“Correct.” The woman smiles again. “We have much to discuss. Come, walk with me.”
We follow her into the dazzling white city. It’s far more beautiful than Lacon City, even more glorious than House Eternal. I nearly laugh aloud, imagining Lady Ariadne’s jealousy if she were to see it. The entire place shimmers, as if there are crushed gems embedded in the stone—and for all I know, there are.
We stop at a dome-shaped building with a tall, arched, open doorway. “Here we are,” she says. Inside, there’s a circular table nearly the size of the room, which is considerable. It’s slick, reflective, and faintly pink, made of pearl. Tall-backed golden chairs, almost like individual thrones, are arranged around it. “Please, have a seat.”
As Eban takes the seat next to me, the woman speaks. “Gineth Strong—” She smiles. “And Eban Sadreal, is that right?” She stares at Eban.
“Yes,” Eban replies, chin tilted defiantly.
“My name is Luwalhati,” the woman continues. “I am the last archivist, the keeper of Ophir knowledge. But please, no Ophir welcome would be complete without a feast. Let’s eat first.”
Bowls are set on the table, filled with steaming fish soup, platters of roasted and grilled meat, as well as giant prawn, crab cooked in its own fat, and steaming curries filled with lobster and sea snails. I do my best to resist scarfing it down, instead picking up my spoon and taking a polite taste of the soup. But I can’t help closing my eyes and reveling in how amazing it is.
“This is like something my mother used to make,” Eban says. “It never tasted this good, but I think she tried with what she had.”
Luwalhati smiles and nods.
I stuff myself silly, giving in to the hunger I feel deep in my bones. I’ve never tasted such delights, not even when I lived with Rollo.
“How did it happen? The fall?” I ask. “I never thought Ophir actually even existed. I thought it was just a fantasy. A lie, honestly. How did you—didwe—lose this?”
Luwalhati frowns. “You know nothing of our history?”
“Very little. Only what Lacon allows us to know.”
At the mention of Lacon, her face changes, darkens. “Lacon betrayed us.”
But before she can explain further, dessert is served. Golden plates piled high with a mélange of exotic fruit and exquisite date and coconut candies. I eat so many of the coconut creams I feel sick.
Luwalhati turns solemn. “You understand the power of our relics. Spirits of our ancestors that have a direct channel to the gods.”
We both nod.
“The spirits in the relics are the source of all our power. The gods speak to us through the relics, and that is what created Ophir. We are the first people of the gods. It is said that in the very beginning, the gods walked among us in Ophir. We were created in their likeness. But the gods are fickle and grow bored. The gods returned to their haven, but allowed spirits to be able to communicate with them. And so the relics were created. Only the few and the best of us are chosen to be ancestor spirits. Only those who bond with the spirits can wield the power of the relics. All Ophir children have the capacity to bond, but only those who are worthy and succeed in the trial are bonded. All of our magic, all of our strength, lies in the bonded Ophir’s ability to channel the power of their ancestor spirit, who then unleashes the power of its god.”
Eban and I listen attentively.
“While it was not a secret that the source of our power lay in our relics, we never imagined this knowledge could be used against us,” she says grimly.
I look up from taking a sip of the sparkling melon juice. “By Lacon?”
“Yes. You asked how it happened. How we lost all this. During the fall of Ophir, the people of Lacon betrayed us. They struck without warning during a feast for our gods and killed all the bonded Ophir. It was a slaughter.”
I shudder. Eban’s eyes are stormy.
“The Laconians thought that if they killed the bonded and stole the relics and the spirits contained in them, they would be able to bond with those spirits and use the power of our gods for themselves.”
“But they couldn’t,” I say. That much I know.
“Of course not. It was a foolish notion from the beginning. Only an Ophir descendant can speak to an ancestor spirit. Once the bonded Ophir were dead, the relics were useless to the Lacon. They might as well be empty glass vessels.” She shook her head. “But without the power of the bond, we had no way to communicate with the gods, so our magic failed, and our kingdom sank into the sea.”
We’re sitting in a graveyard, I think. A graveyard of memories, of past glory and grandeur. There is no Ophir. This is just in my mind, a memory, a dream.
Luwalhati sighs. “You know what happened next. We all drowned. Although a few Ophir survived. They fled on rafts and skiffs. Those who escaped had nowhere else to go but Lacon. We became a people without magic, without hope and with no knowledge of our past. A handful made it to the Lashing, our last free colony. But like the Ophir in Lacon, without the power of our relics, they, too, live without magic.” She turns to us now, her eyes flashing like diamonds. “But now the relics are found. And two are in Ophir hands once more. In the hands of their descendants.”
She looks at us intently. “I brought you here for a reason. Now, let us fulfill it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEEBAN
