Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Ophelia
“Could this mean something?”
I peered over Malakai’s shoulder, a fresh cup of herbal tea balanced atop the stack of Sacra Temple books I’d said I’d dig through that afternoon.
The top volume was on historical battles, a few beneath it on ritual law, some on Angel appearances, but tucked between them was my true interest—the files on Annellius Alabath.
They’d been taunting me all morning—every day, truly, since my father had given them to me three weeks ago. I was certain Annellius had something to do with this mess the Angel had delivered to me, but I had yet to uncover anything helpful. And Damien had been suspiciously quiet.
The papers practically burned through the books as I set them on the table, tucked away in a corner of the temple archives, swiping up my tea before it could stain the cover. I leaned over Malakai’s shoulder, his honeysuckle scent filling my senses, and read what he pointed to.
Prophecies made by the third minor clan of the warriors of Gallantia—the Starsearchers—are subject to interpretation. If made within one of the sacred temples on their land, they are believed infallible. Readings taken outside of these spaces fluctuate on their reliability.
“Maybe…” I mused. “We know Titus didn’t read in a Starsearcher temple.
He may be believed stronger due to his status as chancellor, though.
” I shook my head. “It feels like speculation.” Malakai had taken on the task of researching every facet of the Starsearchers to interpret Titus’s vision, but I was reluctant to rely on unconfirmed theories when it came to the darkness he read.
“There’s no evidence to prove him right either, though,” Malakai argued.
I cupped his cheek, turning his face to mine. “Thank you for trying.” With the pressure mounting, I was grateful for Malakai’s steadfast shouldering of this topic.
We hadn’t fought since the night Damien appeared, but we hadn’t talked much deeper than this either.
At times, Malakai seemed like he was returning to his old self, but then I’d catch the shadows behind his eyes and realize it was a mask—one he held up even in front of me—and he was further than ever.
We were like a silk scarf slipping between my fingers, unraveling to the floor between us.
As it went, we’d reached an amicable plateau of peace, and I was okay to settle there.
To set up my camp on that flat surface and sit beside him in a friendly silence, telling myself the love story I thought was written in the stars rather than living it. We were better this way.
Still, having his help with this search was important to me.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe we should approach Vale again,” I offered, falling into a seat beside him.
Malakai shook his head. “She won’t talk.”
I drummed my fingers on the table, its dark wood pristine. Light streamed through the various shades of blue stained glass in the windows, casting the image of Damien as a warrior onto the table’s surface.
The temples throughout Damenal were littered with different portrayals of the Angel’s life. I’d spent a lot of time observing them these weeks as Malakai and I made our way through sacred texts that could tie back to Titus’s readings.
Malakai was right. We’d approached Vale twice, and both times she’d sworn she knew nothing. We’d even considered writing to Titus himself, but I didn’t want to expose just how concerned I was yet.
I huffed, falling into my seat and picking the top book off my stack.
My muscles ached with every movement. Cypherion’s training was more thorough than anything I’d ever undergone. Even with my full strength from the Undertaking, he had me crawling to the sidelines after every circuit.
He’d taken charge of not only our workouts, but all Mystiques who had shown up in recent weeks.
One positive of our generation being withheld from the war was we now had a surplus of warriors who wanted to train.
Many were unskilled, rusty at best, and some malnourished thanks to Lucidius’s shredding of the trade system, but all longed to return to what we once were.
Hope—that was what our foundation had become.
We opened the training arena to them as they migrated to Damenal. It was not only the palace yard—not any longer. For daily sessions with Cypherion, any Mystique who wished to train was welcome.
Seeing the numbers grow…it made my heart swell. A piece long ago broken, restored.
My abdomen tightened when I leaned forward, the sore muscles barking. I rubbed a hand across the gap in my leathers, fingers lingering on my scars.
“Cyph is a sadist,” Malakai joked, tracking my movement.
“I swear a part of him enjoys it.” I laughed.
“At least you don’t whine like some of the others.”
Tolek and Jezebel had taken to being very vocal about their displeasure with Cypherion’s workout routines.
Though, the former still managed to complete every set quicker than most, with my sister on his heels.
Jezebel charged to the dining hall immediately after every session to consume more food than any other warrior.
Even Malakai was resuming his previous skill.
“I think they just enjoy teasing him.”
I didn’t care who complained or what they said. Not with the improvements we were seeing. My own muscles had never been as firm as they now were. I wasn’t sure what we trained for, why these sessions felt so imperative, but we were doing what we were born to do. For now, that was enough.
Tipping the book in my hand toward me, I opened to the first hidden document on Annellius, careful to keep the book tilted away from Malakai.
Annellius was believed to be the most powerful warrior of his time, the strongest since the First Warrior, Damien himself, who ascended as an Angel during the cataclysmic event that memorialized the seven primes into eternal existence.
Damien’s prophecy haunted my dreams. I reviewed what I was sure of so far: An Angelcurse existed, and it plagued me. To resolve the curse, I had to unite seven of something.
I’d read through numerous books on historical artifacts in the past weeks, but nothing lined up. They must relate to the Angels, given it was their curse, so I’d been visiting as many temples in the city as time allowed.
The one question I kept coming back to, though, was why me? Why not Jezebel? Why wasn’t Angelblood active within her when Damien had implied that it was within me?
We’d been discussing it the other day, theorizing how it could have happened. I was grateful Jez and I could at least share that much, though I had to keep the Angelcurse a secret.
The only thing we kept coming back to was my eyes. Why were they magenta, as Annellius’s had looked in the Spirit Volcano?
Was it a sign that the blood was active?
