Ritalia looked to Brystin once before answering, but I couldn’t read that fleeting glance. “I have sources—centuries-old sources—from whom I can decipher secrets.”
What in the fucking Angels did that mean?
“And what do you want with them?” Ophelia pushed, not getting caught up in Ritalia’s twisted words.
“I want them.” Ritalia’s fingers curved around her chalice. “Find those emblems, deliver them to me, and in turn, I will give you the precious information you seek of the gods.”
“I cannot do that,” Ophelia answered, without thought. “I’ve been tasked with finding them for the Angels. I have been tasked with fulfilling this prophecy, this curse. You are not part of it.”
Not that we knew what Opheliawassupposed to do with the emblems, yet.
“You cannot do what they are meant for,” Ritalia said, and we both perked up.
“Why not?” Ophelia asked.
“Because—” Her words cut off in a choke, the queen’s eyes flaring wide.
Ophelia’s eyes lit up, her fingers twitching against her gown. “You know, but you are bound from saying it?”
Ritalia sneered. “Find the items so cleverly hidden. And deliver them to me.”
“They do not belong to thefae,” Ophelia snarled, patience on the verge of snapping.
“They do not belong on Ambrisk at all.”
And Ophelia’s resolve shattered. “WHY?”
Ritalia was silent for a long moment, Brystin’s keen attention bouncing between the queen and the Revered. Swallowing,Ritalia seemed to choose her words carefully as she said, “Make a bargain with me?—”
“Absolutely not,” Ophelia swore, her voice limned with power.
Ritalia went on, “Bargain that once you find what you seek, you will consider my offer.”
Ophelia stewed on that. “What do we receive in return?”
“What do you request?”
“You cannot interfere in warrior matters,” Ophelia answered quickly. “You cannot set foot on our continent, convene with our people, or use your magic to do so. This includes all matters pertaining to the Angels and this task.”
Ritalia picked apart each word, casting another glance to Brystin. Why did she keep deferring to him? After a moment, the queen nodded and looked down at us. “I will not set foot on your continent, convene with your people, or use magic to do so, nor will I interfere in warrior matters. And do not fret; my bargains are more powerful than my hunter’s, laced with a deeper magic. To seal this, all you must do is drink from this chalice.”
My skin tingled. “No. She’s not drinking anything.”
“I give my word there is nothing in here to harm her,” Ritalia swore. “You made an indefinite bargain with my hunter. This is different. With my magic, you must only drink this wine.”
Ophelia strode forward, taking the chalice. We both examined it, but Spirits, we didn’t know what we were looking for.
I found Ophelia’s eyes, and I lifted a brow. We had to trust the magic of the fae being unable to lie if we wanted to get out of here.
With one final glare at the queen and fingers clenching the stem, Ophelia tipped the chalice to her lips.
Damien’s balls, I hated this. My heart rioted as she took one quick swallow, every fucking breath in my lungs tight. Her throatworked over the heady crimson liquid that clearly tasted horrible based on her answering sneer.
Outside the windows, the earth shuddered and lightning cracked. Magic tingled through the air. Ophelia took one last gulp and tossed the chalice aside, metal clattering against marble, but I watched her for three long breaths.
She showed no sign of harm.
Relief loosened the grip on my lungs.
