Page 36 of The Curse of Ophelia

Tolek shrugged, tossing his sword between his hands. “You’re just afraid you’ll lose against me.”

“Fucking Angels, I’m afraid I’ll put my sword through you because you’re so infuriating.” I clutched Starfire but did not lift her.

His lips quirked upward. “Ah, my dear Ophelia, you’d never be able to even if you wanted.”

I nearly laughed at the absurdity of that statement. “I could. So quickly you’d never know what happened.”

“Is that a threat?” His brows lowered, and he froze with eyes locked on mine. I heard our friends muttering but did not acknowledge them.

“I’m not doing this, Tolek.” I sheathed my sword and tried to push past him, but his next words brushed against my cheek, a secret just for me.

“Afraid the alcohol affects your skill?”

My eyes snapped to his, mere inches away. “No,” I snapped.

“Prove it.”

I placed two hands firmly on his chest and shoved—hard. The anger that Santorina had stirred within me heightened until I was nearly shaking. Tolek lifted his sword, tilted his head to either side to crack his neck, and wiggled his brows. The smile lifting one corner of his lips told me that he knew he had me.

Without another word, I unsheathed my sword. My feet, legs, entire body shifted into a stance that felt more natural than any other—a defensive position, ready to guard from any blade or foe. My eyes flickered over Tolek’s body, awaiting his first strike, categorizing every twitch of his defined arm muscles and blink of his long lashes. He winked, distracting me enough that I didn’t see his first blow coming. His sword skimmed the front of my leathers, not close enough to tear, but close enough to let me know that if he had wanted it to—that swipe would have ended me.

“Your reflexes seem slow,” he said.

“That was a cheater’s shot,” I growled, but he was right. I should have dodged that.

“That’s a loser’s accusation.” He reset his stance. “Come and get it, Alabath.”

It took a few more strikes for me to regain my power, and in those close blows of Tolek’s I began to understand Santorina’s point. For years, I had only trained with my sister. I had learned her style so well that it was nearly impossible to surprise me, but fighting a different opponent highlighted my weaknesses. Where my stamina and reactions were not what they should be. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the alcohol that my body and mind had, to some extent, become dependent on, or if it was due to the secret burrowing into my wrist, but regardless of the cause—I was weakened. The vulnerability turned to ash on my tongue.

Fury at my friends for seeing this, at myself for letting this happen, and at the Angels and Spirits that plunged me into this fate spread through my body. It encouraged my movements—made them more precise. I was not the fighter I should have been, but I posed a challenge for Tolek once again. With each strike, I resumed a bit of my old control.

The repeated clash of our weapons was loud in the darkened forest. I lost myself in the dance of chagrin, swords, and teasing smiles.

I was unsure who was winning, but each drop of sweat beading on my forehead siphoned away more of the anger that had boiled my blood mere minutes ago. Now, the heat pounded through my veins, tangling with assured spikes of adrenaline. Because this was what I was born to do, and I would no longer allow myself to be weak.

“You’re merciless,” Tol whispered when our swords met between us. “I think I like it.”

A wicked smile spread across my face.

“There she is,” Tolek muttered. His sword barely stopped my next swing.

But I recovered quicker than he did, knocking the weapon from his hand with the pommel of my own and twirling around him. I grabbed his wrist as I went, twisting his sword arm behind his back. Starfire came up to rest in front of his throat, lightly touching the skin there.

He chuckled. Our hearts pounded, but mine felt lighter than it had before the fight. A wind picked up, blowing my hair around us.

“Thank you,” I whispered against his ear, making him shiver.

The Curse sent a shot of pain through my wrist that nearly knocked my sword from my hand.

“Anytime,” he panted.

The horses whinnied wildly, stamping their feet.

“Cursed Spirits,” Cypherion swore.

I stepped back from Tolek as a growl echoed through the trees.

Chapter Fifteen

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