Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ophelia / Two Years Earlier
The gate to the Blastwoods’ sprawling property—the largest estate within Palerman—creaked slightly when I nudged it open.
The silver gilding along its metal spikes glinted in the sunlight as it swung inward.
The scent of freshly trimmed grass and sun-warmed gravel wrapped itself around me as I strolled up the pathway to the house, shaded by the willows.
I smiled at the memories of Augustus and myself tearing through the winding trails as children, ducking in and out of cyphers with screeches and laughter, using sticks as pretend weapons.
The rule had always been that we were free to roam, so long as we stayed within the gates—which was easy considering how much land the Blastwoods owned.
As we’d grown older, the games had matured with us. It was within the willows of their property that we learned to trust each other both with our blades and our hearts.
The stone columns of their home loomed through gaps in the trees, but I turned left. Should I have knocked, the grand front door would have been opened immediately by a member of their staff, but I preferred my personal side entrance.
The gold handle was warm beneath my hand as I turned it.
Though the shutters on the double doors were still closed, they were never locked to me.
I entered into one of the house’s smaller rooms, with dark wood floors and a simple set of couches and chaises arranged around a small glass table.
Akalain Blastwood, Augustus’s mother, sat upon one of the settees.
“Ah, Ophelia!” She jumped to her feet, her Mystique blood making her as silent and spry as a mountain cat. “I was hoping to catch you before you and Malakai took off for the day.”
She gestured to the couch across from her, handing me a cup of tea, and I settled into the worn gray cushions, letting the familiar scent of the Blastwood home wrap itself around me in a cloud of cinnamon and vanilla.
“Good morning, Akalain.” As a Mystique over the age of sixteen, I had the honor of referring to all ascended warriors by their first names.
“How are you?” she asked, handing me a cup of my favorite tea, a blend she made sure to always keep in the house.
I stirred in a spoonful of sugar and sipped it, the sweet herbs washing across my taste buds, and contemplated her question. With the war over and the treaty signed, there was much I should be grateful for. There was still so much wrong, though.
“I’m…recovering.” I chose the word carefully.
“As are all of us.” Akalain nodded, and I could tell there was more she wished to say.
I set my teacup on the table, running my palms down my skirts. “Is there something you wished to discuss?” Though I enjoyed the company, there was a gleam to her blue eyes that I couldn’t ignore.
“As you know, Malakai’s eighteenth birthday is approaching.” That sparkle in her eye—it was pride. Utter delight at the prospect of her son reaching his destiny.
“I can hardly believe it.” I curled my fingers into my skirts, the soft velvet absorbing my anticipation.
In a few short days, Augustus would be embarking on the journey to the mountains to complete the Undertaking. In three months, it would be my turn, and we would become the most powerful Mystique Warrior partners in history.
But the potential power didn’t matter to either of us, nor did the fact that we were an Alabath and a Blastwood merging our lines.
Even if we had not chosen to speak the Words to each other and received the Bind, we likely would have been pushed together.
But we had chosen, and for us, the Undertaking was the obvious next step down our life’s path.
The fact that we were to take it together was what mattered.
“I’m overjoyed for the two of you. It’s been over a century since I completed my own Undertaking, and it was a…formative journey.” She fidgeted with the teacup, refilling it until it nearly overflowed.
Questions buzzed through me, but I bit my lips against them. By law, we were not allowed to discuss specifics, no matter how long ago she had completed the Undertaking.
Though a century was only a fraction of the life she would live.
For warriors of all clans, the aging process decelerated once you reached adulthood, stretching a normal lifetime into many times that.
Not immortal, as that would upset the balance of the universe, but decelerated to span centuries, potentially longer if the Spirits so blessed you.
Judging by Akalain’s smooth skin, I guessed she was near my father’s age of one hundred and fifty-seven.
“I’m certain ours will be formative, as well,” I said.
A tangle of fear and exhilaration danced across her expression, but she shook her head, red-brown hair tumbling around her shoulders.
