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23

Hope

T he curtains of the navia were nowhere near as warm as the shadow outfit Ciaran had tailored for Hope, but at least they didn’t come with waves of all sorts of feelings that she wasn’t sure she was ready to experience again.

She’d have to tread carefully with him. He was dangerous. Truly dangerous. Not in the sense of physical danger. He had never hurt her, and Hope had no reason to believe he ever would. Even if he did, she wasn’t afraid of that.

What was truly frightening, absolutely terrifying, were the thoughts.

Her thoughts.

How she found herself looking at him when she didn’t mean to. How she seemed to know when he was entering a room before he even set a foot in it. How his scent made her close her eyes against her will. How she saw him swallowing and looking at her mouth when she spoke. How time didn’t seem to pass when they looked at each other. How she wished to know him more.

She didn’t want to wish to know him more, but she did. There was no point in lying to herself or pretending this wasn’t the case. She wanted to know him, to talk to him, to look at him.

She wasn’t as scared of the Core ordeal as she was from this .

She was used to being in control of her body, her emotions, her thoughts. When it came to Ciaran, all that vanished. The unavoidable physical reaction her body had when he was near, the undeniable desire to spend time with him, the impending need for time to stop . . . It didn’t matter how many times she repeated herself this—he—could end her. The more she saw, the more she heard, the harder it became.

It wasn’t that realization that made her open her eyes. It was the bleeding ink on her arm.

The first bleeding ink from her father in weeks. Hope doubted he had forgotten about her. Maybe the Organ Mandor hadn’t bothered to send her any inks for a while or, more likely, she had been so distracted that she hadn’t been able to block his ink, exactly how the dual-powered man that invaded her dreams and her mind had taught her.

The dripping blood on the floor seemed to mock her.

Drip, danger, drip. Drip, danger, drip.

The price of allowing herself to be distracted by a man was wet and red.

Her white-haired friend greeted her with a cheerful hug that squeezed Hope’s ribs and made her smile.

“Morning to you, too, Nina. Morning, Indianna, Ayla.” Hope sat at the head of the table, between the women who had almost finished breakfast. “Is Raoul okay?”

Nina sighed. “Sort of. He’s been having more nightmares.”

“More black strands in his hair?” Hope asked, lifting her eyebrows.

“A few more,” Indianna replied. “We tried washing the color away, but it doesn’t fade.”

“Like permanent ink,” Hope muttered.

Nina pressed her lips in a straight line. “I’m worried,” she said quietly, like a secret declaration she didn’t want her brother to know.

“So am I,” Indianna agreed, scratching her forehead distractedly.

They had good reason to, but Hope knew saying this aloud was neither helpful nor useful. They ate in silence for a while, the pieces of thick bread with tomato spread melting in Hope’s mouth.

Indianna spoke first. “Do we know if we’re heading towards the next ordeal?”

“Nyraxa said we’re heading West, yes,” Ayla said. Toward Ciaran’s ordeal. “She also asked if we know where we are meant to go after that, but you don’t know yet, do you, Hope?” Her eyebrows lifted, her emerald-green eyes focusing on Hope.

“I haven’t got a clue about where my ordeal will be.”

Indianna shrugged. “Sometimes not knowing is better than knowing too much.” She turned to Nina, crossing her arms. “I might ask Nyraxa if she wants me to look at her patched eye.”

Nina chuckled. “I already offered our help. She said she hadn’t needed the bloody eye in decades, and it would be a nuisance to get used to having two again . Oh, and that she liked her patch more than an actual eye.”

Indianna snorted, and Hope laughed. Courtrades and their easy ways of living.

The door to the deck was half-open, the sound of gentle rain falling on the wooden surface, calming and well-known. Hope was about to walk outside when Stevian opened the door and entered.

“Beware of the rain if you don’t want to get wet.”

Hope chuckled. The man had been soaked the first night while pushing the shadows to move the navia away from Thyria.

“I don’t mind getting wet every now and then,” she said.

His smile was pure, his blue eyes shining with wisdom and something that resembled understanding. “You are not the only one, then. He just said he likes the rain.”

Hope’s stomach reacted as if she had just dropped from the top of the navia. She didn’t need to ask to know exactly who he was. She didn’t dare ask anything else.

Stevian bowed his head, still smiling, and disappeared behind her into the navia.

She could decide what to do. She could decide where to go. Hope swallowed, her breaths fastening as an array of questions, thoughts, and warnings filled her mind at the speed of beating wings.

She shouldn’t. She totally shouldn’t.

But she still did.

The raindrops fell on her face as she closed the door behind her. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, smiling at the pleasant touch. She lifted her hands, palms facing the clouds blessing them with precious water.

The smile became a grin, became laughter. Seconds became minutes, maybe hours. She could stay there until the rain stopped and the clouds left.

She could, but she didn’t.

She opened her eyes, blinking a few times until the drops fell and allowed her to see clearly. And clearly, she saw.

She saw Ciaran, his back leaning on the rail, his face looking towards the sky, his eyes closed and peaceful, his wet, dark hair falling on his shoulders, his dark clothes shaping around the muscles on his body, the metal of his arm and the ring on his lip shining, the ink on his biological arm and the top of his chest fresh and clear.

Cardinals have mercy.

Hope didn’t know how long she had been staring. But when he opened his eyes and his blue met her black ones, he half-smiled.

“It’s raining,” he said.

Hope chuckled. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You caught me off guard. How long have you been here? I hadn’t—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and Hope knew exactly what he meant. She hadn’t scented him either, the smell of the rain covering any other scents.

“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a lie, and it was better than longer than I want to admit . “Can I ask you a question?”

He walked towards her, closing the distance between them to a couple of steps. He nodded.

“What do the inks on your skin mean?” They were beautiful, intricate.

Ciaran inhaled deeply, letting go of a long exhale. “Do you want to ask any other question?”

Hope tilted her head to the side. “Of course I do, but why would I if you don’t answer?”

“My inks . . . I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I promise to answer any other question I can.”

“Have you ever been with a woman?”

No.

No.

No, no, no, no .

She couldn’t have asked that. She was going to throw herself over the rail and hope the Cardinals were kind enough to drown her. She felt her cheeks flush, her heart fluttering in a way that couldn’t be healthy.

“I have never been with anyone.” His blue eyes were curious, assessing.

The next question slipped from Hope’s mouth before she could stop it. The Cardinals didn’t even know what mercy was.

“Why?”

His teeth racked his bottom lip. He took a long time to answer, but when he finally spoke, his words shook Hope in a way no panomquake could have.

“Why would I? I was waiting for you.”