Ophelia cocked her head. “What?”
“That sounds like fae magic. A useful kind, but a rare one. To place restraints on another…it’s complicated.”
I asked, “A fae lock around the Mystique Angel?”
Interesting. Concerning.
“What in Damien’s name happened to all of you?” Malakai gaped from the doorway. I hadn’t even heard him and Mila enter.
As Cypherion helped Malakai with the bags from the market—including a large sack of apples for the khrysaor—we updated them on the night’s events, right up to what the fae had claimed about Damien.
“We read about locks,” Mila said. “In your queen’s library.”
Lancaster stood. “What were you doing?—”
But Mora smacked his arm. “What about locks?”
“We were looking for ways to break them,” Malakai explained with a nod at Ophelia and me. “Found things about goddess magic repelling ancient magic. About bargains being hereditary.”
That sparked a memory?—
It’s almost as tightly drawn as the hereditary bargains of the fae and the gods.
I spun toward Erista. “You said something about that.”
The Soulguider only offered a blank stare. “What?”
“In the outposts. While…” I glanced between Ophelia and Jezebel, unsure if they wanted Lancaster and Mora to know they’d been flying that night. “When we were talking about the pegasus and khrysaor.”
“Tolek, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Erista said, head tilting.
“I…” The thought trailed off, my attention swinging to Mora. On the beach, when Erista and I were speaking of legends and the khrysaor and pegasus, something had seemed off about her. A slightly different tone to her voice and darker eyes, her tattoos not a vibrant as usual.
Mora blinked expectantly.
“It wasyou?” I gasped.
“What was her?” Ophelia asked, slowly pushing up from her seat.
But Mora grinned. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”
“When you and Jezebel went flying before the isle,” I explained, “IthoughtI was talking to Erista, but apparently…”
Erista accused, “You impersonated me?”
Quick as a whip, Mora glamoured herself into Erista once again, flawless but for the off-shade eyes and dimmed gold tattoos. Every warrior in the room stiffened. “Your clothes are lovely,” Mora said, holding up the edge of a Soulguider-style chiffon skirt. Then, she shifted back.
“That’s disturbing,” Jezebel commented, leaning defensively toward her partner.
But Ophelia studied the fae. “Sometimes our people are locked to our tempestuous habits, though we’d rather not be,” she muttered. “That’s what you said outside.” She braced her palms on the table, not even wincing over her injured shoulder. “You’re under a bargain of some kind—forbidden from telling us something. And you glamoured yourself to point us in the right direction without explicitly saying it, didn’t you?”
Mora’s slight nod was the only confirmation we needed.
“You brilliant warrior, Alabath!” I burst.
Ophelia grinned, invigorated at a piece of the puzzle falling into place. “What else did you andEristatalk about that night?”
“The gods,” I said. “Spirits, it was right in front of me. The khrysaor and pegasus are tied to the gods, that’s likely a part of thefel strella mythos.”
