Still, it almost felt surreal for Tolek’s sister to be here, on our council. Like not much had changed in the last few years after all.
“She said she only wants the best.” Lyria smirked at Mila, smug satisfaction passing between them. “It appears we’ll all be spending more time together. Good night, Malakai.”
“Good night,” I said, nodding, though the shock lingered.
They walked away, and I watched them go, rubbing my chest to alleviate the unusual warmth that had settled there.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ophelia
“It’sthe kinda place where people ain’t gonna ask ya questions,” the young waiter said, laying my bowl and glass of cheap rum in front of me.
“Hm?” I hummed, barely registering his words. My eyelids were drooping, the people in the room blurring. I was focusing all of my remaining energy on guarding my surroundings. I had learned my lesson after not stopping for proper sleep for nearly a week, but even the few hours I had managed to steal were fitful.
The barkeep gestured to his head. “Ya don’t hafta hide yer face. No one cares here.”
“If that’s truly the case,” I replied, pulling my hood down further to shadow my trademark eyes, “no one will ask why I’m choosing to remain hidden.”
The boy flushed, and I almost felt bad. But there was a hot bowl of stew in front of me that smelled surprisingly tantalizing given the run-down state of the inn I’d found—Wayward, the sign on the door proclaimed. I’d passed others on the way, nicer establishments with finer dining and more comfortable beds, but this one had an air of privacy.
I was getting closer to the Mindshapers’ capital. Once I arrived…I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I tried not to fret over it as I dug into the meal, slow sips of rum washing away my nerves.
Forcing myself awake until I could disappear into my ramshackle room on the second floor, I cataloged the dining room’s occupants. Wayward was truly an inn fit for those whodidn’tfit. Though we wereon the border of Soulguider and Mindshaper Territories, warriors of every clan tucked into tables, the combination of different garb blending until you could barely differentiate between them.
With soft yellow mystlights gathered in the corners and laughter bursting through the steady hum of conversation, Wayward was cozy; the unguarded interactions of the menagerie lining the stocked bar were comforting.
A large man came clomping down the staircase, the banisters shivering with each step, and a slight woman with a low-cut dress followed. They claimed a table beside me, their bedraggled state not observed—or at least, not audibly commented on—by any patrons.
I scraped the bottom of the bowl, getting every last bit of hearty broth and potatoes, then pushed it across the table, standing.
But right as I did so, someone moved to the front of the room, and all eyes turned. A tall, curvy woman took the stage, her hip-length dark hair and her long brown dress seeming to flow with every breath.
“Good evening, children.” Her voice enveloped the crowd like a wave rolling across a smooth shore. “I’m Aimee, a Storyteller.”
My jaw nearly dropped open, and I sank back into my seat. Because in this obscure Wayward Inn, I’d happened upon a woman of an infamous cult. Claiming no clan, Storytellers were rare; centuries ago, they’d traveled the continent sharing lore that wasn’t guarded in the temples. Telling tales known only on their lips and those of their ancestors.
Now, their numbers dwindled, their stories scattering.
“Gather, if you wish. Tonight, we have a legend that dates back to the Angels.”
The hair on my arms rose beneath my cloak, and I thought of the Angel who had eluded me recently.
“Before warriors inhabited the earth, when magic was not segmented and we communed with our great friends across the seas, there were seven altruistic beings who roamed Gallantia. It was only them, the wild beasts—many of which are lost to us now—humans, and the magic cascading through the land. They were one people, the seven of them. Immortals, but more person than myth.”
The picture unfolded in my mind as she spoke—blissful and uninhibited.
“Until Ambrisk’s magic started eating away at them. After centuries owning this land, the undeniable ether within the earth acknowledged them. It spread up in tendrils as they slept, at first sprinkling itself upon them in dribbles so small, they were practically nonexistent, born of mist.” Her voice lowered, a hush creeping across the room like those fine strands of magic. “But over time, it becamemore. The tendrils penetrated flesh, rooted themselves into their very beings, molded with their blood and bones. Until they transformed. The warriors were born.”
A low gasp spread through the crowd. It was a rendition of a story many had heard, but it was laced with a truth only a Storyteller could confirm.
“It took decades,” she continued, “for the seven to realize their newfound strength was manifesting in transitional ways between them. Of the seven, five received unique designations from their power. Tendencies, areas they fell toward, gifts they excelled at. And the other two…” Aimee’s tone darkened. The mystlights dimmed. “They held undeniable strength. Something unheard of, somethingunfeltcrawled out of the earth and wound its way around those two beings. It lifted them up. Made them exceedingly strong—threatening.”
She paused, and her eyes landed on me, infinite knowledge shining through. I sank back against the bench, ignoring the spike of both of my pulses.
“In time, the variations in power became points of tension. Arguments rose—strong enough to shake the foundations of the continent itself. The seven divided the land, each staking a different claim on territory.” Every noise in the room evaporated, some warriors shifting away from those of different clans instinctually. “But they were foolish. For in their isolation, they eroded. Their minds could not handle being so alone, having no other living being of their nature. They started talking to the magic, all seven of them treating their individual strengths as if they were alive. And while that nurtured those powers…it also gave the ether control. Magic took solid form—unnatural and raw. They were gifted mates to procreate with, and descendant warriors were born unto the earth, a reward for pleasing the power.
“But the magic around the seven prime became too much. Slowly, it leaked from their bodies, and it is this that was left behindwhen they ascended as Angels ten thousand years ago. For while they may have been warped by magic, the ascension process was clarifying. They entered into their eternal existence with clear eyes, able to view all of their faults and be plagued by them for eternity. With an unbreakable vow to the warriors that came after them.
