Page 66 of A Rising Hope (The Freckled Fate #3)

66

GIDEON

T he air in the cramped old cellar was musty, old mildew covered the aged brick. I summoned a small orb of fire illuminating my path as I walked in the darkness towards the sealed dugout area.

I ground my teeth, making my way further on the uneven path without my cane. My steps were slow, loud, my hip still healing, causing me to drag my leg in an unnatural motion.

The bright light illuminated the iron door ahead, welded shut except for a small opening at the top.

I inhaled a long heavy breath of the stale air. A single blink and the metal door was incinerated, the small shift of powers taking a sudden toll on my body. I reached for the wall to steady myself, scowling at my lingering weakness after enduring so many deaths.

The molten metal settled, hinges of the doors shining crimson red against the darkness.

Zora sat on the ground, unbothered, her nails mindlessly digging into the ground next to her. Her head leaned back against the dirt wall, hair matted, eyes dull. Whether she was surprised or shocked to see me, I couldn’t tell. She gave me an empty look before she stared back into the nothingness.

“Are we both dead? Or am I seeing the dead now?” she asked after a moment, her voice aching with pain and sharp sorrow.

“Very much alive.” I took a seat on the dirt floor near her, groaning as I lowered my aching body. She glanced over the empty space where the iron door had been only a second prior, then returned her dismal stare to me.

“Well, you could’ve fooled me. You look like shit,” she uttered, her voice lacking its usual zing.

“That makes two of us, cousin.” I bumped her with my shoulder, the forced smile on my lips weighted down by the tight heartache in my chest.

Minutes passed as we sat in silence.

“Why, Zora, why?” I murmured into the silence. There were no repercussions in my voice, just grief. “Twelve years. Twelve fucking years staying away from the Numb.”

“Don’t you think I know . . . I fucked up Gideon. I really fucking fucked up,” she lamented. “I fucked up everything.” Her voice trembled. “I ruined it all.” She cried. Sorrow and hurt all mixed in salty drops, as silver tears streamed down her face. For the first time since we were children, I saw my cousin weep.

“You are okay. You’ll be okay, Zora,” I mumbled. My heart broke as grief and anguish flooded the tiny space. “Shhh . . . ” I wrapped my arm around her, comforting her.

“Gia died . . . and you were gone and . . . and . . . he’ll never forgive me, Gideon.” Zora’s words, full of agony, mixed between her cries as her body shook in my embrace. “Gia is dead . . . He shouldn’t forgive me.”

A part of me wished I had the perfect magical answer that would heal her shattered soul.

I wished that I could take away the hurt and that pain.

I wished I could fight the battle for her, share the burden that she carried every single day.

But I couldn’t, so she cried, and I listened.

“Why am I so fucked up, Gideon?” she whispered into the darkness. “Why must I live my life struggling with something most people find a use for? Why do my flaws hurt those around me? Why me? Why?” she sobbed.

“I don’t know, Zora,” I answered honestly. I stared at the poorly constructed ceiling; noticing how the rotten wooden planks were ready to collapse any day.

She cried and all I could do was hold her. Minutes, hours, as long as she needed.

“Do you remember what I told you that day twelve years ago when I found you drunk with that terrible, hideous new tattoo? You were plastered on the streets of Svitar Slums, pursuing anything, anyone that would make you feel alive even if it was only for a split moment?” I asked when her sobs quieted.

“‘Did you have to get a tattoo on your face, Zora?’ or ‘it’s the worst tattoo I’ve ever seen’?” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, and?” The corner of my lip curved upward even as my chest felt heavy, reminiscent of the memory.

“If I was going to whore around I should’ve at least charged for it, then I’d have money to pay for better quality booze.” This time Zora was the one with a faded smirk on her face.

“Good gods, sixteen-year-old me really knew how to give speeches, didn’t I? Who knew you were actually paying attention then?” I ran my hand through my hair a few times, not quite thrilled with my piss-poor speech to her so many years ago. “But what else?”

“Sometimes to live means to survive the day, and to win means, at times, to not fall.”

“Yes, but there was one more thing.” I found her black eyes, her chin quivered, and her tears made burrows in her muddied cheeks. “I said no matter how far you think you’ve fallen, no matter how much you think you’ve strayed away, no matter how unforgivable you think your transgressions are, there is always going to be one person on your side, no matter how ugly it got.”

