The Firebird, as Gaveny and Damien called him, watched stoically as I manipulated his magic with my seraph power. “Flames can be more cleansing than water. Where the latter douses, drenches, and drowns, fire can burn away the most poignant curses, allowing us to start fresh as phoenixes arereborn from the ashes. It is similar to how Bodymelders pull at the threads of one’s being to heal maladies. They cleanse, like the purest bead of a flame.”
Though he spoke proudly, reverently, of the magic, there was a morose tone to his reasoning.
I shouldn’t have pried, but the sphere twisting in my hand wilted with the dampened explanation. “Why do you sound upset about that?”
Ptholenix considered me, my brow sweating as I worked to reignite and tame the fiery thread of light. Finally, he said, “We Angels have existed for a very long time. Before the Ascension when we were trapped within stone, this magic lived within us, and I have experienced enough to know that while fire is in fact restorative, sometimes it marks the most dismal moments of our lives. Things can be swallowed in flame, never to be found again. Deaths are often sealed with the burning of bodies to ash.”
The light licking along his skin flared at that, illuminating the gold vine tattoo that wrapped around his shoulders from an orchid right between his wings. His light within me pulled to him, wanting to feel connected, but it was clear from the way his voice trailed off thathe, this legendary being, had lost something very personal to the flames that comprised his spirit. Had sealed a death himself with the ashes.
And that was too intimate to ask about. So, I fanned the fire within me, and we stood in silence as, eventually, a singular, flawless flame danced in my palm.
“Ophelia,” Damien barked not long later. I spun toward him, my wings not rocking my body off balance at all, but when I snapped about him being demanding, he summoned a strike of Angellight to crisp the nearest cypher tree. “Restore that.”
And we resumed our work, the echoes of a Firebird’s sorrow and Damien’s urgency igniting even more questions in my mind.
Chapter Eight
Ophelia
Echnid soughtme out that night. Malakai was reading through a book about Angellight after I told him how pushy Damien had been when the Prime Warrior himself appeared in the study.
“He would like to see you, Ophelia,” Damien said through a grimace.
Malakai squinted at the Angel, and my Bind squirmed.
“You’ll be okay here?” I asked.
“I will.” Malakai patted the stack of books beside him, but his other hand pressed to the hilt of Lucidius’s dagger on his hip.
In silence, I followed Damien upstairs, my heart thundering as I guessed where he was leading me.
This is why you stayed, I reminded myself. To get close to Echnid. To learn what his plans were and unravel them from the inside out. So, as we approached the Rapture Chamber, I did so with my wings held aloft and my steps sure.
“Thank you, Damien,” Echnid said, dismissing the Angel without another word. Damien didn’t look at me as he left, and if I still trusted him as much as I once had, I may have been concerned by that.
Instead, I faced the Warrior God. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Ophelia.” Echnid turned away from the drop off into the mountains—the one he always seemed to be staring at. Searching for something. He motioned to the long table where a pitcher of water and small spread of food waited. Including my favorite lemon cookies. “Please, help yourself.”
Wariness bolted through me, but I hid the reaction. Damien had explained the Angelglass to me during one of our training sessions. He’d said they’d been able to keep an eye on many of my movements. If Echnid had been watching, he likely knew how mistrusting I was of them all. And I was here to convince him I wanted to help.
So, I strode across the chamber and poured myself a glass of water, eagerly biting into a cookie. Then, locking my trepidation and temper behind my Revered mask, I gave myself up to the god.
This is why you stayed, I reminded myself again as I took a seat.
Echnid poured himself a glass of sparkling wine, sipping as he sat across from me. Neither of us claimed the Revered’s chair. Questions bubbled through me, but I reclined, waiting to see what the god wanted.
“I have not always looked like this,” Echnid began, and my brows pinched. “Even a year ago, before your Curse took its deepest grasp on Ambrisk, I retained my darker features. But magic changes so much, Chosen Child.”
“It appears it does.” In emphasis, I fluttered my wings.
Echnid watched that motion with a manic attention in his milky eyes, his mists thickening into tendrils greedily tasting the air. “Ambrisk was created to house the expanse of magic that exists in the universe.”
“That is what we are taught.” I recited, “The mountains contain magic, the Blackfyre tarpits in Engrossian Territory arethe source of its dark counterpart. The Angels created their warriors to protect and guide it after that magic birthed their holy selves. Power is the strongest here, but it fuels every realm and world in existence, too.”
“Many, yes,” Echnid corrected. “Doesn’t it seem odd that Ambrisk is the strongest, yet it is isolated?”
“No,” I answered truthfully as the mist swirled closer. “If it’s that powerful, I’d say it makes sense.”
