Page 90 of The Curse of Ophelia

They couldn’t though. We were alone.

Flashes of tarnished moonlight passed through the fabric across my eyes. We must be near the outer edge, I noted.

I pictured the way the light would land on Malakai’s hair and skin, the scars attracting the white glow and pulsing before my eyes. Each flash embedded a silent promise in my mind. I would not die until one Engrossian guard fell for each scar on Malakai’s skin. Then, Kakias herself would suffer. A slow and painful death, toying with her the way she had our lives.

I pictured the night sky again, and one star in particular, shining brighter than those around it. Demanding to be seen. I held the North Star in my mind with every step forward. Even now, amid this chaos, it remained a reminder of my own hope.

Pulsing. Beckoning. Reminding me to fight. If I could get Malakai out, it would all be worth it. He may have hurt me—we may be broken—but he deserved to live after what had been done to him.

A devious smile curled my lips, rich with promise. Maybe this was the path to execution, but it would not be our own.

Chapter Forty-Two

The air shifted as we stopped walking, volcanic warmth wrapping around my battered body. A hazy orange glow pierced the blindfold across my eyes, but that wasn’t what caused my pulse to quicken. Even without sight, I could sense the authority in the room. Her power and the reverence of the warriors surrounding her was palpable, crawling up my skin, exploring me in a way that felt violating.

Sightless, I listened. Heels clicked against rock, every step louder than the last, the only other sound a crackle of fire. My breath quickened with each echo, but I steadied it. I held control.

The steps paused before me, mere inches away based on the way that unavoidable power engulfed me. It turned alluring, though I wished it were not. Invisible fingers tickled my skin, awakening my senses and enticing them to bow to her. My stomach rolled, but I straightened my spine, muscles straining against it. Against her. How she was capable of this, I did not know.

The blindfold fell from my face, and I stared into the cold, calculating eyes of Queen Kakias. She quirked a brow at my reluctance, reaching up to cup my cheeks with pristine hands, slender fingers ending in pointed nails. Her skin was soft against my own. These were not the hardened, calloused hands of a warrior who spent their life bearing weapons. No, these were the hands of a dictator who relied on the soldiers around her to do that. Kakias was only the mind that guided their abominable actions.

I took in her white skin, like an iced-over lake, not a crack visible but for the faded purple scars stretching from the center of her forehead diagonally across the left side of her face and disappearing under her sharp jawline. They eerily didn’t twist her expression at all, looking more like paint than puckered skin.

The deep black of her hair was a stark contrast against the rest of her face, except those eyes. They felt endless, like I would fall into the dark irises forever and never return to myself. Regardless, I held her gaze defiantly, refusing to show any uncertainty, as I wound my pinkie into the knots at my wrist and fought to keep my spine from bowing to her power.

“Hello, child,” she cooed, as if I were a baby. A chilling smile broke across her cheeks, pointed white teeth stark against red lips.

For a flash, I pictured those teeth dripping with blood, as her hands should be for all the pain she brought upon my life. For all the pain she brought upon this continent. Lucidius may be responsible, but I’d be a fool to forget the artful contrivance of this woman. While many barreled forward with strategies and swords, historical circumstance taught some to nurture a skill even more powerful—manipulation. Kakias had undoubtedly pulled the strings of fate to her advantage throughout the centuries of her life until I stood before her today. Hands tied, soul battered, but broken heart still beating. A twisted, vengeful desire gripped me.

I tilted my head, her own taunting smile mirrored on my face. “Hello, wicked queen.”

Ire pinched her face, but it was gone in a flash. The queen released a haunting laugh, echoing off the rock walls around us.

When she took a step back to circle me and Malakai, I maintained my indifference. I did not allow my gaze to follow her, instead scanning for anything that might aid our escape. Malakai was to my right, brows lowered, gaze assessing. The twelve guards formed a semicircle at our back.

In the shadows, a cloaked form lurked. Lucidius. His presence riled my blood, but I forced myself to maintain my cool demeanor.

The cave was the largest I had seen so far. Even larger than that in which I met the Spirits, with towering ceilings and pointed tapers of rock hanging down from them. A set of large steps was built into the wall on one side, as if a crowd could gather in the space, and to my other side a bubbling cauldron sat above a fire. A rack beside it held—

I gasped, my resolve slipping for a moment.

My dagger, the spear, and Starfire winked at me in the flickering firelight across the room.

“Oh, you’ve seen my little welcome present?” Kakias intoned. My eyes were glued to my weapons. “Or perhaps a goodbye present is more appropriate?” Her dark dress dragged along the floor, the train a serpent in her wake.

The fire, the cauldron, the forge.

Her present was drastically clear. My precious weapons, the defenses that saw me through the journey here, the trusted presences at my side, were to be melted down and forged into something new. Engrossian battle-axes most likely. To deface any warrior’s weapon was a disgraceful act among all seven clans, but this…this level of destruction. It wiped the warrior from existence, erased any honor they bestowed upon their people, and blurred any memories of their triumphs.

This was vile.

My eyes locked on Starfire, the blade that had trained me into the warrior I was today, then the spear, the weapon I had only begun to explore, and the rage I had so carefully contained was unleashed.

“You’re a disgrace to all warriors, present and past,” I seethed.

A cold hand snaked around the back of my neck. She whispered in my ear, her breath a hot sting against my cheek. “I would expect nothing less from you, Ophelia. You’re rumored to be a ferocious little thing.”

If that was what was expected of me, then I would oblige. I’d unleash every bit of fury that had festered within my bones for two years. Allow the power I’d honed to feed on it. I’d play her game of tactics and manipulation, striking low and without remorse.

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