“You?”

“Me.”

Zora swallowed hard. She leaned back against the cold wall, legs stretched. Both of us stared at the empty nothingness of the room.

“Remember when you were ten and your father kicked you out in the middle of winter to live outside for a week, for not being able to light up a dinner candle with your powers?”

“And you set our entire home on fire by lighting up every single candle we had in our house all at once when you came to visit and found me freezing outside? Yes, I remember.”

“I was eight, but I must say that was an elaborate revenge.” A faint sound resembling a chuckle filled the cramped space.

“Your uncle was so pissed.”

“It definitely didn’t help him in his efforts to convince your father to support my future claim to the throne. But do you remember what we promised each other as we watched the servants screech and yell while everything went up in raw flames?”

Zora nodded.

“Blood related or not, we were family for life.”

“Family for fucking life , Zora.” I turned to face her. “And that means you need to actually live.”

“How am I supposed to live, Gideon? How am I supposed to carry on with my life when I disappointed everyone I care about, when in the most crucial moment I faltered and I fell? I am the one holding the bloodied knife, Gideon. I heartlessly hurt the one person I love the most.”

“Well . . . ” I contemplated, “for a start you could get another ugly tattoo on the other side of your face, then everyone would surely feel bad for you,” I baited her, but she gave me defeated sigh. “There are a lot of people that care about you, Zora. And I know it’s hard for you to believe because you don’t think you deserve forgiveness. But the truth is, genuine forgiveness isn’t earned, Zora, it’s freely given.”

“He’ll never forgive me, Gideon. And I don’t know how I am going to live my life knowing that.”

I slowly stood up, wincing at the shooting pain down my spine. Zora’s weary eyes inspected me, but she didn’t move. I dusted off the dirt from my dark pants, adjusting my dagger at my side as I looked at her again. Her face, full of devastation, filled with silver lines again.

“When Finnleah left me for Viyak, I was heartbroken. Devastated . I couldn’t understand how. How my love for her was not enough. I always thought love was all prevailing, that true love would always trump anything else. That day, Orest told me something that stuck with me for a very long time. He said that if I thought that love was all prevailing, then I had never truly loved.”

“At first, that wounded me, but then I understood that he was right. Because what I didn’t know then, but what I do know now—love isn’t all prevailing, but all enduring, Zora. True love doesn’t mean you won’t face hardships, seemingly impossible situations and so much fucking heartbreak, but true love endures through it all.” I glanced towards the top of the stairs, where Finnleah would soon be waiting for me. My Empress, my Queen, my fucking Goddess and even just the thought of her being closer, the air felt clearer, easier to breathe.

“It’s not the love that people write grand stories about or sing in ballads and songs, it’s the one you think of on your deathbed. It’s the one who made you heal in ways you didn’t think were possible. It’s the one who gives you hope and grants you mercy even when you don’t think you deserve it. It’s the one that makes your life gain purpose even when you thought you lost yours. And when you find that person, when you take that first breath of air, and feel so fucking alive, you do not let go, you fucking fight for it, even if it means overcoming your own demons, Zora. You selfishly hold on to your sliver of happiness in this grim world.” I extended my arm to her, but she just stared at my hand, considering. I tilted my head to her, nudging her. “Now, Commander ”—her eyes widened at her reinstated title—“time for you to return. After all, we have a war to finish. The Queen might be dead, but the rest of her Destroyer lackeys still need to be dealt with.”

With a hesitant inhale, she grabbed my hand getting up to her feet. Limping beside me with her broken swollen toes as we sluggishly climbed up the stairs.

“I am getting exceptionally good at these speeches,” I smirked at her as we walked out into the narrow corridor.

“Let’s hope you never have to give another one,” Zora murmured, braving a glance around us as her eyes adjusted to the dim daylight. Suddenly the abandoned walls shook like in an earthquake. Dust from the old brick walls filled the air as screams erupted outside.

“What the fuck was that?!” Zora coughed, covering her head as bits of ceiling plaster fell.

“Dragons.” I smirked wide. “Real fucking dragons.”