Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ophelia
The city atop the peaks was alive with the hopes of the warriors flooding her streets. Dusk faded into a calm violet sky, the full moon rising to bathe us with its promising glow as we descended the winding walkway leading from our home.
With the palace nestled deep in the Northern Quarter, it was a far walk to the taverns in the city center, Angentia Plaza, but after days of exchanging training techniques and meetings with the Mystique Council, my core group and the delegates needed this break.
Though, some were more opinionated on how we traveled than others.
“No, Tolek, I don’t think it’s a wise idea for you to stand bareback atop Astania.” Cyph’s exasperation brought a much-needed smile to my face. I watched my shadow dance across the stone streets ahead of my boots, one arm looped through Santorina’s, indulging in the comfort of the bickering.
“I don’t know, Cypherion. I’d like to see him try.” Erista adjusted the bronze-and-amethyst headband sitting among her curls, dark skin radiant against her matching necklaces.
“Don’t encourage him,” Rina told her.
“I think she should,” Vale chimed.
“Tol, even if you do survive the ride to the tavern, you’d have to take Astania back to the stables by yourself and then join us,” Cyph said.
Tolek considered that argument, head tilting to one side. “I’d rather someone ride me instead,” he muttered.
Rina and I snickered as we wound through an alley, Esmond smirking on her other side.
This was what I’d wanted to show the minor clans.
A family. More than a group of young warriors.
More than the hard exteriors and honed muscle we had to offer.
We were people, as they were, composed of reckless dreams to fight for and wrenching sorrows to avenge.
We were truths buried beneath smiles, secrets masquerading in passion, grief and love tangled in aching bonds forever tying us together.
We went deeper than what they saw on the surface, in ability and heart. It was time it was acknowledged.
Spirits, I’d even allowed Jezebel to talk me into a dress for tonight. Though somehow she’d slipped away soon afterward. I hadn’t seen her all afternoon.
Regardless, I found I didn’t hate the outfit. With a powder-blue silk skirt, thin straps twisting over my shoulders, and a plunging neckline, it was finery I once would have shirked. But I found myself enjoying the pampering now and then, given that I was allowed my official leathers.
“Has there been progress with the Mystique Council?” Rina asked.
Quickly, my eyes flitted to Esmond on her other side. I didn’t want to reveal every detail of my council meetings, but I also didn’t want to appear to be hiding anything. I needed his support.
Choose your words carefully.
“They’ve taken the delegate program well.” They’d prodded the plan with questions, actually, wariness blatant on a few of their faces, but they’d agreed. “And none argued with my institution of apprentices.”
“How will that work?” Esmond asked with eager eyes, his accent smoothing out his harsher consonants. Laughter rained down from the highest windows, thrown open to the night. Starlight bounced off terra-cotta tile roofs and sandstone walls, the city a beacon of hope that strengthened me.
“We’re rebuilding our infrastructure from the ground up, planting roots to give a larger representation power. I asked the councilors to get to know the young Mystiques migrating to Damenal to prepare for their own Undertakings and form branches.”
To avoid dissent. To stop the uprisings mumbled about across the territory. To distribute the weight of work so more were directly involved.
“We have a similar structure in our territory.” Esmond’s deep voice rolled into the night as we crossed through narrow alleys.
I pictured the lush land of the Bodymelders, sprawling hills sprouting every herb and flower imaginable for their healing practice.
“A leader of each small village who reports to the government in the capital.”
“Larcen, our Master of Trade, proposed something similar. He’s hoping to establish councils in every major city to manage imports and exports.”
To repair the damage Lucidius had sown throughout our territory—and others.
Though, we no longer had a Master of Communication responsible for ensuring external trade among clans.
The last to hold the position had been Malakai’s uncle, Akalain’s brother, before his death over a decade ago.
Larcen had shouldered the responsibility since, the strain of two titles evident in the dark circles always framing his eyes.
“He’s eager for the assistance.” An understatement. “Missyneth, the Master of Rites, already has a team of temple acolytes. And the Master of Weapons and Warfare thought it a wonderful idea.”
Danya, the warrior who had trained Malakai and I often on trips to Damenal as children, offered steadfast support. The eager glint in her eye had told me she already had an idea of who to appoint.
