Lenna winked at Hope. “Fancy new hand, Mandor. Bet you can do all sorts of dirty things with that.”
Hope chuckled. “Such as making a mess when killing the black Cardinal sitting on my throne? So dirty.”
Her humor died the instant she turned to the new arrival at the door and saw Nina.
Hope’s chest clenched. A single thin strand of white still shone through Nina’s hair. The rest was drowned in ink-black. One of her pupils, always pure ocean-blue, was inked in black.
Hope clenched her jaw as Nina hugged her, and then Ciaran.
“Sorry I’m late,” Nina said, smiling softly, with a tinge of sadness in her voice.
“Yes, sorry,” Indianna said as she entered the room, followed by Stevian, who went straight to hug his grandson and Hope. “The timing of trying the formula was important.”
Cardinals, Indianna looked disheveled and drained, both physically and emotionally. Her black bob was no longer a bob, but a black mass of hair sitting on her shoulders. Her dark eyes had very dark bags underneath. Her skin was pale and dry. Even her loose clothes couldn’t hide how thin she was.
“How did that go?” Ayla asked with a whisper, almost holding her breath.
Indianna bit her bottom lip as her eyes shone bright, tears threatening to release. Hope could see in Nina’s non-white hair exactly how it had gone.
“It was a very close call,” Nina said reassuringly, placing a hand across Indianna’s shoulders. “The next formula is the one, I am convinced. It looks so special, fizzing and glowing. The Fifth knows the best is always saved for last.”
“It can’t be much longer until that cure stabilizes,” Indianna sighed, no doubt forcing calm and serenity into her voice. “The last few dried petals need to merge with the solution of ink and sparks.”
Hope nodded with confidence. There wasn’t a single second to waste. If that last cure didn’t work, there was one other way to stop Nina from drowning in blackness.
By finishing the existence of the source of blackness.
“Then let’s plan a murder.”
41
Lenna
After a brief visit to the courtrades’ quarters to gather intelligence, Hope and Ciaran arrived back at the safehouse. Their faces were grave, their black leathers concealing limbs that held a new level of tension that wasn’t there before.
“Over five hundred citizens dead in the past twenty-five hours,” Ciaran said, meeting every face in the room. The numbers landed like stones.
Lenna felt the blood in her veins turn to burning iron.
“The Queen sent me a warning, threatening ink, and she’s fulfilling it. It read,No more games. No more souls alive untilyou die.” Hope shared the memorized ink aloud. “Followed by another message, not to me, but to her beasts:Sangins, sons of my fallen blood—attack any living creature that breathes. My order is murder.”
There was a silence so heavy it felt like pressure at the back of the lungs. Lenna’s jaw clenched until it hurt. “She’s doing it,” she said. “She’s keeping her promise.”
Ciaran’s face went hard. “On another note,” he continued. “When Hope told the citizens to stand down weeks ago, they did. They thought they were safe. Then, recently, the sangins came to their homes. Their families were slaughtered before some of them could even grab a stick. Courtrades reported citizens are now taking weapons, but not nearly enough.”
“We can’t afford obedience now,” Jake added. “Fear held them still for a while. But Thyria and this war need more than frightened farmers with pitchforks.”
“I ordered my second and third in command to send my courtrades everywhere,” Ciaran explained, shadows tightening around his ankles. “Every shadow wielder—every single one—forward. To protect citizens, break up sangin packs, shepherd people to safe zones. All courtrade hands will be on deck until we deal with the Queen.”
Hope and Ciaran stepped forward, towards the map of Corentre on the table, and began to thread the plan in the center of the room; two leaders slipping into the same space and filling it with rhythm.
Hope’s first action was public and absolute: she would stop the obedience that had killed so many. Her ink went to every Thyrian citizen.
Followed by a second one:
Then, to the panoms specifically, Hope sent a different message. As Lenna read the Cardinal-red ink on her own forearm, right underneath where Jake’s scarred ink would permanently read, she appreciated Hope’s measure.
“Our people need our magic and our protection,” Lenna read aloud. “If there ever was a time to fight for a future worth living, it is now. Gather. Shield the weak. Send magic where lives burn. We stand together.”
