Chapter 57 #2
I laid my head on Teller’s shoulder, the Crown atop it feeling suddenly too heavy to bear. “So do I.”
He let out a soft sigh, then leaned his head to mine. “Gods, so do I.”
Mother tried to wipe away her tears, though more were quick to take their place. “I’m sorry. You both went through so much, and I wasn’t there. I have no right to cry.”
“That’s why you weren’t grieving?” Teller asked. “I was so angry with you because I never saw you mourn him. You acted like you were perfectly fine. I thought . . .” He grimaced. “I thought you were relieved he was gone so you could focus on the Guardians.”
“Teller!” I cried.
“I know,” he said, looking ashamed. “I was angry. You both were so busy, and I had nothing. I felt completely alone.”
“I should have been more open with you,” Mother admitted. “I was worried that sharing my feelings would add to your burden.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Mother,” I said.
Teller caught my gaze. “Neither do you, you know. Not for us.” His eyes flicked toward the terrace and the bustling sounds of camp and the gathering wedding guests. “Not for them, either.”
I gave a faint smile. “Does that mean you forgive me for sparing Henri?”
“It’s not just about Henri. You let Vance go in Sophos. You let the Crowns go after they trapped you on the island. And Ophiucae . . .” The stare he leveled at me was sharp. “Some people are going to have to die before this ends. You know that, right?”
Our mother glanced between us, her brows rising at my silence. “That’s it. Tomorrow evening, we’re going home to the marsh. No arguing—we’ve put it off for long enough. It’s time to say goodbye to Andrei as a family.”
My insides knotted, but I didn’t protest. We all needed closure, however painful it might be. I nodded, then Teller did, too.
She dabbed at her face with her sleeve and gave a watery smile. “Shall we put this behind us for tonight? Your new brother is waiting, and he deserves our joy.”
Teller nodded again, and he managed a smile that, for the first time in a while, did not look like it had fought its way to freedom through a gauntlet of pain. “Let’s go,” he agreed. “I promised Taran that if he killed Aemonn, I’d help him hide the body.”
He started for the door, and our mother moved to follow. I hesitated, tugging on her hand.
“What I said before,” I started, “about Ophiucae . . .”
“Let’s discuss it tomorrow,” she said.
“If he is alive, we have to prepare.”
“We’re as prepared as we can be. Your army is ready. All we need is an enemy. Until we know where to find one, the only thing we can do is wait.” She gently squeezed my hand. “The truth will reveal itself in time. Let’s go celebrate today.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” She looked as if she might argue, so I forced out a smile. “I just need to find a pin for my hair.”
My brother called for us to hurry up, and my mother relented, walking away. I crossed the room to my wardrobe and rustled through the drawers for something to keep my hair in place to conceal my mark in front of Luther. As I searched, I thought on my mother’s words.
Your army is ready. All we need is an enemy.
I paused, internally reaching for the Forging magic.
After Sophos, it had taken me days to work up the courage to seek Ophiucae out this way, knowing that the last two times I tried, he nearly killed me for it.
When I finally did, and every time since, I’d found the same confusing result: a strange, crackling warmth.
I scratched my wrist, hating the phantom shackle that felt permanently fused to my skin.
Months ago, I’d made a bonded bargain with Doriel to kill Ophiucae in exchange for their vote to pardon my mother.
When I made the choice not to kill him in Sophos, the bargain broke, taking my magic as payment—but it shouldn’t have taken the Forging magic, too.
It didn’t feel the same as my missing magic, either. My godhood had been carved out of me with a scalpel and an expert hand, leaving no trace behind. I could still sense the Forging magic’s presence inside me, it simply felt . . . different. Almost as if something was standing in its way.
I opened a drawer overflowing with combs and clips encrusted with gems of every hue, grabbed one at random, then slammed the drawer closed. The wardrobe rattled, and a metal sphere tumbled from the edge of the uppermost shelf and clanged to the stone floor at my feet.
I recognized it instantly: the Orb of Answering, Doriel’s gift at my Ascension Ball. My thoughts whirled—could I use this to find Ophiucae and Vance? It was spelled to respond to three questions, and I’d only used two.
I cupped the sphere in my hands, its golden surface strangely warm against my skin. “Where is Ophiucae?”
The orb’s smooth surface gave way to a shifting design of lines and swirls that I recognized now as the Kindred’s native language. The elegant script skittered over the gold at increasing speed, though no answer appeared.
I asked again: “Where is Ophiucae?”
The design continued to morph. Still, no answer came.
Maybe there was no answer to give because he was dead. At that thought, my stomach gave a heavy flip. Was that the outcome I wanted?
“Where is Vance?” I asked instead.
The scrollwork spun on, unaffected.
“What about Vance’s army, where are they?”
No change. No answer.
I frowned. Surely they weren’t all dead.
Shouting arose from outside, Taran’s voice loudest among them, and I paused. “Where is Taran?”
The endless whorls spun on, though Taran’s yelling continued. That was answer enough: they weren’t dead any more than he was. Emotions whipped through me—frustration tinged with anger, dread with a tiny, shameful burst of relief.
I shook the orb. “Why aren’t you answering? Where is Vance’s army? Where are they headed? What are their plans?” I smacked it hard against my palm. “Come on. What happened in Umbros? Is Ophiucae even alive?”
Inside my fist, the moving scrollwork stopped.
It had been so long since I’d learned the Orb of Answering’s rules, I’d remembered too late that its spell had a key limitation. It could only give two answers: a yes or a no.
I’d just asked my third and final question: Is Ophiucae alive?
And now I had my answer.
Yes.