As if the mention of its owner had activated it, below them, in the center of the pool, the heart piece revealed itself, carved into the wall of the Mending Waters, next to many precious crystals.
This piece of heart was perfect, alive, cared for by the most ancient, restorative and healing waters.
The piece of heart stirred. Not slowly. Not waiting. Itleapt, glimmering and furious, tearing itself from its pedestal of crystal, streaking through the water like a shard of night aimed straight for Ciaran’s chest.
Hope didn’t think. She moved.
Her body threw itself between him and the oncoming organ, her hand striking forward, bare, unshielded.
The impact was instant—searing. Black ink exploded across her skin from where her palm held the piece of heart, sinking into her veins, rushing up her fingers like molten chains.
It was vicious, merciless, a living brand. Her body convulsed, but she held on, teeth bared in a ragged cry.
“No—Hope!” Ciaran roared, trying to wrench her back, shadows scrambling desperately to shield her. “Here,” he said, creating a cage of shadows where she deposited the healed piece of organ.
Her wild eyes locked on Ciaran’s. “It’s in my hand—her ink is just in my hand—” Her voice broke, terror and resolve clashing. “You have to destroy it, please. Now. Cut it off.”
His entire body went rigid. “Hope—no—”
“Yes!” she cried, holding the corrupted hand out to him, her other gripping his arm in desperation. The black veins pulsed faster, clawing toward her wrist. “The Cardinal Queen’s magic in my blood will be our end. You know it. Cut it off before it takes me.”
Realization and deep rage settled into his stare. Ciaran’s shadows shivered, lengthening into a blade in his trembling grip. His face was carved in torment, every line a silent refusal.
Hope pressed her blackened hand closer to him, her voice ragged but resolute. “Do it. Before it takes more of me. She doesn’t deserve any more of my body.”
“Hope—” His throat closed around her name. Shadows rippled violently, resisting his command, mirroring his own hesitation.
She seized his wrist with her clean hand, guiding the edge of darkness toward her own flesh. “I trust you. With my life. Always.”
For a breathless second, the world stilled. Then his shadows fell.
There was a sharp hiss, a burst of searing heat, and it was done.
Hope gasped, body jolting as the cursed hand dropped to the ground, still twitching with black veins before dissolving into nothingness. The corruption writhed and died with it, cut short.
She collapsed into him, her arm pressed tight against her chest, trembling from pain and grief. Ciaran gathered her instantly, shadows wrapping around her like a desperate embrace, his voice breaking as he whispered, “I’m sorry. Llunal shade me, Hope, I’m so sorry.”
Her face, pale but steady, lifted to his. “Don’t be. You saved me—you always will.”
She was going to Heal herself with her single hand, but instead, she pushed the amputated limb into the Mending Waters, and the skin scarred immediately, neatly, as if the wound was from years ago. The pain was gone, but not the loss.
Silent tears gleamed in his blue eyes, fury and fear warring inside him, but he only held her closer, as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.
The night was a living thing, Llunal’s stars and the West Cardinal Healing magic silent witnesses to their union and their subsequent demise. Sparks flared, shadows twisted, and their bodies entwined—love, desire, trust, and danger fused into a single, impossible, intoxicating moment.
For a long time, they remained there, clinging, holding, feeling, trusting, bodies and souls intertwined. The world beyond the pool could wait. The danger beyond the shadows would wait. In the Mending Waters, under the red moon and Llunal’s eternal stars, they were infinite.
33
Hope
Apparently, her missing hand was a matter that couldn’t wait until the sun rose. Apparently, the sleeping pattern of the person Ciaran was taking her to was not worthy of consideration.
To her confusion, in the middle of the West House gardens, Ciaran rapped his knuckles against the wall of a shed.
“It’s me,” he said.
“Of course it’s you,” a low voice replied before the wall split down the center and swung open like a door.
