“Ancient magic,” I whispered.
Ancient magic repelled goddess magic. We’d read about that in the books from Ritalia’s library. Mora’s glamoured phoenix had been nullified by Ophelia’s ancient mythos magic—Lancaster’s healing didn’t work against the enchantment in the corpse bite on his sister’s shoulder.
And they couldn’t speak of their Goddess Aoiflyn, nor could they speak of the roots of their magic.
Beside us, Jezebel slammed one of the dead fae soldiers into the wall, tackling an opponent, and I shook off the budding theories. We would deal with Lancaster’s secrets if we survived tonight.
The male ground his jaw, growling impatiently. He was giving me pieces, so slowly but they were there, prying them out of his locked tongue one word at a time. “Myth. Magic.”
My head whipped to Ophelia, then Jezebel.
Ancient magic repels goddess magic.
“They can break it,” I gasped.
“Not here,” Lancaster said, my attention shifting back to him. He watched his queen, unease framing his expression. “Not in view. But they can.”
Because Lancaster didn’t trust Ritalia entirely, and he couldn’t outright disobey her, but he could silently work against her, laying his own trap. Like insisting that Ophelia and Jezebel needed to learn how to use their magic.
“What are you doing to Tolek?”
The fae’s eyes roved over Tol kneeling at his sister’s side, over Ophelia at the statue, and finally his queen. “Specifications matter,” he muttered.
“What was it?” I asked, eyes flicking back toward where Tolek was clearly breathing difficultly.
Lancaster’s jaw ground, the words struggling to get out. “I said he would die.”
My heart thudded desperately, and then I said, “Not instantly.”
The slightest nod.
I nearly laughed. “So subtle, Ritalia didn’t even notice.” The queen would expect her loyal hunter to weave a more complicated bargain, but there was one problem she didn’t foresee. Somehow, she’d turned her subject against her, and he’d used that misstep to write her own downfall.
“The breathing,” I clarified, “that will get better?”
“An illusion of the deal,” Lancaster said. “As a gifted crete, I created a block.”
I didn’t care about clarifications of the magic, waving him off and turning toward the battle. To tell Ophelia to continue with the emblems. Tolek would be perfectly fine. He’d die one day, but not right now. Not because of this.
I’d barely taken a step when Ritalia roared, “Return another emblem, Revered, and his life is next!”
“Tolek, what—” Ophelia’s voice broke off abruptly, and my gaze snapped to them.
At the queen’s voice, Tolek had pushed to his feet. In the flurry of Lyria’s death, he’d lost his sword and dagger across the cavern, but he was rushing to Ophelia’s side. Nimble fingers reached for her?—
For the dagger sheathed at her thigh.
Before any of us could blink, Tolek ripped it from her and launched the blade with a silent, furious precision only grief could derive.
And that dagger—a weaponCypherionhad gifted Ophelia—tumbled end over end across the cavern. I swore, even over the roaring fight and clangs of weapons, the whistling of the blade pierced the air. The dagger sank between skin and bone—into the queen of the fae’s heart exactly as another had Tolek’s sister, sealing the debt of her death in ruby red.
The air seemed to shudder, time suspending for a moment.
Ophelia and Jezebel would not need to break the godly bargain with their mythos power. Not tonight at least. Because Ritalia’s body crumbled to the ground.
Tolek stood still, breathing heavily, Ophelia blinking wide eyed at his side.
Cypherion and I locked stares, silently exchanging the weight of what had happened. Tolek had killed the queen—had ensured the demise of the royal line—thanks to a blade gifted to Ophelia by a boy named for the cyphers.
