Page 16 of The Curse of Ophelia

My sister matched my steps, resetting her position. “In spearwork, unlike swordwork, you want to keep distance between you and your opponent,” she reminded me. My instincts always sent me charging at an enemy, to close the distance between our weapons and get my blade upon them. I liked the directness of my short sword and the control it granted. This kind of fighting was different, though. A recalculation of my instincts.

“I know. Quick feet and quicker stabs,” I finished the quote for her. It was one we had both heard, many years ago, the last time I had trained with a spear. Jezebel had been underage, not allowed to train at our level, but Malakai and I didn’t much care for the rules.

Quick feet and quicker stabs, a deep voice echoed in my head. Malakai’s voice. I breathed in the fresh air of our training ring, and for a moment I smelled the rush of worn leather, cedar, and honeysuckle that was Malakai.

I had practically trained from the moment I could walk. I knew how to hold a spear, how to strike, and how to crush an opponent beneath the piercing point of its blade, but I had never understood the grace it took to truly be one with the weapon.An energy poured out of the metal and into my hand, crawling up my arm like it was claiming me for its own. I was unsure whether it was because of the Bind, as my sister suggested, or for another reason, but as it embedded itself into my muscles and veins, I felt something shift within me.

With Malakai’s spear, I channeled his power. That unnamed essence flowed from the weapon into my body, forging a connection, and the distance between us seemed to shrink.

Chapter Seven

Jezebel thought I was unaware of her following me to the tavern every night, but I always knew she was there. Be it through the faint shift of the silence, infiltrated by the most subtle of footsteps, or the scent of gardenia that clung to her skin, my keen senses didn’t miss a beat.

Still, I had to admit as I prowled down the main road of Palerman, she was stealthy. I wasn’t sure how many nights she followed me before I took notice of her presence. I couldn’t be sure if she was doing it to watch out for me or to train herself, but I suspected the latter. My parents may have never intended for Jezebel to complete the Undertaking—even before its suspension—but she had had different plans.

Her featherlight footsteps echoed mine as I turned abruptly down the alley leading to the back entrance of the Cub’s Tavern. I left the door ajar for her.

The familiar room brought me comfort. The fire in the grate cast ominous shadows across the barroom’s dusty floorboards, but the darkness mirrored that within me, and I smiled at my friends as I crossed the room. My skin still buzzed with the energy of the spear, the training session having awakened something sleeping beneath my skin.

“Good evening, Ophelia,” Tolek called from the bar, waving and flashing me a lopsided grin. I smiled back, nodding in greeting. “You appear to be in better spirits tonight than when we last saw you.”

Cypherion exchanged a weary glance with Santorina where she refilled drinks behind the bar. They constantly begged Tolek not to challenge or question my moods, but he never listened. Instead, he drew my fury onto himself whenever it peaked.

“You’re in luck, Tol. For the time being, I am.” I slid into the seat waiting for me between him and Cyph, and nodded at the other patrons along the wooden counter.

Rina placed a modest serving of my favorite rum before me, and as I raised it to my lips, I saw a golden-haired girl slide into a booth in the back corner. She truly was stealthy—and always vigilant.

Jezebel would blend easily with the young Mystiques scattered throughout the tavern tonight. Though I preferred the evenings spent with only my closest friends, I didn’t comment. I knew Santorina would be grateful she had more customers. And Tolek didn’t seem to mind the men and women throwing him seductive glances that were not entirely subtle. Even Cyph had been making hushed conversation with a beautiful girl with dark brown skin and black curls.

Angels, why did my friends have to be attractive? I would likely have one drink and leave them to their frivolity, having no interest in flirting myself.

“Let us drink to your happiness, then,” Tol sang, raising his glass. A group of three girls beside him mimicked the motion. I recognized them from our year of school—there were the Bristol twins, one of whom was leaning across the bar, batting her lashes at Rina from beneath fringed bangs. I’d thought Santorina had been seeing a man whose name I couldn’t remember, but perhaps that had ended. I could admit I’d been distracted as of late.

The third girl was a brunette whose name I also struggled to recall, though her soft features and expressive eyes were familiar.

She caught my gaze. “Hello, Ophelia,” she greeted.

Dammit, I should know her name.

“Hylia here was just taking Cypherion’s side in an argument against me,” Tolek explained, swinging his arm across the girl’s shoulders and lifting his drink. Hylia, I repeated to myself as she whispered something to Tol that made him laugh.

I pursed my lips until he stopped. “Tolek, I am certain that if there is a bet being made, Cyph has considered the outcomes thoroughly.”

“Are you taking his side, as well?” Tol’s arm left Hylia’s shoulder, palm pressing to his chest. He didn’t appear to notice the slight drop of the girl’s smile.

“She would be correct to,” Cypherion noted.

“Nonsense!” Tol yelled.

Smiling to myself as they debated, I ran my hands along the deep maroon of my gown, the color making me feel powerful. Coupled with the easy conversation around me, for once it was hard to feel angry. I smoothed the gold patterns shimmering in the thin top layer of the skirt. It picked up the light in the tavern, reminding me of the shade the spear emitted when I first touched it. The thing beneath my skin shifted.

The boys and Hylia continued their banter, and I roared with laughter when I learned that the bet actually was that Tolek could not—or should not—attempt to shoot a moving target with a bow and arrow while standing atop his horse, Astania, as she galloped.

“Perhaps if the lovely Rina dares to refill my glass a few more times, I will give this challenge a valiant effort,” Tol declared.

“You barely even know how to handle the weapon,” Cyph argued. He had a point—archery was a Seawatchers’ practice.

Tolek smirked. “Oh, I can handle a weapon.”

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