Page 9 of The Curse of Ophelia

“Hi, Rina,” I greeted my close friend dully. “Indulge with me?”

“Ophelia, you know I cannot.” The liner she’d swept across her eyelids emphasized the upward lift at the outer corners of her round eyes, but it couldn’t take away from the dark circles beneath them. Years of pressure, of being tied to this bar since the night her parents died. “Besides, you have other friends to spare you the loneliness.”

The stools on either side of me scraped back. I rolled my eyes as Tolek and Cypherion took their places.

“We’ll have three of your finest ales, please,” Tol chirped. I felt his eyes burning into the side of my face but didn’t tear my stare from where my fingers chipped away at splinters on the bar.

“You know we only have one kind now,” Rina reminded him, a sweet smile gracing her angular face as she reached beneath the bar.

“Ah, my favorite.” Tol nodded in appreciation as she handed him the bottle.

When she placed mine in front of me, I said, “Actually, I’ll have a glass of rum. A large glass.”

My friends exchanged glances.

“Start with a small one,” Rina offered, pouring a meager amount of the dark liquid into a chipped glass. I took it from her, holding it before the light of the fire. The flames turned the liquid into an alluring array of amber hues. The sweet, intoxicating aroma begged my body to consume it.

I brought it to my lips and tipped it back. The warmth slid down my throat and pooled in my stomach. It sent tingles through my limbs and eased the pressure that had built since dinner with my family.

I locked eyes with Rina. “Another small one, please.” She did as I asked, and having made my point, I sipped this one slowly.

Her thin frame was tense, seeming close to buckling under the weight of her work, and I took a breath. When I spoke again, the harshness fell from my tone. “You’re certain there’s no one you can write to in Caprecion to help you run this place?” I asked after her home city for the hundredth time. “No family?”

Santorina didn’t look at us when she answered. “You know that when my parents left they lost contact with our family. I don’t even know if anyone heard about what happened.” Her voice shook over the end of the sentence, eyes on her fingers where they picked apart threads on the rag she had been using to dry glasses. I squeezed my beverage between clammy hands. Santorina and I may be tough on each other, but her pain pierced my own heart.

Cypherion extended a comforting hand across the bar and patted Rina’s shoulder. “What about your grandparents?”

“I don’t remember them really,” Rina told him. She had been a child when her parents left Caprecion permanently, and they had traveled often before that. She took a deep breath and threw her sleek black ponytail over her shoulder. The fire ignited her dark eyes when she lifted her chin. “I think I’m doing a fine job.”

Tol raised a glass to Rina. “You most certainly are,” he encouraged. He took a swig, then turned to me. “Will you be doing a summer exchange this season?”

“I don’t see the point.” Why would I spend weeks of the summer in a different territory, learning their trades and techniques, when I was not allowed to ascend?

For the five summers before the war, Malakai, Tolek, Cypherion, and I—along with other trainees our age—had visited each of the minor clans. We never made it to the Engrossians, and a part of me wondered if we had, if the war would have been avoided. I knew it was a ridiculous hope, though. Four adolescents could have done nothing to stall a war.

“It doesn’t appear we’ll be doing anything else.” Tolek shrugged.

I tightened my grip around my glass and took a sip. The flavor was a bit off. I suspected Rina had been watering down my beverages for weeks now and sighed in frustration.

“They likely won’t even let us train if we attend,” I nearly growled.

“I’d quite like a bit of an escape.” Tolek ran a hand through his hair until it stood on end. “Perhaps we should visit the Seawatchers this time—but the Western Outposts, not the Eastern Territory. I’ve heard the island beaches have sand so soft it resembles an Angel’s wings.”

Cypherion laughed into his ale. “Curses, Tolek, it is not a vacation. It’s a diplomatic effort for future generations. To build relations with other clans and better understand each other.”

“And who’s to say it can’t be both?” Tolek dropped his voice, nudging my shoulder. “What do you say? With Cypherion constantly studying or polishing his unnecessarily large collection of weapons, I could use the company.”

“You read just as much as I do,” Cypherion argued.

“But I read literature—poetry and philosophy and stories of the heart. Not the history and strategy bores that you love so dearly, CK.” Tolek flashed him a grin.

“Yes, you and your heartfelt sonnets. Care to tell us what you’re constantly scribbling in your journals?” Cypherion raised one eyebrow as he lifted his bottle to his lips, and Tolek went silent.

“I won’t be going,” I hissed, and their argument ended.

“Well, your mood is certainly pleasant tonight,” Rina muttered. Her eyes were downcast, but I read the annoyance in her expression. It added to the pain caused by my sister and melded with the fire from arguing with my father, threatening to overcome me.

I didn’t want to tell my friends what had happened tonight. Opening up about my constant rage felt so personal, but I was drained, my fight dimming. “I argued with my family again.” I took a deep breath, twirled my glass between my fingers, and voiced the words I had been afraid of speaking for so long. “I feel as though I am breaking.”

---