Jake’s eyebrow lifted slightly, and the rush of satisfaction running through Lenna’s veins after causing him toreactwas no small thing. It was, in fact, a feeling that could become dangerously addicting.
“You are,” he said, finally looking down at her, running his silver stare from her hair to her toes. “Very, very dirty.”
Only then was Lenna remotely conscious of the sickening amount of dried blood on her clothes, on her skin, on her hair.None of it was her blood, yet she couldn’t allow herself to think whose blood that was. Not yet.
“You never seemed to mind how dirty I was before, Jake.” The way her voice trembled with his first name on her lips snapped something inside of her.
He inhaled deeply, his broad, muscled chest expanding in front of her. “The past is gone, Brachyan. There is no point in holding on to dead causes.”
How could his voice sound so neutral, so cold? How could two sentences slice someone’s heart so sharply?
Before she could reply, Jake stepped back a couple of steps, distancing himself from her. While looking at the sky, he took a few deep breaths. Lenna couldn’t take her eyes away from him. Some strands of his black hair fell over his forehead. His tight fists were visible across the pockets of his trousers. Underneath his marked jaw, his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“I’m leaving,” he finally said, looking down.
“Where are you going?” Her voice was broken, and she was mere seconds away from breaking down for good.
“I have a House to rule.”
“No, Jake. You have a life to live.”
Over his silver eyes flashed a glimpse of frozen devastation. “No, I don’t. Not anymore.”
And then, he moured away.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
8
Hope
They had made it to the safehouse in the middle of Corentre, and yet, their arrival in Thyria had been an absolute failure. A bloody massacre. They had killed dozens if not hundreds of the Cardinal Queen’s flying pets, but that meant nothing at all.
The Queen, wherever she was—probably on Hope’s own throne, the Organ Mandor throne—was untouched, alive, still breathing.
Sasha and Brendon hadn’t survived, and many courtrades of their navia had stayed there to fight for their lives. Or more accurately, to fight for their deaths with dignity. If any of themmanaged to survive or somehow escape that army of sangins, it would be a Cardinal’s miracle.
It was a terribly sour feeling, to be in a safe place while knowing others still fought for their survival. It was wrong.Sowrong. And yet, staying there and leaving both panom and courtrade societies without their leaders was stupid. Did this soul-eating guilt come with the post? Was she meant to learn to live with this? Because if that was the case, there was a long way to go until she made her peace with it. Good thing she was used to living in a constant war for survival.
Since they had arrived at the apartment, Ciaran hadn’t left her side, his firm hand on the small of her back. Stevian, Ciaran’s grandfather, had the palm of his hand forming a semicircle that resembled the crescent shape of Llunal’s mark and their courtrade magic. His whispers were inaudible, but Hope managed to hear him repeating, over and over, “May the stars not hinder their darkness. May Llunal shade them all.” He left the room amidst whispers and prayers, leaving Ciaran and Hope alone.
She bit her bottom lip and turned to Ciaran, lowering her head until it was against his chest.
“What have we done?” she whispered, her words leaving her mouth before she could rein them in. At least she didn’t ask the full question roaming her mind: what had they allowed to happen?
They were responsible for these people. Their peoplebelievedin them, to the point of giving their lives for their cause. Their armies were giving them their lives, and what had they offered them instead? Their deaths.
Where had they gone wrong? How could it all have gone so fast, so wrong? Was their love the cause of things being missed? The root of distractions, of lack of planning, dooming them to this outcome? After her mother died at the hands of her pastlove, Hope had always been wary of love as the most dangerous weakness.
When she looked at Ciaran, she didn’t see a weakness now, though. She saw—shefelt—strength. Strength that could change worlds, strength that could fight and win any battle, strength that united, formed,created.
Looking at today’s events, though, there wasn’t anything created, and there was a lot destroyed. Was this feeling of might and power an illusion, then? Was it all a trick, proof of the danger of love? Was love, as she had always learned to believe, the most dangerous weapon Fate could wield?
She inhaled deeply, and Ciaran held her tightly in his arms. “We did what we could. We did what we had to do,” he said against her hair.
