It took a minute for the attendant who received her to realize who she was. Luckily for Ophelia, she knew her name, as she had helped her get ready in the mornings. "Dada," she said with a small smile, and suddenly found herself being crushed by the older woman in a hug.
Shouts of joy followed her as she was rushed in. Her name was echoed in the garden as they walked her back to Hyperion's grand reception. Dada's trembling hands spoke of fear, and the sound of the closing gates behind her felt particularly sharp, as if they were meant to keep her kidnappers at bay. As they neared the main building she kept her gaze fixed forwards, on the pillars that divided the foyer from the garden. She was almost giddy, eagerly wanting to catch sight of Hyperion. He'd heard the servants who'd rushed in to announce her return and ran outside, stopping only when he saw her.
"I feared the worst," he said as he enveloped her in a tight hug. Ophelia felt guilty that she hadn't tried to at least send word of her well-being, getting lost in the petty politics of the Phrygians.
"Let's go inside, I need some chai," she said, returning the hug. The smell of myrrh, a common oil he used as perfume, permeated the air. She was hit with the realization that she'd missed him; she'd missed the villa. It felt like she'd been out for a few days on a bender, and she was now – at last – at home.
They set the table, and she greeted and hugged all the attendants that she knew; even Eon, normally the most reserved of them all, seemed relieved that she was back in one piece. Enough to offer her a rare bright smile.
"We could not find any traces of you for days," he said. "It was very frustrating."
She made a gesture to Hyperion to ask for some privacy. Only her, the merchant, and Eon remained in the room. "Phobos was the one who took me from the site of the attack," she explained. "I spent the last few days in the company of his Phrygian comrades."
She relayed to them, as much as she could, the basics of what had happened the last few days. There was much that she couldn't tell; the details of the inner politics in the complex, to name one example, were not their concern. Phobos' position in their hierarchy and some of his struggles with his own nobles were also best left out of the narrative: she weaved a simple story. She had been suspected because of her mysterious origin, she was rejected because she was a foreigner, and lastly her powers had been discovered and she'd chosen to flee to avoid their rage.
"What a sight that must have been," Hyperion smiled. "A tiny elysian woman against forty angry Phrygian warriors."
Ophelia felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. His reaction to her kidnapping was visible in the lines in his face, the way his emotions seemed heightened by the relief of knowing everything had turned out for the better, or how his shoulders sagged in relief when he took a breath. And she, too, felt somehow softened by that homecoming, by the sweet smell of myrrh and the familiar taste of chai in her mouth as they both shared a chat together.
"I said at one point I would tell you… and I think it's high time I make good on that promise," she said. "But I am not from Elysium. I crossed over to this world two months ago; I'm originally from that place you call Byzantium."
Hyperion's face slightly turned sideways, as it often did when he heard something he wasn't quite sure how to respond to. "Byzantium…" he repeated softly, and closed his eyes. "I supposed that also makes sense. You don't quite act like you are from this world."
He opened his eyes again and smiled. "Is that something the Phrygian prince knows?"
"A mutual friend had to tell us both, before he tried to kill me."
Hyperion took a long sip of his cup, before he fixed his eyes on Ophelia. "Things are beginning to heat up in unpleasant ways, as you can tell. The attack on the envoys was brazen, and it has given the rest of the factions in the city a taste for violence. I am trying to prepare as quickly as possible, but I do not foresee to stay here for long. Would you like to come with me?"
Ophelia remembered her promise to hear Phobos' answer a few days from then. She didn't have an exact date set. "What's the soonest you're looking to leave by?"
"By end of next week."
"I'm waiting to hear back from Phobos. Perhaps I will come with you."
Hyperion exhaled; a mocking smile turned his lips up. "You're very forgiving."
"Wouldn't you like me to be that way with you as well? I treat everyone equally. I've forgiven you once, as well."
He blinked at her, having been caught by surprise. "That you have," he admitted.
Before dinner, she went back to her room to change. The Phrygian clothes were too warm for the Arqan weather; it was, as well, "an affront against aesthetics" for Hyperion to see her in the traditional clothes of the warrior nation. "Covers too much, and flatters too little," he said, to Ophelia's amusement. She didn't mind the style, but out of all the different garments she'd worn, she certainly preferred the loose Arqan robes the better.
