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“Knew it.”
The queen sighed as she hurried to his side. On the tip of his toes, he spun to face the right direction. There was an extra spring in his step, more pep in his walk. Ambrose tried and couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him this…happy.
Long before she was queen, obviously. Even during the war, what little she saw of him was somber. Her cheeks heated as she flattered herself with the thought that perhaps she’d been one to bring him joy again.
Oph—eeeee—llllliiaaa.
She could pick her sister’s name out of the jumble of words inside of her head. The voices spoke on top of each other in hushed angry snippets.
No.
Go.
Choose—She must pick sides.
Pick—No. No. No.
Were the voices fighting?
“Hey.” A hand grabbed her elbow pulling her down a hall.
Ambrose jumped, almost knocking Burke in the head with her staff. She would have, too, if he hadn’t ducked out of the way at the last second.
“You were going the wrong way.” Both his hands were held up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Deep in your thoughts, huh?”
“I’m so sorry. Yes, I must have gotten lost in my head.” She chuckled. “That happens sometimes.”
“So I’ve noticed. You have plenty to think about though. It is understandable.”
He was likely assuming she was thinking about was who she would marry. While she had several options the real argument was between her past and her future. Stay with Ephram or go back to Burke? What she didn’t tell him was that she’d already made her decision.
Immortality would get her a life with Ephram. Immortality would somehow bring back her sisters. Ambrose couldn’t guess what Ophelia was up to, but for the first time in a long time, she was going to put her trust in her eldest sister. It was more than scary not knowing what exactly Ophelia had planned. Worse now that the voices in her head were unsure as well.
Ambrose didn’t really feel as if she had a choice. A life without Ephram and Farah was not a life she really wanted to live. Even if she was queen. Even if she had more magic than most at her disposal. Whatever bit of patriotism she had within herself was fading away as she refused to give the country any more.
Burke came to a stop in the middle of the hall. A large portrait of Ambrose’s family hung not far away. She could hardly stand to look at it. All five sisters, propped up around her parents. Not one brother, her dad had always joked that they’d stop having kids when they finally had a boy but after Aylee, mother had gotten too old to wish another pregnancy on herself.
“Why have we stopped?” Ambrose asked.
He knocked against the wall. “Because this is where your sister is.”
Stone began to melt away under his knuckles to reveal a circular wooden door, no handle in sight. Burke placed his palm flat against the door and pushed it open.
“Did you do that?” Ambrose asked him as he turned to give her his hand and help her over the small step into the room.
“No. I did. Don’t be idiotic.” Ophelia laughed.
Ambrose turned to follow the noise. A bed floated without a frame, maroon bedsheets and blankets all carefully arranged. Ophelia had draped herself across the mattress and was stroking a finger over the glass globe to watch the flames inside follow her touch. She looked up to smile, appearing more like she was about to tell a ghost story than to greet her sister.
Another fire crackled in the fireplace giving dim light to the rest of the room. Curtains were drawn over two windows on either side of the bed making the space feel as if she had intended to invite a lover over.
Furniture sat in a half circle framing the fireplace and offering them several places to rest. Ambrose walked forward slowly and leaned an arm down on a chair.
“Tell me more about this immortality.”
“I knew you’d consider it.” She flashed an arrogant grin.
Ambrose refused to respond. Her jaw was set, her hand held tightly on her staff, and her knees locked under her.
