Page 102 of The Trials of Ophelia
“There’s not a chance you’re getting Ophelia in there without a weapon when she arrives,” Mila added.
“She has a point,” Esmond told his friend. “And you won’t want to fight with Ophelia. Trust me.”
Gatrielle groaned, eyes fleeting between us and the field. “You all are challenging every vow of my designation,” he grumbled.
“Gatrielle,” Esmond chastised, leveling him a harsh stare. The two communicated quietly for a moment, Esmond seeming to relay precisely how imperative this task was to all of our futures.
“Fine,” Gatrielle finally conceded. “One weapon each. But don’t pull them, and for the love of Ptholenix, do not tell anyone I allowed this.”
As he turned away, he murmured something about disrupting resting Spirits and it being on our heads.
Mila, Esmond, and I silently hung up our weapons and followed him toward the field. I kept my sword at my waist, but at the last moment, I turned back. The Engrossian ax glinted in the light, taunting me. And I wasn’t sure if it was that memory or the desire to challenge the damn thing that had me swapping my weapons out at the last moment, leaving my newly-forged sword behind.
Stomping toward the field, I ignored Mila’s raised brows and took in the sacred site instead.
The fiery flora spread as far as we could see, hills rolling and dipping like flames flickering in the breeze. About a hundred yards away, a pyre was stacked to the sky, wooden frame singed and ashy but bold against the orange hues.
Gatrielle entered first, brushing his hand across a wooden post that flashed with something resembling mystlight and indicating for the rest of us to pass. The flowers at the edge of the field were an array of bright yellows and brushed my ankles as I waded a few feet in. Their scents mingled in the air, that thing in my chest still stirring.
“What was that?” I asked Gatrielle when he took the lead again, gesturing to the marker he’d touched.
“Only allures can grant access to ritualistic sites in our territory. Since most are outdoors, it ensures some level of control over the boundaries.”
I knew a bit about allures—a designation of rank within the Bodymelder clan—though I didn’t know the specifics of their work or magic.
“How does that work?”
“Through this.” Holding up his palm, Gatrielle angled it until the light illuminated an outline of white ink. A tattoo formed jagged lines across his palm, a lightning bolt entwined with a length of softly draping ivy. “Allures are considered Angelblessed. We find our calling around eighteen like you Mystiques. Whether it’s to be an active warrior, an infirmary-contained healer, harvester, allure, or something else. The ink is imbued and solidifies any position. The posts around the perimeter ensure no one enters without an allure to guide them.”
“And if they try to?”
Gatrielle smirked. “Let’s just say the firebird got his name for a reason.”
I froze. As he kept walking, I could almost smell the dregs of smoke wafting on the air, of charred flesh and the vengeful fire of Angels.
“Why so many inquiries?” Mila asked, voice low as she caught up to me.
“I don’t like this.” The back of my neck prickled. My hand went to where the pommel of my sword should have been, finding only empty air.
I’d been nervous about this all night, even going as far as to pull out the pouch of herbs I’d brought with me. But as I watched them dissolve in a glass, turning the water murky, I only heard Mila’s voice asking me to stop.
I’d dumped them out the window instead.
“This field is sacred to them,” Mila said, and I focused on the tone that calmed me. “Even if it has a bit of a gruesome history. They’re sharing something of their clan with us. Let them.”
Releasing a reluctant growl, I hurried toward Esmond and Gatrielle and barked, “Let’s get to the pyre.”
“Not what I meant.” Mila’s voice carried on the air as she caught up to me, the mixed scents of florals and her own aura replacing the imagined smoke. “Cranky today?”
Wheeling around to face her, I dropped my voice. “Just because you’re my superior doesn’t mean I won’t throw you over my shoulder and carry you away from this damn field if you fight me today, General.”
Mila’s cheeks flushed. Something swooped through my stomach at the sight.
Fuck. I didn’t have time for that right now.
Instead of waiting for her to reply, I continued wading through the flowers. They stretched higher as we got closer to the center of the field. Every so often, a scorched ring cut through the plants, scarring the dusty ground, and my skin tingled.
The earth seemed to inhale as we walked, a pulsing sensation stirring beneath my feet. It timed itself with the beat of my own blood, and settled against my chest, angering that writhing creature within.
