My own scars along my back throbbed as hers slid between the slits in her dress.
Gerad, the Turrenian warrior I’d been sparring with recently, approached Mila and Lyria with a friend, asking the two to dance. My fingers curled around my glass as he swept Mila across the floor, but I couldn’t look away from those scars, each slicing against the memory of my own. They were a legacy of the war my father had caused, and Mila was a true warrior.
If I’d been inclined to dance, maybe I’d have asked after them. It was prying, my own selfish curiosity ignoring propriety, but a piece of me needed to know how she came to be marked.
I formed different scenarios in my mind until the Master of Rites, Missyneth, called attention to the front of the room. “It is time for the Revered’s dance.”
The crowd fell silent, a buzz of anticipation slinking through them. Heads turned toward the floor. Ophelia stood beneath the grand chandelier, chin high, magenta eyes on me as if she’d been on her way over here.
Now, she appeared caught.
It took me a moment to understand the flicker of uncertainty in her forced smile. Every warrior present was waiting to see what we’d do. The Revered’s dance was an honor shared with their partner. It was a moment for the Mystiques to exalt the chosen leader and the one they deemed their equal.
The crowd waited to see whether we’d play the game for the evening and pretend that the golden children of the Mystique Warriors were still intent on their happily ever after.
Or if we’d publicly allow the illusion to slip away.
The sun’s rays flashed against the chandeliers, casting drops of gold around the dance floor awaiting its main event. And a tug in my gut told me—that stage wasn’t mine to take.
Ophelia blinked once, long and slow.
Then, sending what I hoped was reassurance through our malfunctioning tattoos, I lifted my glass to her and smiled. It wasn’t a smile that said I’d be right there.
It was one to set her free.
Chapter Forty-Three
Ophelia
I’d been halfwayto Malakai to make my next apology. We may have torn each other apart, but we had a deeper understanding when it came to secrets and lies, he and I. Now that I wasn’t at the brunt of his, I saw that.
I’d wanted to tell him that.
Instead, lingering stares were burning into me, waiting to see whose hand I took.
A cowardly part of me considered turning to Cypherion, asking him to play the part so I wouldn’t send a mistaken signal to the swarm of warriors lining the ballroom. But Cyph was oblivious to my current debate, his eyes on Vale. I would not be selfish enough to steal that chance from him.
I forced my smile not to falter. One more second. That was all I had to make my choice; image or heart, which should I choose?
I closed my eyes, inhaling the hot summer air rich with wine and flowers.
Why did it have to be one or the other? Choosing between the symbol of hope or what I desired. Malakai and I had been a promise our entire lives, a vision for the future of Mystiques, but I could still be one without him—Iwasstill one.
I caught Malakai’s gaze from the corner. He lifted his glass to me and a gentle nudge hit my Bind. That, combined with his smile—a genuine one for once—banished my uncertainty.
Dipping my chin, I focused my attention on the Bind and triedto send the words I’d planned to say to him.Thank you for everything you’ve sacrificed. For fighting for us all and teaching me what love was. I understand. And I’m sorry.
I’d never know if he felt it, but he nodded, and the leash around my heart snapped.
“May I have this dance?” a voice asked from behind me, coaxing my nerves off the edge. Tolek stood waiting, hair combed back, bowing slightly, a hand extended.
Relief unspooled within me, champagne bubbles fizzling away in my stomach.
He was here. Despite my secrets and omissions, he still held his hand out to me.
For a moment, I was taken back to my birthday. Before any visits from Damien, before the Undertaking and the fallout of Kakias and Lucidius’s truth, when I was merely facing a cursed death in a matter of days, and Tol had extended his hand.
But this offer meant more, as it meant more when I slid my fingers between his and said, “Of course you may.”