Dinner was a relaxing affair: she was transported back to her first days there, feeling the calm sea breeze and hearing the lone song of the cicadas wafting through the night as they ate. If the world was on fire down in the city, they had no way of knowing from inside the villa: all was peace, all was chit-chat punctuated by the sly wit of one Chaldean merchant and his aide.
She knew the morning would bring the smell of embers sizzling under the Arqan sun. Before she retired for the night, Hyperion gave her a warning. "With things as they are, and although I've tried to make sure it doesn't happen, there is no telling whose tongues will say more than they should. You should expect Lord Scipio in this garden in the next few days."
Ophelia sighed. "I have a conversation with my pillow on that very topic."
It took Aegyr two days to come to them, to Ophelia's surprise. It seemed that Hyperion's intimidation tactics with his staff had somehow managed to fend off the inevitable leak of the news of her return, something that he took particular pride in. "Being able to suspend a tide that is about to crash into shore like this is no small feat," he said to Eon, "I'll take that I've become very good at it."
The time he'd bought gave her enough time to gather her thoughts and think about what she'd say to the Elysian. When he came, it was her who received him at the foyer, and not Hyperion. The merchant had offered to help, but she'd refused him: it'd be easier for her to simply handle Aegyr on her own. To that the Chaldean smiled, and tapped the back of her hands, which he told her then was the way his people wished good luck to their family. He'd been adamant, however, that they keep up the charade that had been set up earlier: when she received the Elysian she did so dressed in the extravagant dress of a Chaldean bride-to-be.
"I see the wedding will proceed," Aegyr commented as way of greeting, his eyes immediately falling on the delicate jewellery that adorned her hair and neck. "It is good that you… weren't subjected to the usual Phrygian brutality."
As they sat down, his eyes roamed her face and the exposed skin on her arms; it felt impersonal, like a doctor checking for injuries. Ophelia arched an eyebrow, "they were perfect gentlemen, if I'm to be honest".
His piercing gaze spoke volumes of his disbelief. "They've rarely awarded that amount of grace to anyone who's ever had any dealings with us. Why, it was Phrygian rebels who coldly murdered their own fellow countrymen who supported their current king in Caudiceum, a few weeks ago. Your star must take particular care of you; you've survived them twice already."
"I am a very lucky woman," Ophelia grinned at him, full teeth. "But is that the reason why you're here?"
"I merely wanted to express my relief to your making your way back unharmed," he said, despite the fact that his flat tone made it seem like he couldn't care less. "And ask for the details of your captivity. It is time we finally root out these insurgents."
Ophelia sighed. She had prepared a story for him, which she began like this: "I was taken to an old farmstead, and kept in there. They didn't quite know what to do with me, as they thought it wasn't… honourable to kill a woman who couldn't fight."
Aegyr leaned in. "How many were they?"
"A few dozen? I only saw some of them when I arrived, and then a few men who came to ask me questions. They have women too; they would come to give me my meals. It didn't help that their Iberian was very poor, and we could not speak any other language… Some of them spoke some words in Arqan, but that was it."
"They didn't speak Iberian?" Aegyr frowned.
Ophelia shook her head. By then she'd learnt that despite any regional differences, all kingdoms tended to send their nobility to be educated under similar curriculums. It was expected, as Phobos had coldly said during supper to his cousin's lackey, that noblemen should be able to dominate multiple languages, and a common one for Phrygians was Iberian, the language of the ports. It was true that none of them had spoken to her in that language, not that they didn't dominate it: Ophelia was taking advantage of the fact that the Elysian didn't know she spoke Phrygian, and could then avoid a lengthy interrogation. It would give him, as well, the false idea that she'd seen no aristocrats in her captivity, which would perhaps buy them some time: if Aegyr knew that Phobos was hiding in the city, he'd bring his knights immediately to capture him and put an end to the civil war once and for all.
He then asked her for the specifics of the hideout's location. She pointed to a wax tablet she'd left on the table, and pushed it towards him as an invitation. In it, she'd sketched a small map, and had written down the indications as best as she could remember. He took it, scanned over it, and frowned.
"You are not a scribe, it is clear," he said, deadpan. Ophelia, surprised by the comment, couldn't help the angry blush that pooled in her cheeks.
"I've been learning for a few weeks!" she protested. "And I would have had more time to dedicate to it if you hadn't called me to translate for you."
He ignored her protests and looked at the tablet again; his silence unnerved Ophelia who'd realized that perhaps she'd given him information about herself that he shouldn't have known. "Is it that difficult to understand? I'll explain it to you."