The shade of heart, the prophecy said. Did it refer to the pink coloring of eyes? It felt like a loose connection.
I slammed the book shut, exhaling in frustration.
“Nothing helpful?” Malakai looked between me and the book on historical battles skeptically.
I chewed my lip. “I’m tired of reading about warfare.”
As far as he knew, that’s all I’d been researching these past weeks. Strategies that may help win my position as Revered. Retracing the steps of history.
I pushed back from the table, crossing to the tall shelves that sectioned us off from the rest of the Sacra Temple. The largest in Damenal, it housed a small library within its holy walls.
“I’m tired of the uncertainty we face. Of feeling like everything is stacked against us, and I don’t know how to fix it.” Admitting that truth made my stomach twist—feeling weak, feeling like I was failing. Despite my platform of hope, fear swirled in the shadows.
“The delegates have warmed to you. The chancellors will, as well,” Malakai comforted. He didn’t know that was only a piece of my concerns.
“But I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m acting like I do, but I have no fucking clue.” My voice rose, but I still didn’t look at him.
“Trust your instincts, Phel.” He said it like my whole life boiled down to that one notion.
Maybe it does, a voice in my head said as I continued to read the titles lining the shelf. I’d followed my instincts this far, never questioned myself before, so why was I now? But if that’s true, why does my life suddenly feel like I’m an empty library shelf, all of my books out of place?
I dragged my hand across the spines, searching for anything that called to me. Anything that looked like it spoke of the Angels, curses, or the Prime Mystique. There didn’t appear to be any system to this organization. The Book of Legends, Sanctum Fatale, Temple of Celestial Movements—
I pulled that one off the shelf and turned to hand it to Malakai, but he was already behind me.
“Here,” I breathed.
“What’s that?” It was clear from his gravelly tone that he had no interest in the book, but he lifted it from my hand, pretending to read the title before he set it on the waist-high shelf jutting out from the bookcase, then he grabbed my waist and hoisted me up on the shelf beside it.
When I met his eyes, I couldn’t read them.
“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked, tracing the hem of my leathers.
“What’s that?” His fingers inched higher, disappearing under my skirt.
“You’re too stressed.” The low sound of his voice had me pressing my thighs together, but he caught the movement and stepped forward so that my legs were around his hips.
“Am I?” I whispered.
“Anything I can do to help?” Malakai outlined the edge of my undergarments, and already my mind was going elsewhere.
“We can’t. Not in a temple.” My breathy argument lacked conviction, though. I moaned as he swept his thumb down my center lightly. Teasing.
“We can if you’re quiet,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. For a moment, we were teenagers sneaking around once again. I wanted to go back to that time, seal up this distance that had formed between us.
I hadn’t realized my eyes had drifted closed, but when I opened them, his were only an inch away, amusement dancing there, and Spirits it was so good to see, I let all the arguments and space fall away in favor of this.
“Can you be quiet?”
“Yes.” I gasped.
He brushed slow circles exactly where I wanted him most, rewarding me for answering. My fingers curled around the shelf as he added pressure.
I was fully clothed, he had barely touched me, but I was already burning for release. Like something within me was coiled tightly, begging for it.
I was certain he could feel through my undergarments how badly my body wanted him, but he continued moving slowly. Asking taunting questions I could barely answer. Edging me closer, then drawing me back.
“Malakai…” I breathed his name, begging. We still hadn’t kissed—hadn’t even moved from our original positions.
He pushed aside my undergarments, slid a finger inside of me, and the world started to fall away. Angels, Raptures, curses—it all faded into the background as my body and mind honed in on that spot.
“Yes?” he purred.
“More” was what I tried to say, but it came out as a moan.
He covered my mouth quickly, laughing. “Don’t let the acolytes hear you.” He curled his finger, hitting a spot that made my hips buck, the book beside me crashing to the ground.
In that moment, I was completely under his control—and I hated that.
Hated it for wrenching up those memories of heartbreak and betrayal alongside the pleasure, but he added a second finger, and I was too far gone to care.
Too desperate to get out of a reality full of threats and suffering and death.
I closed my eyes, let my head fall back, and gave into him.
And when he circled his thumb at exactly the right speed, I went over the edge entirely, that tightened thing inside of me releasing in one bout of ecstasy.
I leaned my head against his shoulder, catching my breath as the high started to fade and life returned.
We could only hide in pleasure for so long, but I held on for another moment, indulging in the ease we had together even if it was masking hardships.
Like raindrops clouding a window, the view blurred beyond the glass.
Malakai and I had so many raindrops—wild tempests brewing daily—but in these quiet moments, I allowed the view to be marred and pretended I didn’t miss it.
I was still like that when hurried footsteps drifted through the temple, coming toward us.
Collecting myself, I made to hop off the shelf just as Tolek rounded the corner. Malakai’s faced turned stony, and his hands tightened on my thighs, holding me in place.
Tolek glanced first to the table where our books were sprawled, then finding us against the shelves, he looked quickly away. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“I’m assuming it’s important?” Malakai asked, voice icy.
Tol narrowed his eyes. “Actually, yes. Two…visitors just arrived at the palace to request an audience. They attempted to scale the fence when we didn’t let them in.”
I shoved Malakai’s hands off of me, quickly forgetting what we’d been doing, and scrambled to grab my things.
“Have you gotten any information out of them? Their names? Purpose?” It was odd someone would be so brazen, daring to hop the fence with a guard present.
Tolek’s shoulders stiffened, hands behind his back.
“It’s Barrett, the heir to the Engrossian throne.” My heart plummeted to my feet when he looked at Malakai. “Your brother is here.”