Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The cool night air grazed my flushed cheeks, but it did nothing to calm my temperament.
The city was quiet at this hour, its inhabitants having retired to their homes at dusk after a day of restoration efforts beneath the Palermanian sun.
Sometimes it seemed that the work would never end, like we would be trying to repair ourselves forever.
We had seen progress in the past two years, but the trauma was a stain on our city.
Flashbacks of the battles that swarmed our home still crossed through my mind daily.
Enemy warriors running through the cobblestone streets of Palerman, targeting it as the strongest Mystique settlement.
We had been weakened by the Curse before they arrived, making the fight quick and brutal.
Engrossian axes flew through the air, finding target after target.
Their screeches as they cut us down still roused me from fitful sleep often, another reason I was headed to my destination tonight.
I had been kept out of the battles. Too young, my father had claimed, despite my advanced skill. I had watched from a hillside, though I had been told not to. Watched as an Engrossian blade skimmed the flesh of my father’s neck, within a hair of his life, and I swore I would get revenge.
Now, as I passed the newly reopened apothecary, I thought about all the ways life had been damaged. Half of our shops were permanently shut down. Some, like the blacksmith’s, were no longer necessary. Others, like the leatherworker’s, with the shattered windows, had lost their owners to the war.
Some of the white brick buildings had been repaired, their brown wooden doors and glass windows replaced, signs repainted and strung up.
The apothecary with salves straight from the Bodymelders, the herbal shop selling tinctures of the Starsearchers, a spice tradesman with blends imported directly from the Seawatchers—all three had been restored on this block alone, though wares from minor clans were nearly impossible to receive at present.
It left us attempting to replicate them as best we could.
Still, much of our main street had been healed.
Those who survived and did not own land in their family’s name had relocated to the apartments above the shops in the center of town, centralizing life around the fountain that marked the heart of Palerman.
With its towering figure of the First Mystique Warrior, Damien, in his Angel form.
Wings stretched wide to encompass all who sought shelter, it became a source of comfort for many.
Despite the Curse and the war, the sun shone brightly over our land each day, heating the calming breezes we reveled in, kissing our skin until it glowed, and giving us back a little bit of the warmth our lives lacked.
“Ophelia!” An enthusiastic call bounced off the sealed doors and windows of our main street. I hoped the ivy draped across the buildings would muffle it. “Where dost thou journey to tonight?”
Tolek Vincienzo appeared at my shoulder and slowed his stride to match mine.
I didn’t turn to look at him, but if he had arrived, Cypherion Kastroff would be just behind him.
Malakai’s best friends had become shadows of mine in the past two years, anchored to my movements and monitoring my moods as Seawatchers did a storm-ridden tide.
“I’m not in the mood, Vincienzo,” I growled, the sound out of place in the serene night.
Tolek shrugged, a light laugh escaping his lips. “You’re never in the mood, Alabath. Since when does that stop me?”
A third set of footsteps fell in with ours as we crossed the deserted street. “Hello, Cyph,” I called over my shoulder without turning.
Tolek tutted, “He gets a ‘hello,’ and I get ‘I’m not in the mood’? Well, I guess that answers who the favorite is around here, Cyph. What do I owe you?”
I rounded on him, my anger at my family rising again.
We stopped in the middle of the street, light from the apartments above spilling around our figures, dancing with the highlights in Tolek’s dark brown hair.
He’d dyed them himself using citrus juice and sunlight, and though I would never tell him, they were rather flattering against the amber specks in his chocolate-brown eyes.
He raised his thick eyebrows playfully at me, those accents igniting.
“Ah! She’s stopped,” he said without looking at Cypherion, who danced like a shadow at the border of our square of light.
“And where were you headed, Ophelia?” Cyph’s deep voice filled the street.
The authority in his tone did not align with the tender heart hiding behind those deep-set blue eyes.
Wavy auburn hair brushed his shoulders, shadowing a chiseled face that would look good brooding, but usually bore a gentle expression.
His appearance was a lesson in contradictions.
I glowered up at the two of them. Tol stood a few inches shy of Cyph’s height and was lean muscle where Cyph was more solid, but both were at least a head taller than me. When had they grown so large? Gone were the days of adolescence when I sprang up to tower over them both.