"No, no," he said softly. "it is very easy to understand. Despite not knowing how to read and write, you seem to be exceedingly familiar with Terrarium maps."
Ophelia had no idea what that meant, so she simply shrugged. Aegyr placed the tablet back in front of him, and continued with his questions, this time wanting to know how she'd escaped.
"One of the women freed me. I can't say I fully understand her reasons, but she seemed to be in a state of terror. From the gestures she made, I thought perhaps that they were going to kill me."
Aegyr nodded, but offered no reply. Ophelia took a moment to take a sip of wine, and let the man fester in his own silence. She wasn't exactly sure what he'd make of her tale, but she knew the strange attitudes the Phrygians held towards war would perhaps give it enough credibility.
He was unreadable as a wall as he stood up, picking up the tablet. "I shall pray that your star continues to care for you in the coming days, my lady," he said without looking at her. "You shall see some interesting sights."
Ophelia didn't reply to him, and let him make his own way out of the garden. She hopelessly wished that it would be the last she'd see of him, but as it was to be expected in the situation, in some way or another he ended up interfering in her life once again.
The next day, Lord Preceptor had come to them with a scribe to ask for her official statement about what had happened during her kidnapping. She found out that at daybreak a set of Arqan soldiers along with some of the Elysian envoys had raided the farmstead she'd been kept in, and found that it had been hastily abandoned. No Phrygian had been found in their perimeter, and from the testimony of the villagers that lived nearby, it seemed like they'd decided to disperse, seeking refuge as families rather than in the large compound they'd been in. Despite not having the greatest or fondest memory of them all, she'd breathed a sigh of relief. She'd expected them to flee the moment she arrived in Arqa, as regardless of where her loyalties laid it was only a matter of time until they were found. That had been the reason why she had not hesitated to reveal their location to Aegyr: she knew no harm would be done.
Her testimony would put an end to the official enquiry, as far as the government was concerned. The Elysians would be cleared of all charges, and Phrygian terrorists would be blamed for the incidents. There was, however, no sign of excitement on the Lord Preceptor's face as he confided in Ophelia that the troubles were just starting:
"No one outside of the palace cares," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They believe it's all an Elysian conspiracy, that we're lying. They truly do think that the kidnappings were staged to clear their name after their attacks didn't go as they'd expected."
Once he'd been gone, Hyperion explained the situation better to her: "he's paying for all these years of turning a blind eye to his corrupt officials. Those in the city have suffered greatly from the bribes and the injustice, and now they've found the perfect combination of events to let all that frustration out."
"Remember when it was all about getting that caravan tax increased?" Ophelia asked, shaking her head, and she felt Eon of all people splutter and laugh. Both her and Hyperion turned their heads to see the rare sight of the aide showing emotion.
"Well, if anything all this unrest will definitely force my competitors to increase their prices," Hyperion mused. "Good job, princess."
"I didn't cause this!"
The merchant grabbed her by the shoulders in an affectionate gesture. "You're my little agent of chaos."
They could try to laugh it off, but there was a tension in the air that seasoned nomads like Hyperion and Eon knew all-too-well. A rising appetite for unrest was felt for anyone who walked through an Arqan street: in casual conversations, in the way people seemed more irritable, readier than ever to jump into a fight. The port was busier than ever as merchants tried to send abroad as much as they could before it fell prey to fire and looting; passengers as well, particularly those of certain nationalities, wandered from ship to ship asking captains for passage. It wasn't uncommon to see some folks loading their mules with heavy satchel bags carrying their most prized belongings, leaving servants to mind their empty houses while they retreated outside to their country states.
Ophelia, despite the warning of the native Arqans, had decided to venture outside of the villa. Covering her head in a veil and only stepping out with a single attendant, she walked through the markets that were closest to the villa, trying to see for herself the state the city was in. She was also worried that she'd not heard from Phobos in all that time, and partly wondered if it had been the villa's increasing security measures that might have prevented him from making contact with her. It was a slim chance that she'd be able to catch sight of him that way, given that he probably wasn't stalking the entrance of the villa day and night, but it gave her something to do.
Hyperion's preparation for his departure had sent the entire villa into a frenzy of work. As she hadn't decided yet if she would join him, she was naturally left out of the entire process, which given the strange environment they were in, made her feel uneasy. Tension coiled in her body, and she felt she was ready to jump at any time, but she wasn't sure when or where she should jump to.
