Chapter 113 Sacred Blood
In the bustle of the afternoon, when magicians rushed back and forth in their scientific research, maids scurried to finish packing, aristocrats enjoyed tea in gardens, and servants toiled their sweat into perfection, a lone woman walked the thin path between life and death.
Ophelia remembered reading about the barriers around the kingdom and the magician's tower. The maze around the magic tower could keep a man trapped for eternity. Only skilled and authorized wizards could break the illusion.
Ophelia set foot in the same place that Layla once guided her. She remembered the concision of each magician as they skimped to their rightful places. No one paused to glance at her, they were all too busy fulfilling their duties to spare a glance. Ophelia crossed up the familiar stairs that led up to Reagan's place. But then, she paused halfway, drawn by a blank wall halfway up the staircase. Her hands twitched as if the wind pulled at her hair. She found herself placing her palms upon the rock. Once again, her fingertips burned. This time, not a flame as wild as the ones that tore through grown men.
Ophelia whispered a word she couldn't register. Then, she blinked and found herself standing in a strange location. The hallways stretched for miles, lit by twitching torch lights, cells lining every corner. She stared right into the eyes of a woman sitting near the walls.
"I'm supposed to be in solitary confinement." Layla raised her head to see the young witch. A tiny smile played on her lips. "Well, I should be dead."
"You're welcome," Ophelia softly said, hands tucked in front of her waist.
Layla glanced at her, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Who are you?"
"The woman that suffered the beast's den for you," Ophelia responded.
Layla pressed her lips together. "No, that's Ophelia."
Ophelia blinked. Then, she let out a soft laughter and ran her fingers through the ends of her silver hair. Even amidst the flame, her diamond rings blinded Layla.
"You are Duchess Mavez," Layla commented, her voice dancing with amusement. "The Ophelia I know stutters. She is scared of the world that scarred her."
"Scarred me," Ophelia repeated the words, touching her white sleeves. She fiddled with the material, catching the muslin and rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. Soft. Pure. Not a hint of exploded guts.
"Isn't that why you reacted as such?" Layla humored, tipping her head back and letting out a soft sigh. "I should've heeded Reagan's warnings. Teaching you magic was as good as dooming the world."
Ophelia forced a smile and glanced at her fingertips. Even now, she could see the pink tinge, whether it was from stained blood or just the natural flush of a human girl. She shakingly hid it behind her back, unable to accept her crimes.
"Reagan told you everything," Ophelia realized.
Layla curtly nodded. "He's a great detective of magic. Recently, he used to murmur about hearing the language of the god around the palace, but I guess we know the culprit now."
Layla scrutinized Ophelia up and down. Her unnatural eyes were more vibrant than usual and her hair was pure as the first snow fall. The very embodiment of the Moon Goddess. Layla wondered if Ophelia knew the other half of the Direct Descendant's prophecy. Judging from Ophelia's nativity, Layla assumed not.
"Aren't they just spells?" Ophelia mumbled. "Language of the gods, I mean."
"Magicians are trained to repeat certain words or phrases after memorizing them to heart. Even if it's committed to memory and heart, magicians still have an accent," Layla explained. "Only a handful can read the scripture. None can repeat the language as if it was their native tongue."
Layla reached for the bars, her ankles clicking from the chain of solitary confinement. She'd hardly call this a punishment. At least it was imprisonment over death. In just a few days, she would be released.
"I heard you used a spell that'd take up enough mana to knock a magician unconscious," Layla whispered. "A spell so great and forbidden, it should've ended up with you in shackles."
Ophelia bit her bottom lips. "I didn't know. I said the first thing that came to mind—"
"Exactly!" Layla insisted. "You shouldn't have known that word in the first place. Your conscience spoke to you, a voice in your mind that shouldn't be there! You are what was promised, you are the Direct Descendant that everyone whispered about."
Ophelia suddenly regretted coming here. She thought Layla would be more level-headed and spiteful. She swallowed.
"I'm only here to say goodbye," Ophelia muttered. "You saved my life in the shelter and I saved yours in return. This will be our final—"
"This won't be the last you see of me," Layla firmly said. "I'm sure that man named after a bug will seek for me. When he does, he'll bring me to you."
"Killorn would never allow it," Ophelia grumbled, even though Layla would fit perfectly in Mavez Dukedom. Deep in the cold nation, Ophelia would finally have a companion who'd unlock all of the secrets people would never tell her.
