s shoulders back against the wall. He shook his head, honeyed highlights invisible under the coating of soot and ash. “None of that,” he warned, gripping his shoulder tighter. “You’re not allowed to fall.”

Chocolate eyes met blue and Cypherion smiled at him in thanks. Then, Cyph threw his weight sideways and fell across the gap, his extended leg landing inches from Jezebel. With her steady hands gripping his arms, he used the functional muscles in that leg to pull himself across.

Tol followed smoothly on his freshly healed leg, and though I could barely see Rina through the haze, with her long, elegant steps she crossed easily—the most flawless of us all.

I released a relieved breath and looked up. Ash and soot fluttered onto my cheeks like snowflakes, but my heart lifted. The blazing mouth of the volcano was in sight through the swirling haze.

We had nearly made it.

Chapter Thirty

Malakai

Ophelia’s face on the day I left had haunted me for over two years. Her dimmed eyes, usually so full of exhilaration and life, had searched mine for a hint of what plagued me. Her lips had pulled between her teeth, as she always did when she fought back words from that argumentative mind. Her drooping cheeks and stature, unbreakable grip around me, every inch of her body lurching to hold me back.

And that last request…Come back to me…

Like a part of her knew that I wouldn’t return, but she stifled it to allow me the chance at my destiny.

I loved the fire that burned within her, but I was glad she held it back that day. Should she have voiced her concerns, I’m not sure how well my resolve would have held against her. It had already cracked each time I looked at her, lies leaving my lips. I hated deceiving her, and that day leading up to my birthday, on the Angel fountain, the truth was on the tip of my tongue.

But then I thought of what sharing that truth would do.

Not to the other parties involved, not even to myself, but to her. If she knew the whole story, she would have broken. A swell of guilt so powerful it could wreck an Angel would have engulfed her. Yes, she would have fought her way out of it, formidable as she was, but I know the path she would have taken then. It was not one I could accept.

So, I bit my tongue, tasting the shame of the lie as it spread through me, and learned to lock my heart behind iron bars. I said goodbye to the one person whose soul was wrapped around my own. We were one in so many ways, on a path together since the day we met.

Or so we thought.

All that time, another force had been at work, and it had other plans in mind for our paths. This—these chains, this cave, this torture—was mine. I could have told Ophelia the truth before I left, but the decision to tie myself to this path was mine to make. So, I had lied, and she had let me go.

It was another reason I loved Ophelia. She argued with the world, but when it came to me, she knew when not to push. The trust built between us since childhood ran deep, deeper than the blood in my veins and the Bind upon my chest. We each had a silent understanding of how the other’s mind, heart, and soul worked.

Though I knew I made the right choice in hiding my secrets from her, a storm cloud of regret hovered over me. What did she think of me? I’d never know. We would never be reunited, but my final wish was that she knew the truth. I wished I had told her on my eighteenth birthday before I said goodbye forever so that we might travel our paths with clear understanding between us. I should have shared that final piece so that at the very least, she would know where I was. So that she would not be ashamed of my failures.

I only hoped that despite it all, she was happy.

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