"Curse the guards!" she heard a man shout down the market. The crowd seemed to part for him, and then everyone was able to see him and his two mates stumbling down the street, hands trying to contain the bleeding in his head. "They've done it! They're now raising their swords against us!"
He held his hand up, which was covered in blood. Instantly, the murmur in the crowd went wild. A young man approached him, incensed. "Where are they?" he asked, looking wildly around him.
"Towards the entrance of the palace, but they've moved down, to the guild's street," he answered, pointing behind him. The younger man rallied his friends, shouting to the people around him, "let's go! Let's go! We can't let those low-lifes do this to us!"
Shaken by the vision of blood and the shouting as the men ran in the direction the injured Arqan had pointed towards, the market divided itself into those who were frozen in their tracks, looking to gain every scrap of information they could from their surrounding, and those who were answering the call to arms. Ophelia decided she'd had enough, and retreated, along with her attendant. She'd later find out that had been the start of the riots that continued on throughout the rest of the week.
The violence didn't phase her. She wasn't used to it as much as Hyperion, perhaps, but she trusted that her powers allowed her to roam freely. She revelled in that freedom: she snuck out of the villa on her own, trying to hear the latest news and hopefully catch sight of the Phrygian prince she'd promised to meet again.
"ELYSIANS GO HOME," protested a column of Arqans, both men and women, holding up sickles, axes, pitchforks and staffs. They were marching down the street, clearly looking for anyone to release their anger onto. Earlier that day Ophelia had seen a group of kids burning down some of the blue flags that had been put up for the Tripartite Council, cackling gleefully as the adults around them watched with pride as the empire's emblem burned to ashes.
"This will be no good, oh no lord Sun," the old man next to her had said. "I heard they burnt down the house of one of 'em Elysian merchants near the port. Oh shining lord, this will only anger them."
The lady behind the stall they'd been buying from heard him.
"Well, I say they bring their knights, we'll give them our Arqan special," she said loudly, eliciting approving nods around her. "We took two of 'em out with nothing but knives and fists. We'll be waiting."
"That courage is admirable," a voice said behind her, and Ophelia turned around to see Phobos, smiling at the lady from the stall. The prince seemed not to care too much for subtlety that day, as the Arqan clothes he was wearing still revealed the tail end of the phoenix on his chest.
"What did he say?" the lady demanded, and Ophelia translated for her. "You're a Phrygian, are ya? Good. What they did to ye should not be forgiven."
Ophelia noticed that her jingoism was starting to bleed onto the other sellers, and some of the passer bys. She excused the both of them and took Phobos away from the crowd, to the entrance of a small passage where they'd have some more privacy.
"Is it safe for you to be so out and proud?" she asked. Rather than answering her, he pulled her against the wall and took her mouth in his, trapping her smaller body with his.
"There's too much going on for anyone to worry about a Phrygian or two," he said in between breaths, as he dropped his head to her shoulder. "I could ask the same of you."
"Deus-ex-machina," she tried to say, but was stopped by his teeth grazing the skin of her collarbone. "Stop! It's the middle of the day! Have you no shame?"
"Apologies," he smiled cheekily at her, and she wondered where had gone the solemn, strict prince she'd met in Caudiceum. He put some space between them, but still kept her in his embrace. "Something about you makes me forget myself."
Ophelia sighed, but she could've said the same thing about him. "How is everyone? Everyone was gone by the time the Elysians got to the hideout."
"It was for the better. Strange things had begun to brew in that environment, I did not think it was prudent for everyone to be living under the same roof anymore. We've all spread out. I've sent Valor along to Philistia, so that Aristides can keep him under tabs."
He looked down, and Ophelia's eyes captured his. He knew what she was about to ask before she spoke; every fibre of her body seemed to vibrate with the question that they had yet to resolve.
"Are you here to give me my answer?"
"I want to talk to you, first," he said. The cheeky boy from moments ago had disappeared, and Ophelia felt herself sober up as she was held by the prince of Phrygia. He grabbed her hand, and softly began to lead her away from the passage. "Let's find somewhere quiet where we can sit."
Quiet, in that city, at that time, was an impossible ask. As they moved through the streets they noticed that everywhere they went it was full of people, and that there was certainly signs of unrest beginning to seep through the cracks. It certainly felt like the wrong place and the wrong time to be trying to define one's future as a lover, as a couple, as there were no rosy feelings in the air: there was anger, frustration, and a thirst for violence.