"Trust me," Layla began. "After your husband saw what you can do, he'd have me dragged to Mavez Dukedom if he must. Reagan would never make the journey, but I can. I know what you are and I know how to help you."
Ophelia was excited at the thought of her newfound powers. A way to defend herself. A way to prove her worth. Maybe then, she wouldn't be a burden to her husband. At her high emotions, her palms began to burn again. Amid the dreary hallways, containing the purple glow was impossible.
Layla's gaze flickered. She breathed out softly.
"Ophelia," Layla murmured. "You didn't forget, did you?"
Ophelia raised a slow brow.
"To give, you must take. For a wizard to summon magic, they must take something in return—a life force." Layla gripped the metallic bar tightly. Soon, she'd be out of here and to freedom. "Do you know what life you took to summon such deadly spells?"
Ophelia nodded. "Was it not the life of the Alphas and Vampire Heads around me?"
Layla immediately shook her head. "No."
"Then…"
"You took from yourself," Layla whispered, her voice lowering. "I do not know which part of your body you took from, but let us pray it is your sacred blood."
Ophelia's heart quickened. Let us pray it is your sacred blood. She swallowed, feeling her veins thin for a brief moment. Truth be told, she didn't remember what took over her when she spoke. A single word had rested on the tip of her tongue. It was begging to come out, so she released the word, not knowing what it would've done.
'There is a reason you are to be hunted soon," Layla stated. "When wizards eventually lose their magic, you will retain it for eternity. When werewolves and vampires take forever to heal, you need to only consume your own blood. You are a creature the world isn't ready for."
Ophelia hesitatingly stepped back. Layla's expression gave everything away. Admiration. Fear. Abomination. Ophelia should prepare herself for the worst. She didn't respond to Layla. She couldn't find it in herself to utter a single response, especially when Layla's eyes said it all. Layla knew everything that Ophelia didn't. Layla knew everything that Ophelia did. Layla could be the key to everything.
All of the doors that men slammed in Ophelia's face, all of the answers that people refused to tell her, Layla could. "I will get you out of here," was all Ophelia managed to squeeze out. Then, she pressed to the wall and found herself back at the center of the staircase.
When Ophelia emerged from thin air, she caught the onlooker's attention. It wasn't every day that someone randomly popped into their heavily-guarded tower. She didn't make a single eye contact. Instead, she lifted her skirts, eager to leave. She had overstayed her welcome. How was she not discovered?
As Ophelia dashed out of the tower, out of the maze meant to trap the trespassers, she felt a chill down her spine, as if someone was watching her. She didn't look back, out of fear, but had a good feeling who it could be. The eyes didn't come from behind her, they came from above. Finally, when Ophelia believed she was in the comfort of Killorn's castle, she could look behind. The moon hung high in the sky, flowers blooming in the distance, crickets chirping.
Nightfall had approached.
In the far distance was the magician's tower. The image shimmered and swayed, like an illusion, but she swore she knew.
Reagan.
Reagan had been watching her.
Suddenly, a rough pair of hands grabbed Ophelia's elbows. She screamed in fear, but he combed his finger through her hair. Soft. Long. He brought her closer, wrapping her in warmth.
"Where have you been?" Killorn demanded, his voice lowering in warning around his wife. "I've searched everywhere for you." Ophelia didn't know what made her so bold, especially amidst the anger of his voice, but she revealed the truth.
"I went to the magician's tower," Ophelia admitted. She raised her head, almost starstruck by her husband. Underneath the moonlight, he was a vision of steel and ice. His eyes seemed to glow, his lips thinned in a straight line. His outline was large, his shoulders broad, his jaw clenched.
"Killorn," Ophelia suddenly addressed.
Killorn's hardened expression shifted. Briefly. "Killorn, I want Layla to come back with us," Ophelia insisted, pressing herself upon her husband's hard body. She gripped onto his shirt, eager to tell him more. "I want Layla, no matter what. I want her in Mavez Dukedom," Ophelia whispered. She left no room for an argument, despite how quiet her voice was.
A strong breeze rustled past them, raising hairs, and catching grass blades. Killorn glared down at her in disbelief, his strong gaze unwavering upon her soft ones. Her hair shimmered unnaturally upon the star-speckled skies. A woman in her element. Even the moonlight washed over her, bathing her in ethereal beauty. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the woman who glowed like a goddess in the night.
"And send for my father," Ophelia warned. "I wish to see him in the Mavez Dukedom."
"Whatever you wish," Killorn's voice rumbled. "You shall get, my lady wife."
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