“It wasn’t a warrior,” Brystin grunted.
“That’s a yes,” I confirmed.
Brystin smiled. “I started it. I did not strike the final blow—I don’t know how she died.”
No one said anything—none of us dared look at Jezebel—but she shrank back beside Erista who whispered soothing words to her.
“But why did you act now?” Ophelia asked, returning us to the topic at hand. “Before we have the final emblem. You want tosteal them, do you not? Surely, having all seven would be more useful.”
“Having six would be enough.” He did not technicallydisagreewith what Ophelia claimed.
“Curious,” Ophelia mused. “I suppose they’re useless to Ritalia no matter how many she has.”
“Useless?” Malakai asked.
“No Angelcurse. No Angelblood. The fae queen is nothing but a futile statue in this prophesied fate. Perhaps she doesn’t need to wait for all of the emblems.” Ophelia scratched at the blackened veins from her Curse scar. “She just doesn’t want me to have them.”
Cypherion, still standing defensively near Brystin, echoed the earlier point, “Something in the queen’s hand has changed. Something that means she does notwantto wait.”
Ophelia maintained her controlled mask, but a bead of nerves bubbled in her searching stare. “Or shecan’twait.”
Mora chimed in, gently massaging her injured shoulder, “She would only adapt her plans in extreme circumstances. In her centuries, the queen has learned to be very patient.” Why was she giving us that information?
“What could she have discovered?” Ophelia asked, and Brystin scoffed. Ophelia stiffened at the noise, an instinct snapping as sharp as a bolt of lightning. She sighed, striding across the room to where her weapons lay. “Very well, then.” She picked up her dagger. “Would someone else like the honor of convincing him to speak?”
“Say the word, Alabath,” I said eagerly. That fucker broke into our room while we slept, drew Ophelia’s blood.
“Wait!” Lancaster blurted, turning to Brystin. “Did she give you any rules?” Brystin remained silent. “If they harm you, are you to do something?”
That had both Ophelia and me freezing. That fucking queen… She’d given all her soldiers cleverly worded orders, things they could not deny, likely woven into bargains. Instructions on how to react, pulling their strings even from far, far away.
Brystin jerked toward Lancaster, hissing as pain shot through his shoulder. “Why are you helping them?”
“I am not.”
“You have orders.”
“Orders that nearly got my sister killed,” Lancaster sneered. “Oh, but thank the Goddess that wasn’t allowed. Not like that put her through excruciating pain.”
Brystin looked over Mora, who, despite her pale face and shadowed eyes, glared back at him. “She is fine.”
“No thanks to our queen,” Lancaster spat. “Now, is there a stipulation bargain if you are caught and tortured?”
Brystin’s silence rang through the room.
“Answer enough,” I said, shrugging and grabbing my sword. “We’ll simply kill him then.”
Mora disarmed me impossibly fast. “Never play a game in which you don’t know all the rules.”
Anger roiled through me at having my weapon taken. I stepped up to her. “Good thing I don’t lose.”
But it was Ophelia’s voice—small, soft, and meant only for me—that drifted through the room. “Tolek…” A hand on my arm.
Her mask was dropped as she looked up at me. Here, in front of everyone, a bit of her uncertainty shone through. She ignored the audience, silently pleading with me to be with her. To play the game and survive to scorch the Angels.
I sighed, backing down a step from Mora and placing a kiss to Ophelia’s forehead. Then, with an apologetic but taunting smirk, I added to the fae female, “I’d appreciate my weapon back.”
She extended it. “Don’t be stupid. It is unbecoming.” The tension in the room cracked at her words.