"Let's get out of here," Phobos said, but it was too late. Somewhere, two streets away, someone had fallen at the hands of the Arqan guards. The mob went insane. Rocks began flying, men began throwing themselves at the ill-prepared swordsmen with heavy axes cutting through the air. Stalls were trampled as the mob advanced towards the retreating guards; the shouting overwhelmed the tiny streets and spilled into its surroundings. Waves of people trying to run away from the violence began to crash against the passages, the alleyways, filling the nearby streets.
Ophelia could've stopped anyone swinging a sword at her, she could've made fun of the strength of any man who fancied himself a powerful warrior, but she could have not contained the sheer power of a violent mob. Phobos grabbed her and ran with her, and as they escaped from it all she saw children being trampled in alleyways, shouting women breaking down doors to start looting, young men ripping a cow's torso apart, grabbing as many pieces of meat as they could carry. She heard the swinging mace of a looter come crashing down on a pig, and the screams of someone who'd been caught wearing a blue tunic as he was jumped by a gang of teenagers. When she could not run anymore, Phobos grabbed her in his arms and kept running; they tried to get closer to the port, and ended up in that main road that connected the palace to the port.
The sky was just as blue, and the sun kissed the earth in the exact same way it had done weeks ago, when she'd been at the top of the hill wondering how the Council would go. The flags had been ripped from the top of their poles, with only the Arqan ones remaining, proudly, to dance at the rhythm of the looting.
Phobos put her down, and they both looked behind them: people were gathering at the gates of the palace, trying to break them down. When Ophelia turned to say something to her companion, she found such a savage smile in his face that she had to do a double take. "This is the beginning," he said, admiring the chaos. "We'll do the same in Latil and Philistia, and then we'll bring Elysian-controlled Phrygia to its knees."
"I thought you preferred fighting," Ophelia commented.
"I do," Phobos said, stealing a quick kiss from her in his excitement. "And I also enjoy inspiring people to fight for themselves."
They began to make their way down the hill, but the sound of galloping stopped them. Phobos reacted first, moving the two of them to take refuge in the small space that separated two houses. Arqan guards had gathered, and had begun to make their way to disperse the rioters that were trying to break into the palace, and with them they had…
"Elysians," Phobos muttered darkly, spotting the shimmering blue robes of one of the Elysian envoys amongst the guards. With a speed that seemed almost inhuman, he unsheathed his long knife, took two steps towards the street, and before Ophelia could even shout or say anything to stop him, he threw it at the mounted elysian.
She would never forget the sound of the knife as it went into the envoy's head, impacting with such force that part of his skull exploded when it made contact. The body immediately went limp, falling off the horse and sending the animal into a frenzied run. Around him, the Arqan guards screamed, and tried to control their own animals as they searched for the source of the attack.
Phobos was on them before they even knew what had happened. He ran to the closest guard and cut his horse's tendons with a low, horizontal hit of his sword. The poor animal fell backwards, crushing its rider under his weight. Next were two other guards, which had their throats cut as Phobos made an almost impossible jump on top of their steeds.
What happened next was a reminder to Ophelia that, as much as the similarities sometimes surprised her, nothing in that world owed any comparison to hers. It was almost like seeing the stunts of a movie play out in front of her: the violence was almost comical, but so was the strength, the speed and the skill Phobos showed, which seemed to almost defy the laws of physics. But perhaps that had been the gift that had been given to those who didn't receive their quote of luck from Byzantium, and as much as she was also an anomaly in her own mind, so was he and the Phrygian warriors that he fought with.
The Arqan guards, however, once they had caught on, were quick to show that they, also, possessed similar qualities. Two of them surrounded Phobos, abandoning their horses, and kept him at bay. The rest of them were not allowed to join as they had more pressing matters: the rioters had taken notice of what had been happening down the road, and a group of them had broken away to assist Phobos. Ophelia observed their arrival as rocks began to fly into view, sometimes hitting the ground with sickening crunches, sometimes hitting the fallen bodies of the men Phobos had already killed.
"A pig for slaughter," she heard Phobos say as he smiled nastily, and took advantage of an opening in his opponent's defence. His sword slid in underneath the man's jaw and impaled his head. Bracing himself to his victim, the prince spun around to face his second opponent, who had made a lunge at him. Grabbing the fallen Arqan warrior's knife from its sheath, he caught his attacker's sword with the body, let its weight crumble on it, and stabbed the surviving Arqan in the neck.
