Chapter 49 #3
Ophiucae’s magic rippled, and a sheet of ice formed across the trunk, reflecting the man in its glassy surface. Though I wasn’t sure I’d ever met him, I knew his face. I’d spent hours committing every feature to memory, planning what I might do if I ever saw it again.
He hadn’t dealt the death blow to my father that day, but he’d been at Vance’s side, ready to slay Henri if he wouldn’t. And when my father took his final breath, this man had been the first to cheer.
What are you going to do? I asked.
But I already knew the answer.
As I watched the man pull a knife from his sheath and plunge it into his own chest, the “Stop!” that should have come from my lips never arrived.
The vision vanished.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, once more in my own body. “I don’t answer those who’ve wronged me with murder.”
Liar, my conscience hissed, knowing the violent end I’d hoped to give the man myself. Perhaps I was more like Ophiucae than I wanted to admit.
He pulled out a small knife and held out his palm. “I fulfilled my end of our agreement.”
I offered my hand and gave no reaction when he sliced his blade across my flesh. He looked pleased at my stoicism. Shame rose at the way my chest warmed at his pride.
He swiped my blood across the lock. When the door swung open, I wasn’t sure either of us were prepared for what we saw.
To the Sophos Crowns’ credit, the number of books they withheld from their peers turned out to be not many at all. The room was nearly empty, with one plush chair at its center surrounded by a ring of stone pedestals, each topped with a soft cushion holding a single book.
Ophiucae’s eyes lit up. He walked the perimeter, letting his fingers glide across the covers as he read each book’s title, one by one.
On the third, he rolled his eyes, knocking it to the floor.
On the second to last, he stopped still.
He lifted the book and sneered as an orange glow formed in his hand, then smoke began to rise.
I shouted, running forward to snatch the book away and smother it with the cushion to extinguish the flames.
He shrugged and left me behind, moving on to the final pedestal. An ominous smile slowly unfurled across his lips. He picked it up and held it out to me. “One more door to open.”
The book had been caged with lengths of godstone, secured with the circular disc of a bloodlock at its center. “Why would they do this?” I asked. “The room is already secure.”
“Some people only know one way to handle things they fear,” he said sourly. “Lock them up.”
I leaned closer to study it, but there was no title on its cover or spine. “What is it about?”
His eyes gleamed. “Only one way to find out.”
I hesitated. If someone had feared this book enough to guard it so tightly, was I a fool to unleash it? Especially now—especially to him?
Then again, every choice the Kindred made was a wrong one: binding the gryverns, casting the Forging spell, cursing Ophiucae, forcing me to wear their Crowns. Time and again, instead of freedom, they had chosen control.
If this was one more thing that had been condemned to a life in chains, then I would have to free it, too.
I’d barely lifted my hand before Ophiucae grabbed it and pressed my bloody palm against the disc. The lock opened with a click.
He yanked the book from its bindings and sank into the chair at the center of the room. “I’ll start with this one,” he said, cracking it open on his lap. He threw a tight glance at the book he’d tried to burn. “You can take that one, since you were so determined to save it.”
I picked up the half-singed book, blowing ash from the cover to reveal its title: A History of Our Mates.
I flipped through its pages, shocked to find stories, penned by the Kindred themselves, about the mortals they’d loved.
In school, we’d learned so much—too much, in my opinion—about each Kindred, especially Lumnos, but never a word about their mates.
Until now, I’d never even seen their names.
Each section had page after page of detail—sketches of their faces, their likes and dislikes, stories of how they’d met, their feelings on the Kindred’s arrival and the conflicts it had caused.
I was stunned to read how Ignios had fallen for the man who’d led the resistance against them after he took her hostage.
In fact, it was their union that eventually put an end to the fighting by proving that even the most hostile among them could turn hatred into love.
How fitting, I thought, that her Descended now fought in my army at the Guardians’ side.
My hand grazed my mark. If the Kindred had left behind this much detail about their mates, they must have wanted them to be remembered. Why had this been locked away instead?
“I told you I kept the children safe,” Ophiucae said, interrupting my thoughts. His eyes roamed over the pages of his book as he spoke. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”
“Can you blame me?” I asked. “You’d happily watch the rest of the Descended die.”
He turned the page without looking up. “A poisoned tree must be ripped out at its roots. The children I’ve spared are the seeds I will use to grow a new one, healthy and strong.”
“I would have thought you Kindred learned your lesson about cutting down trees that don’t belong to you.”
“A world belongs to whoever is powerful enough to take it.”
“Is that what the people who took over your home world said before they destroyed it?”
He ignored my biting tone, calmly gesturing to another pedestal. “Read about it for yourself, if you’d like.”
I set down the charred book and walked to the one he’d pointed out, squinting at the markings on its leatherbound cover. The ink looped and swirled in a beautiful design. I began to see a pattern, almost like . . .
My eyes darted to Ophiucae’s hip, where Sorrow’s Edge dangled from the side of his chair. Similar markings were etched in gold up and down its blade.
“Is this your native language?” I asked, holding up the book, and he nodded. “What does it say?”
“Our Beginning.” He threw a scowl at the book on the Kindred’s mates. “They should have titled that one Our End.”
I frowned. “Why do you hate their mates so much?”
“My siblings abandoned immortality for them. We were the last of our kind. We had a responsibility to keep living and carry on the legacy of our people.”
“Isn’t that what they did by starting their families? Aren’t the Descended their legacy?” I paused, grappling with the words that came next. “Am I not yours?”
His gaze rose to me. “That remains to be seen.”
His stare was too heavy to hold, too laden with a fate I wasn’t ready to confront. I looked down at the book in my hands, running my fingers over the swooping letters. “This language . . . can you teach me to read it?”
“No need. The content inside is written in your tongue.”
“Can you teach me anyway?”
I looked back up at his silence to find him studying me with an inscrutable expression.
“Why?” he asked.
Because I want to know what’s written on that sword.
“Because it’s my history,” I said instead.
He bristled, and I knew I’d made a grave mistake. His Umbros magic would have sensed my dishonesty—and he would be wondering what I was lying to hide.
“You think me evil,” he said, his timbre low and dangerous. “You think I care only for revenge.”
I didn’t want to ask whether he was guessing, or whether he’d already seen the truth in my head.
“I think you’re punishing the wrong people,” I said. “Your mother is the one who wronged you.” I looked again at Sorrow’s Edge, remembering her screams. “She’s been paying the price ever since.”
His aura rippled.
I risked a longer glance at the sword, secured to his waist with a leather strap. If I could get close enough, I could distract him long enough to rip it free, and then . . .
I opened the book and pretended to skim it as I paced the room.
“Your siblings paid a price, too, you know. The Forging spell kept them from crossing into the afterlife. They’re stuck somewhere in between.
” I walked a little closer. “They gave up their lives to be with their mates, and now they’re separated forever. ”