“Let’s go again,” I said, pulling my sword.
Malakai shook his head, laughing. “Accept the defeat, Tolek.”
“He’s always been a horrible loser,” Cypherion mocked.
“That’s because he rarely loses to anyone but me.” Ophelia’s taunt rained out from the porch. Based on the still-disheveled state of her hair, she’d only just woken and tugged on her leathers.
When we all retreated to our rooms last night, a nagging feeling had kept me up. It was obvious from her ranting of hypothetical scenarios about Jezebel’s magic and thefel strella mythosthat she felt it, too. Now, when she flashed me a challenging grin and braced her hands on the railing, I raised my brows and returned it. “Care to put that claim to the test?”
Come on, Alabath.Play with me.
Ophelia examined the short sword strapped to her waist, her leathers looking as flawless as ever on her toned body. “You’re in the mood to be embarrassed?”
“I’m in the mood to win,” I corrected.
“Then you should keep fighting these two,” she said, waving a hand at Malakai and Cypherion, who both retorted in offense.
“I don’t know, Alabath. You haven’t been training with swords as frequently lately.” With the constant travel, we’d all had less time to work out. Ophelia and Jezebel spent most of their time experimenting with magic, only joining us for short circuits and sparring sessions.
Ophelia scoffed. “Let’s do this, then.” She descended the stairs, her sword drawn in a breath.
Meeting her in the center of the sandy clearing, I set my stance. We’d been here before, she and I. Had stood blade to blade to practice or teach or burn off excessive energy—especially that last one. Something about the way my muscles fell into that perfect position, ready to catch her first attack, was even more natural than our usual drills. With Ophelia, everything was a little more natural.
She struck first, surprising me. She didn’t usually lunge like that.
I met her blow, our blades clanging a few times before she dodged to the right, spinning behind me. I whirled to meet her, catching her next strike with my vambrace.
“Close one,” she taunted.
“You’re quick.”
“Always have been.”
I shook my head as I met another blow, swords vibrating between us. “Quicker than you used to be.”
I’d fought Ophelia my entire life. Her style was practically ingrained in my own muscle memory. Something had changed, though. Almost so minutely, it could have gone unnoticed, but every move had been smoothed out. Every attack a breath quicker. Angels, if she wasn’t entrancing.
Sweat beaded along my skin as she nearly beat me time and time again.
“You’re holding up well, Vincienzo,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Been training harder,” I said. In the spare hours when she was with Sapphire, I trained. In the down time when I couldn’t find it in me to rest or read, I prepared this way. We’d had too many damn close calls. I’d do everything in my power to avoid another.
Memories of the Fytar Trench—of Ophelia screaming in pain as Kakias’s power ate at her—flashed through my mind, followed quickly by Ricordan’s manor, and how Ophelia had gone to whatever fucking bridge in her mind.
And I’d been so…helpless.
My attacks sped up with each image. I sliced my sword through the air, meeting Ophelia’s. Channeled all the fear and rage those moments ignited within me intothisfight.
Ophelia’s eyes widened as I nearly snuck by her defense, the magenta glowing with something akin to fire?—
No. Not fire.Angellight.
The very essence of the immortal bastards scorched through her stare, laced every sweep of her sword. It burned away the shadows claiming my memories, seared right down to my very soul.
There she fucking is.My heart beat in a way that I swore mirrored hers, some kind of melody.
And every time our swords met, it was another spark between us. Another word written in the silent poetry we wove, only her and me able to read it.