“You two have an incredible future ahead of you.” Akalain brought a hand to her throat and ran it along the delicate jeweled necklace she always wore. Sapphires dangled from the chain, winking at me in the morning light, and I knew she was thinking of the man who placed them there.
“Do you miss the Revered?” I asked, tracking the gentle tightening of her fingers around the largest sapphire. The one he added to the necklace after Augustus’s birth.
“I miss him every day, but he is doing our family and his bloodline the highest of honors by serving our people,” she clipped, pain buried beneath the claim.
As Revered, Augustus’s father was required to reside in Damenal, in the Revered’s Palace at the highest peak. He rarely returned, but Akalain kept their home in Palerman. It had been her family’s estate, passed down to her.
But when Augustus eventually stood in his father’s place as Revered, we had no intention of being separated. Not only would I be his partner, but as my father’s daughter, I was to be appointed Second. I would stand by his side, regardless of any children I may bear.
We had at least a century until we would have to consider that, though.
“Anyway, there was something I wanted to show you before I lose you to my son for the day.” Akalain grinned, and I returned the smile.
She unfolded her legs and was across the room in one swift motion. The grace and agility of a fully grown warrior woman was transfixing, each movement fueled by magic itself as she removed a small wooden box from the credenza in the corner.
Born of an esteemed Mystique family, Akalain embodied what a woman was to me. She honored the legacy of her Deneski heritage, taking over the responsibility after her older brother died more than a decade ago.
She chose to wear her official leathers at all times, a statement I admired: She was a warrior at heart.
Her unique garments consisted of a brown corset and fitted pants, boots lacing up to the knee.
Gold and cerulean thread wove through the bodice, with matching accents stamped into the leather, detailing the story of her people by way of delicate symbols: mountains, flowers, swords, and spears.
The images shone as she returned to the couch and placed the box on the glass table between us.
Gold cuffs at her wrists sparkled as she folded her hands in her lap, a smile curving her lips.
“I had this made for my son, but it feels right that I share it with you first. For approval.” She nodded at me to open the box.
The glossy surface was smooth and cool beneath my fingers.
I held my breath as I flicked the latch, the lid sliding open to reveal a deep blue velvet lining with the gift nestled in its center.
I gasped, stunned by the subtle beauty of it.
My eyes snapped up to Akalain’s, and I blinked at her, unable to speak.
“Go ahead,” she encouraged.
Gently, careful not to damage the leather—though it was so sturdy I doubted even a sword could slice it—I lifted the strap from the box.
The material was weightless in my hands, smooth and expertly crafted.
Somehow, it already carried the familiar scent of worn leather and honeysuckle that I associated with the man I loved.
I ran my hands along the length of it, fingers passing over the fastening that would fix his spear to his back.
This would be his warrior’s sash. It would be strapped across his chest every day following the Undertaking, until the end of his days, carrying him into battle, locking the warrior and his greatest weapon as one.
But it was not only the gravity of the object in my hands that struck me, it was the detailing his mother had crafted on it.
Stars.
Not just any stars—our North Star. Imprinted repeatedly into the leather, identical to the Bind we had illegally tattooed on our bodies weeks prior.
My fingers trailed over the soft leather. This was no arbitrary design. It was a mother’s way of confirming that regardless of where he was, I would be with him. Supporting him. Guarding him. A seal of approval from Akalain that burned its way through my heart, emotion welling in my eyes.
When I looked up, my fingers still tracing the stars on the sash, Akalain’s eyes were shining, too. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“I hoped you would think so.”
“I could not have designed a more perfect sash for him.” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “Thank you,” I added.
Akalain winked at me. “It will be your turn soon,” she promised, but then her face turned grave. “I have been worried about him—about Malakai.”
“Worried?” I asked.
“He does not seem himself lately. He’s off, his steps through the world faltering.” She hid her emotions well, but the slight frown of her lips and crease between her brows was that of a concerned mother.