“Are you ready to meet my father?” he asked, his eyes still locked on the movement of the liquid inside the symbol’s shape.
“Cardinals guide me,” Hope murmured, as she felt the air leave her lungs. “Sure,” she said without choking.
As if he had been waiting for his cue, Cobrian Castel, West Ruler of Thyria, father of Ciaran, appeared at the top of the white stairs with a grin on his face as he clapped and started walking downstairs. Hope elbowed Ciaran, as she had not the hint of a doubt that he had felt his father approaching, and still the warning had been par to none.
“I wondered what the House was fussing so much about,” his low voice said. His green eyes examined Hope from above, his white beard thick, equally white hair falling over his shoulders, to the exact length Ciaran’s did. It was Stevian’s line and his daughter, Ciaran’s mother, who had given him the blueness of his eyes.
“I hope it’s not a cause of anger that I’ve returned without a drop of panom magic in my blood, and that I’m no longer the heir,” Ciaran said, and when his father reached the ground level, they gave each other a long, heartfelt hug. Hope didn’t know what to do with her hands, her face, or her life, right this very moment.Shewas the reason Ciaran no longer had panom blood, and he was no longer the heir. If the House was angry, she was damned for good. It was probably ridiculous, but she felt immediately sad that a House she had fallen in love with,because of its intelligent artifacts and abundance of hidden power disguised as normalcy, would feel anger at her.
“Very much not, son.” His green eyes did not stop looking at Hope while he smiled, and she was getting more and more nervous by the second. “The House is humming rhythms I haven’t heard in a long, long while. Music of petals and destiny, of prophecies and magic, hope and—”
“My deepest honor to meet you,” Hope blurted out, right before realizing she had interrupted Cobrian and blushing probably harder and faster than she ever had. “My apologies, I thought—Please continue.”
Ciaran walked towards her, put a hand around her waist and held her close to him. His shadows caressed her ankles gently, reassuringly, while she tried to breathe like a civilized being. “Hope, this is my father, Cobrian. Father, this is my future and my fate, Hope.”
There was silver lining in Cobrian’s eyes as he swallowed, looking from Hope to Ciaran, from Ciaran to Hope, from his shadows around her ankles and his firm hand on her waist to the way she leaned her head slightly towards his neck.
“At last, you found each other.” A single drop abandoned his eye and got lost in his beard. “Your mother must be so happy, from whichever star she guards you. So am I, and so is this House.”
It wasn’t like Hope to cry, and yet, tears were trailing down her cheeks at an impossible speed. Ciaran kissed her forehead, and she felt his own cheek wet around where his lips met her skin.
“Your son has saved my life more than once and has protected me from the start. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. There aren’t words to express how blessed I am to have found him.”
Ciaran inhaled deeply, holding her tighter than before, as if his life depended on it. As if his life hadalwaysdepended on it.
Cobrian dried a second tear. “Then it’s indeed a blessing he found you, because Thyria needs an Organ Mandor, and you’re the first female ever with Cardinal-red ink. It’s no coincidence your blood belongs to the Core.” He nodded slowly as he continued talking. “When I received your ink, I immediately knew. The murderer sitting on your throne… The Cardinal Queen has returned, hasn’t she?”
Hope nodded, clenching her jaw, also drying her tears up with both hands. “She has returned,” she confirmed. “I don’t intend to let her live for much longer.”
“Sangins have been seen attacking isolated families in villages in the mountains, but by the time my men and women arrive there, all that’s left is bones and black feathers.”
The sharp inhale and the sudden rush of adrenaline at this news reminded Hope precisely why she had to end the Queen’s life and therefore the lives of every sangin as soon as possible. The hands hovering over her daggers were useless right now, but her need and will to fight were very much real.
“Do you think Thyria will drown when the Queen is dead?” she asked Cobrian, a question she had been fearing for days. If she was going to drown the entire island, there would be no sangins and no Queen, but also no one alive left.
Cobrian brought his hand to his beard, massaging his chin. “Thyria cannot drown, ever. Underneath the island, underneath the Radel Sea, there are Vessels the island was builtupon. They interconnect the magic of the land and the sea, linking the geography and the Petals. The Cardinal Queen is strong, but she didn’t build Thyria by herself. What might happen is a panomquake that causes utter destruction.”
Hope nodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “As long as there is an island left, even a broken one, we will rebuild it, in peace, democracy, and justice.”
“Then tell me what you need from the West House and myself, and we will help you. You are Ciaran’s family; therefore, you’re also my family.”
The knot in Hope’s throat threatened to let loose another tear, but she contained it. The time to let black blood go until it drained was approaching, and there was work that needed doing before it was too late.
31
Lenna
The tome lay heavy on her lap, its ruined spine digging into her thighs as she sat curled against the headboard. The guest room in the East House was too still, its silence clinging like smoke. The torches in the corridor hissed now and again, as if their flames bent toward her door, as though listening. She tugged the blanket higher around her bare shoulders, golden sparks seeping from her skin to spill across the parchment.
Chapter 55: Exposing Harming Forces and Wicked Interests
The title flared faintly in her vision, as though the words themselves had been waiting for her. She leaned closer, herbreath shallow, her chest tight. Weeks of chasing broken information and charred half-truths—and at last, something.
“Know then, seeker, that the East House was birthed in fire not of warmth, but of bargain. The Ruining Flame is no servant. It is no hearth. It is the ash-pit of desire, wherein the living cast their secrets and the dead are given rest only at a cost. Its embers are wise, but treacherous, and its hunger eternal.”
Her lips curled into a humorless smile. “Eternal hunger. For pain and blood, definitely.”
She turned a few more pages, frowning at the smudged ink.
