Page 20 of The Curse of Ophelia

“Good morning, Father,” I said, stepping into the office and toward the desk. I needed to get closer to be sure.

“What can I do for you?” he asked formally.

My head spun with the questions I needed answered but couldn’t ask. “What are you reading?” I inquired.

He flashed the cover of the file that lay open on his desk. But I couldn’t focus on the title because as he raised it to eye level, his shirtsleeves rolled up his arms. Unmarked wrists stared back at me. No Curse.

His words washed past me as I tumbled through a mix of relief and fear, not pausing to indulge either emotion. My father was safe, thank the Spirits, but that meant…Mother’s bloodline.

My stomach turned to ice, but I nodded compliantly as my father stopped talking. “Sounds fascinating,” I agreed in a voice much stronger than I felt.

“Well, it’s more of an obligation to be up to date on the latest excavation developments in the mountains than it is of personal interest, but it comes with the job, I suppose.” He shrugged but didn’t ask after my feigned interest. My father learned long ago not to question my mind.

“I suppose it does.” My fingers twisted within my sleeves, sweat pooling in my palms and along my spine. It was much too hot for this dress, but that was not the source of my distress.

“If you’d like to learn more, I can send a note to the Revered. Perhaps we can set up a tutoring program for the summer.” He gestured to the inkwell on his desk that held the same liquid used to etch Mystique tattoos. Made of the mountains. A warrior must simply scribe a note with the dark ink and the parchment would transfer to the recipient instantly. It was to be used sparingly, and I did not wish to send any messages to the Revered in my current state.

Not that the man ever returned to Palerman anymore. He hadn’t since his son disappeared. It was rumored that he had locked himself in the Revered’s Palace in the city atop the mountains for shame of his son’s failure.

“No, thank you, Father. I’ll leave you to your work.” I dismissed myself, closing the door quickly.

Jezebel looked at me with raised eyebrows. I scanned up and down her sunshine-yellow dress. With the short, capped sleeves at her shoulders, her arms were entirely exposed, and I couldn’t help checking one more time to ensure she was safe.

But Jezebel was younger than me. Just because she hadn’t shown the Curse yet didn’t mean she wouldn’t. The webbing pulsed as a reminder of what she’d face. I’d have to pay close attention to her behavior in the coming days. Before I—

“Breakfast?” I asked, turning toward the kitchen and nearly stumbling on my shaking legs.

We entered to the sound of meat sizzling on the stove, the smell not enticing my twisting stomach. At the table, my mother engaged my grandmother in a conversation about seam work while they drank freshly brewed herbal tea.It would have been a pleasant morning—had I not been marked to die.

My eyes landed on my grandmother, and for once I was grateful for her Soulguider heritage. It meant she was safe.

I took one deep breath in through my nose and released it out through my mouth before speaking. “Good morning,” I interrupted their conversation.

“Good morning, girls,” my mother responded. Her brow knitted. “Ophelia, why are you wearing such a heavy dress? It’s not seasonal.”

I shrugged. “The color suited me.” A horrible lie. My obvious preference was one layer of skirts, sheer bodices, and short sleeves if I could not convince my mother that a strapless dress was suitable.

Jezebel nudged my rib cage as she walked to the stove to prepare her plate for breakfast, and I had to fight the instinct to snatch my wrist away from her reach. “Ophelia is acting rather odd this morning.”

I glared at her.

My mother turned a worried expression to me, but my grandmother stared resolutely at the teacup in her hands. “Are you feeling all right, sweetheart? Perhaps a cup of tea?” My mother reached for the teapot in the middle of the table, and my heart nearly stopped.

There was nothing on her wrists. No hint of the green-gray webbing that was burrowing further into my skin with every minute that I stood here.

I felt like the world was tilting, and I was going to fall off the end of it. This was not possible. The Curse targeted bloodlines, yet I was the only one of my blood who bore it.

“I’m going to have breakfast with Santorina.” I excused myself, shooting a glare at Jezebel as I added, “Alone.”

Once outside, I marched across our generous land and into the tree line. I fell against the sturdy trunk of a cypher, taking heaving breaths. Though I was baffled, relief brought tears to my eyes, loosening my tense muscles with each drop that rolled down my cheeks.

It was only I who faced death. I could accept that.

The green-gray lines had not spread up my arm yet, but I could feel them tainting my blood. There was a subtle, constant pain throughout my wrist, with short excruciating bursts as the Curse dug its roots deeper into me. Biting my lip to keep from screaming, I watched the dark epicenter pulse as quickly as my thoughts.

None of this was possible, yet the evidence was here.

The Curse had returned, and I was the lone victim.

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