“And Alvaron?” Santorina asked. Bulbs of mystlight hovered above front doors, throwing her profile into a medley of shadow and light as we passed between them. Cheerful voices and rowdy music grew louder as we got closer to the plaza.
“He agreed, surprisingly.”
“Why is that surprising?” Esmond asked, sidestepping a small boy running down the street with a wooden sword in hand and the girl who followed.
“Alvaron is the most traditional member of our council. Besides Missyneth, he’s held his title the longest.” I didn’t add that I’d feared the same complaints about my age and experience that I’d faced in the Rapture.
From his tight-lipped nod, I guessed Esmond understood. “It seems you’re already earning the support for your title, Ophelia.”
My heart swelled with the sentiment, the subtle hint that he might be recommending that support to Brigiet, as well. It bolstered me as we crossed the crowded Angentia Plaza, approaching the Winged Horse, our favorite tavern.
Shouts bounced off the stone walls, the wooden tables and bar packed to bursting.
Warm mystlights hung in iron chandeliers, a crackling fire and string instruments filling any lulls.
The sights, the sounds, even the smell of spilled ale and liquor—it filled me with the kind of promise I missed.
The one that meant our world was repairing itself, our people flourishing once again.
Hours after we settled around a long table in the Winged Horse, Jezebel and Malakai arrived. He slid into place beside me, quiet solitude wrapped around him, an aura telling anyone who approached that he wasn’t prepared to discuss what he’d done tonight.
We’d wanted to go with him, or to wait for him in the palace upon his return.
He’d said no. Lucidius’s burial was something he and his mother had to face alone.
And we’d understood, but I didn’t miss the sidelong glances our friends cast him or the tension prickling off his skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck.
There were enough warriors in the tavern tonight, though, that Malakai could sink into the background.
A group of familiar faces from our training and school years in Palerman took the table beside ours, and older warriors started up a dance in the middle of the floor, pushing chairs out of their way as they went.
At some point, Tolek and Cypherion disappeared among the crowd.
“Will the Renaiss celebration be in the city this year?” Erista asked, successfully calling my attention away from the man next to me. I slid my hand into his beneath the table, though.
“We’ll be opening the palace gates for the festival actually. And it will spill into the city from there.”
The action was symbolic. It wasn’t common for a head of rule’s home to be opened to any and all on a festival day, but Renaiss was celebrated across Gallantia, by all seven clans. And this was the first we’d truly enjoy since the shadow of the past war was lifted.
It was a holiday of promises and hope, wild debauchery and rebirth. Things Mystiques needed. In two months, Daminius would be a reverent day of worship and accomplishment, but Renaiss was a celebration of what it was to live.
“I’m looking forward to seeing how Mystiques celebrate the festival day.” Vale’s voice was a low ring amid the rowdy tavern.
I met the Starsearcher’s olive eyes that saw so much more than we Mystiques ever could and exchanged an understanding smile despite the fact that every time I looked at her, Titus’s reading chilled me.
“Alabath!”
I was pulled from the bench.
“Vincienzo!” I laughed as he spun me, throwing my head back and forgetting any worries. Cypherion was behind him, towing Jezebel along. “Where had you gone off to?”
Tol and Cyph exchanged a gleeful glance. I wasn’t sure if I should be excited or terrified.
“What’s going on?”
“These two won’t tell me.” Jezebel crossed her arms, head tilted.
“Did you lovely Alabath sisters know that the tattoo shop in the Ascended Quarter has reopened?” Tolek asked, rocking onto the balls of his feet.
“It has?” My eyebrows shot upward. Jezebel’s arms fell to her sides, her jaw dropping.
“Recently,” Cyph explained.
“We checked, and they’re open tonight,” Tolek added.
“Open is a loose term,” Cyph corrected. “But they’re willing.”
“Practically begging.” Tol grinned.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” my sister gushed, exchanging an eager glance with me. “Let’s go!”
“Go where?” Santorina came to stand with us, Malakai just behind her.
“The party is relocating,” Tolek announced, draining the liquor in his hand and placing the glass on the table. “Anyone who wishes to watch is welcome.”
“Watch what?” Vale asked, eyes wide.
Excitement buzzed through my veins. “It appears the four of us have a tattoo appointment.”
“Marxian, what are you doing here?” I burst through the door of the parlor, the acid scent of paint mingling with earthy wood shavings. Cyph hadn’t been joking when he said they’d recently reopened.