A shudder ran through Ophelia's spine. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the carnage: it had been too much, too soon. Phobos' grinning face as he made his kills sat strangely with her; she knew she couldn't quite judge him as she would anyone from her world. He hadn't been born to a peaceful life in a suburban city in the first world; he was a warrior, it was only natural that he responded like that to war.
The surprised screams of the Arqans, and the sounds of multiple people hitting the floor, made her look back up. Advancing from the foot of the hill were five Elysians, their light blue robes circling around them in the wind. Leading them was Aegyr. A gust of air exploded again, and people were sent flying backwards.
What would happen next would let Ophelia know that was their way of issuing a warning of sorts. The ground began to shake near a large crowd of protestors, who had been gathering about twenty meters away from them, until it began to split in two. Those who were near the edges of it tried to run away as soon as they felt the earthquake, to no avail: a large hole opened, swallowing them all. Cracks began to emerge in the buildings around them; they appeared almost randomly, but the way the air shook around them made it evident it was the power of the Elysians delivering invisible blows to weaken their foundations. They intended to use the crumbling houses almost like cannons, making them fall towards the street, towards the rioters.
She looked for Phobos: he was across the street from her, and seemed to be waiting for the moment the Elysians would walk past them as they advanced towards the palace. In his hand he had his sword dripping in blood, and an Arqan knife. She saw Aegyr make a gesture to one of the men behind him.
Something sparked right above Phobos' head.
"No!" Ophelia cried, jumping up. The prince's body flew backwards, along the street. The intense explosion of blue fire that should've melted him away changed course, being forced into a column that travelled towards the sky instead of down into the streets.
"You!" Ophelia turned around to see Aegyr's wild stare; his eyes burnt as bright as the flames of the Dorian fire they'd just conjured to kill Phobos. Before he could do anything, the Arqan flags that waved in the posts suddenly were torn into long strips by an unknown force. Pretending to be ropes, they flew towards the Elysians and trapped them in their embrace, Ophelia's powers forcing them down the street as violently as she could.
She heard the rumble of the earth that tried to roar and the snap of fire that would not be born; she knew they tried to counteract, but somehow, she made it all go away before it even happened. She kept pulling them until they were out of sight: their bodies would be carried away as if by invisible waves, until they reached the port.
"Phobos!" she shouted, turning around. She meant to ask him if he was okay, but was surprised to find him glowering at her.
"If you're going to steal my kill," he snarled, stomping towards her,"at least make sure you kill them yourself."
The sight of the angry Phrygian, with his unsheathed weapons dripping in blood, sent her into panic. The man suddenly found himself unable to move, and she recoiled, bringing her hands up. "If you don't calm down," she said, trying to swallow her fear. "I will leave you here, and I won't ever see you again."
Phobos closed his eyes for a moment and willed himself to calm down. When he opened them again, they seemed like the normal, clear emeralds she was used to. She released him from her spell, and his body tensed, clearly trying his best not to frighten her once again but still intensely disliking the hold she had over him.
"Let's go," he muttered while he slid his stolen knife against his belt. His sword, still covered in blood, remained in his hands. When Ophelia wouldn't move, her eyes stuck on the weapon, he sighed. "I need to clean it before it can be put away."
Ophelia willed the blood away, and left it almost as if it had been freshly polished. With a disgruntled sigh, the warrior sheathed the sword, and offered his hand to her again: "happy?"
They both ducked into a passage, and slowly made their way towards the west of the city. It was the oldest part of it, and because of the way Arqa had rapidly developed since the fall of the old kingdom, the most derelict. New developments and the expansion of the city had turned the old streets into slums; the old stone houses crumbled away, without anyone to really care for them. Given that probably a good number of the citizens had escaped to form part of the riots, the streets were mostly empty and peaceful, and they quickly were able to find an abandoned house to sneak into.
Ophelia let herself fall to the dusty ceramic-lined floor, feeling her energy leave her body as the adrenaline washed away. Phobos put away his sword and sat in front of her, resting his face in his hands.
It took him a moment to find the words he wanted to say. "Don't ever do that again," he said, his voice making a conceited effort at staying calm. "Don't intervene in a fight, unless you're ready to fight."