Many things had changed since those days.
“I am going to the tavern.” I left no room for dispute, charging across the street and turning abruptly down a side alley. My skirts left a swirl of dust in my wake.
Tall, stacked buildings crowded the street, leaving little room to walk.
More broken glass and discarded trash swarmed my ankles the farther I traveled from the heart of the city.
I looked up at the empty residences around me—faceless skeletons with windows broken in, wooden shutters hanging on hinges, not a spark of life inside.
Everywhere I turned was a stark reminder of the fall.
Tolek and Cypherion followed me, footsteps light for men of their size.
It was Cyph’s smooth voice that broke the still air of the deserted alley.
“Ophelia, you’ve been at the tavern every night for the past month.
Would you not benefit from one night off?
” In the moonlight, his pleading eyes against his tan skin were almost convincing. Almost.
“You’re not my father,” I answered.
“As if you would listen to him anyway.” Tolek rubbed a hand across the dark stubble on his jaw, the shadow of which never quite disappeared.
“For fucking Damien’s sake,” Cyph mumbled, and I knew he wished Tol wouldn’t fuel my anger.
I narrowed my eyes at Tolek. “You’re right. I wouldn’t, so why should I listen to you?”
I hadn’t a clue why they always tried to keep me from drinking. It wasn’t like they weren’t by my side every night. It was a hypocritical attempt, if you asked me.
We approached the steep staircase that descended into the back entrance of the Cub’s Tavern, the one Santorina left open for me each night.
While I always drank in the barroom with other patrons, I tried to avoid prying eyes from the street and windows overlooking the front door.
It was no one’s business how I spent my evenings, but as an Alabath, I was accustomed to everyone caring.
I pushed past the boxes and reeking trash bags that crowded the stairs, careful not to slip.
“You can’t honestly—”
“Because we care about you, Ophelia,” Cyph cut off whatever retort Tol was about to make. I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved that he did or annoyed that I didn’t get to respond. Going head-to-head with Tolek Vincienzo was one small outlet I was afforded for my anger.
Cyph continued, “As does your family. You spend every night in a tavern, and you’re not partaking in the casual refreshment. Rina said you drained three bottles of her strongest supply last week.”
I froze, searching for a denial, but only hazy memories surfaced.
Hiccuping my way home under the moonlight, engaging in a round of illegal gambling with a small man of elvish descent, staring up at the spinning stars and wondering why my life had crumbled so.
I couldn’t even be mad that Santorina and the boys had been discussing my habits when he was right.
“Ophelia, you’re a warrior.” Cyph said it like a promise, though we’d been told we could not become ascended warriors anymore. “Your body is your greatest weapon, and you’re poisoning it every night. What would…” He trailed off, his unspoken words lingering in the air. What would Malakai think?
“You can’t imply that it’s not a part of warrior culture to drink.” It was a behavior seen as frequently as a training session in the pre-war days.
Cyph shook his head. “Not for the reasons you do.”
The implication stung, but it only strengthened my resolve as memories of Malakai and the future I’d dreamed of flashed across my vision. I needed to blur them with something as strong, warm, and intoxicating as his presence. To forget the ghost lurking among us.
I raised my chin and looked into Cyph’s beseeching stare, his jaw firmly set. I cursed his Spirit-damned rationale and how impossibly correct he always was—though I refused to admit it.
“You’re right, I am a warrior. And I make. My. Own. Decisions.” I punctuated each word with cold deliberation.
Holding his stare, I curled my fingers around the metal door handle and wrenched it open, throwing a beam of light onto our trio. As I stepped into the storeroom of the tavern, an ache echoed in my heart.
“We should know by now that with her fire, she wins every argument,” Tol mused from the stairs, and I couldn’t help the smirk that lifted my lips.
He clapped Cyph on the back. “Nonetheless, that was a valiant attempt at persuasion, CK. After you.” Tolek held the door open, and they followed me past shelves crowded with dark brown bottles.
When I reached the bar, I pulled my favorite stool out from under the countertop, the scrape of its wooden legs cutting through the dim chatter. The Cub’s Tavern was nearly empty tonight, save for a handful of burly men gathered in a booth near the fire.