Ophelia felt that the adrenaline had taken her fear from her as well. Anger, instead, began to brew in her belly. "Is that out of concern for me or I wonder, is it because of some dumb reason, like your pride?"
"I'm a warrior," Phobos hissed. "It may mean nothing to you, but it certainly does to me, and a warrior goes into a fight to either kill, or be killed."
"So what, you can't save your buddies if you see they're about to be burnt to crisps?"
"There's nothing dishonourable about being saved by another warrior. But that a woman would do so… and then not even make a kill?"
Ophelia's energy was brought back by the sheer force of her anger. "What is worse, then? That I didn't kill them or that I'm a woman?"
It seemed like she'd hit him with a theological conundrum the likes of which could drive to years of schisms. Eventually, he came up with a response. "You should've killed them. It would've been better that way."
She had the memory of Phobos' own comrade hitting the tree with too much force; she heard the echoes of the gasp he made in her mind, reminding her that in her carelessness she'd taken someone's life. She could not imagine doing it on purpose. "I can't do it. I'm not like you."
Phobos took her hands in his. "You see then why I don't want to let you do what I do? I know your hands should not see blood; that's what mine are for."
"So I'm not allowed to save you, unless I kill people?"
The look in his eyes said it all. "Let my brothers-in-arms protect me; that's why they follow me."
"I don't see your brothers-in-arms here, should I let you go to your death so foolishly, then?"
He sighed. "Let's forget about today. We both made mistakes."
Ophelia arched an eyebrow. "I didn't! I saved your life, and you are angry at me for it!"
She stood up. She guessed then that his answer to her question was all-too-clear now. He sensed her mood, and went to grab her arm.
"We're leaving for the Kushite kingdom tomorrow," he said. "Come with me."
Ophelia bit her lips. Something was brewing in her chest, and she didn't really understand what it was. The tears flowed to her eyes, and she tried to keep them at bay, unsuccessfully. "Why would I?" she spit out, without looking at him. "You only want me in the way that it suits you."
Phobos pulled her into his embrace, grabbing her face gently so that he could look into her eyes. "Don't be silly," he said, kissing her tears away. "I love you the way you are… as strange as you are, for me, it's your bravery that I find the most beautiful."
"But a fish that tries to swim against the current ends nowhere; if I don't point that out you'll endanger yourself. I know now that you were put in my care the moment you arrived from Byzantium," he continued. "Your safety, your happiness is my duty, Ophelia… I'm just trying to carry it out."
Ophelia shook her head slowly, feeling even worse when hearing his words. He pressed his forehead against her. "Come with me. We don't need to marry right away; we can wait until we're in Phrygia. We can have a grand wedding in Gordion."
Ophelia took a step backwards, drying some of the tears in her eyes with her hands. "No, I'm going back."
Phobos frowned. "You can't! The Elysians will be waiting for you…"
"Hyperion is leaving the city. I'm leaving with him."
Phobos grabbed her by the shoulders, anger in his voice. "It matters not! Now that they've seen your powers, they will stop at nothing to send you back to Elysium. Should they need to, they will kill everyone you hold dear, they will break your legs, your arms, make it so you're unable to speak to anyone outside of Elysium, ever again."
Ophelia grabbed Phobos by his wrists, and using her powers, got him to release her. "I will take that chance."
The prince's eyes went wild. "Why?!"
"I don't want to be protected," Ophelia said as she stepped back. "I want to make my own happiness, walk my own path. But even if I wanted to let you take care of me, you have a war to fight. You won't be there when your allies try to sacrifice me to their politics; you'll be out there, killing your enemies. For your sake I will have to pretend to be someone else, and… I simply, do not want to."
He was stunned, but for good measure she put another step or two of distance between them. "Forget about me, Phobos. I will treasure the days we spent together, and I will hope to see you one day sitting on the throne you own. But this ends here for us."
Before her heart betrayed her, she spun around and took off running. She heard her name being called, but it only made her run faster. The wind could've picked her up for all she knew, as she breezed past vaguely familiar streets, past the chaos, past the mayhem of the riots they'd left behind earlier. She didn't know how she managed it, but she ended up where she'd started, at the gates of Hyperion's villa.
She didn't react when she found they'd been forced open, and she didn't stop trying to dry the tears that would erupt every so many steps. She climbed the stairs that led to Hyperion's foyer, and knew she'd walk straight into Aegyr's piercing blue eyes, which shone with a light so intense she wished could burn away the sadness that constricted her chest.