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Hope

H er naked limbs were tangled with those of someone else, the touch of an arm in particular cooler than the rest. Shadows surrounded her body, her breasts, her bare, aching core. Everything was dark, save for eyes the color of the waters, the shine of a finger that pushed her chin down, her lips parting for—

Hope woke up sweating in her lonely, disarrayed bed. She wasn’t naked, but her core . . . Her core ached as much as in her dream. She closed her eyes, refusing to let the fantasy leave her mind, trying to hold onto the shadows and the metallic arm as much as she could—It was useless. Her cheeks were flushed, her heartbeat fast, realization sinking in.

Fantasies were allowed.

Fantasies. Were. Allowed .

Fantasies didn’t cause panomquakes, they didn’t risk the land. It was Hope and her imagination, nothing for the Cardinals to worry about. Nothing tangible that mattered.

Hope closed her eyes, her hand sinking under her pants, finding the part that desired more, and let her mind loose.

They weren’t her fingers anymore, they were Ciaran’s.

Hard and smooth against her clit, rubbing against it as he breathed in her neck, her mouth, her breasts. Her second hand— his second hand—found her entrance, diving deep with two fingers as she was ready for him. He pumped her gloriously, his metallic hand not ceasing on her clit, not faltering despite her jagged breaths, until she reached the peak, a loud moan filling the room as she found release.

Hope laid in bed, her throat extended as she tried to recover. She didn’t want to open her eyes, to face reality.

But reality knocked firmly on her door.

Hope’s black eyes widened, her pupils readjusting to the sudden light. A girl couldn’t even touch herself in peace in this place.

The second time around, the knock was more insistent.

Hope dragged herself to the door, opening it, ready to reassure Nin—

“Hi, Ciaran,” she gasped, swallowing. She felt a sudden rush of heat on her cheeks, unable to stop it.

Ciaran examined her from top to bottom, apparently lost for words. Hope was suddenly aware of her black, long hair falling loose over her white shirt, her pants still wet, her bare legs, the flush in her bright cheeks, her hands—Cardinals hide her, her hands .

Ciaran leaned on the doorway with his metal arm—the arm that had been masturbating her in her mind a minute ago—holding it as if he was holding on to dear life. His other hand covered his mouth, but Hope could have sworn he was biting his bottom lip and the metal ring in it.

“I—I heard something. I thought you needed help.” His voice was low, his blue eyes glittering with something desperate and raw.

Hope lifted her eyebrows, inhaling sharply. Needed help ? Ciaran had not the slightest clue how much of his help she needed. And how none of his help she’d ever be allowed.

She bit the side of her mouth to keep from chuckling at his choice of words. “Everything is . . . fine, thanks for checking.”

And with that, and before she could do or say anything she would totally, irreversibly regret, she closed the door.

The sun lowered toward the horizon when Ciaran interrupted Nina and Hope.

“May I steal your time?” he asked. His face was unreadable.

Hope straightened in her seat, clearing her throat. He hadn’t specified whose time he wanted, but she knew. “Sure.”

He led her towards corridors she hadn’t seen before, and then they were going up. With each set of stairs, the dim light coming from the navia faded more. Light—that unnecessary thing in the eyes of a courtrade, in the eyes of their god.

She opened her hand, summoning Cardinal-red sparks that waited on her palm for direction. Hope looked up, the sparks illuminating her face from underneath. Ciaran was two steps above her, his eyes sparkling, his biological hand extended towards her.

An offer.

Hope took his hand, his cold touch sending goosebumps up her shoulder and down her spine. His eyes met hers, the tension in the air sharper than any dagger in her belt.

She could ask where they were going to confirm her guess. She could ask if there was much longer, or what they’d do there. She could have asked, but she didn’t, because she didn’t care.

She didn’t care about anything other than his touch and the familiar night and pine scent guiding her to the darkness upstairs, her red sparks forgotten, unneeded.

“We’re here,” Ciaran warned her before he halted, right when she’d have slammed against him. His fingers didn’t let go of hers. “You’re not afraid of heights.”

It wasn’t a question. “I’m not.”

There were few things she was scared about, and the man in front of her was the worst of all.

“Close your eyes.” His voice was low, and it touched something deep inside her. “Or let me close them for you.”

Hope’s heart thundered inside her ribcage. “Do it.” Her voice was a whisper and a beg.

She didn’t see anything amongst the dark, but she felt a thin veil of Ciaran’s shadows cover her eyes. A mask of darkness and night.

There was the sound of a door she didn’t see opening, and then his strong hands were on her hips. He lifted her into the air, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

The breeze hit her face first, then her neck and arms. She was sitting on the edge of a horizontal door, and then Ciaran was pulling her upwards. He held her body close to his, his hand crossing over her waist and holding her abdomen towards him, her back against his chest as he guided her a few steps forward.

His closeness, his firm touch on her body, his presence on her back, his shadows on her eyes—she could barely breathe, her entire being consumed by him.

Then his grip pressed firmer against her, making her stop. She wished she could speak, but her words were lost. Everything was lost except him.

Ciaran didn’t let go of her, his hand embracing her from behind. She couldn’t see, but she didn’t need to.

When he spoke, his voice brushed her ear in the most pleasant, outlawed way. “Did you want to keep it quiet?”

The question caught her by surprise. “You mean . . . about my ordeal?”

“That, too.”

“The Core Cardinal asked me five questions.” That was as much as she could— wanted —to tell him.

“Five answers for the crystal feather of a goddess—an apparently sweet deal.”

Except, Hope knew, it wasn’t sweet at all. It was cardinally bitter. Cardinally cruel. “Nothing is ever as it seems.”

Hope felt his nod against the nape of her neck, her shoulders tensing as her head tilted involuntarily towards his face. The shadow veil covering her eyes was so comfortable, so light, she barely noticed it anymore.

“I wasn’t talking about your ordeal. Yesterday you lived for a quarter of a century. Twenty-five whole cycles.”

Hope sighed. “How do you know?”

“Blame Llunal and his whispers.”

“Why does he care?”

Ciaran chuckled. “I will not ask him that.”

They didn’t talk for a while, the breeze and the distant sound of the sea were the only ones around them. When he spoke, Hope could have sworn he was nervous. “The Core Cardinal didn’t pick yesterday for your ordeal for no reason. Twenty-five is a sacred number in Thyria, Hope. Five years for each of the four petals, and five years for the core. Five times five, when a panom is closer to the origins. For each additional quarter of a century we live, the Cardinals bless us with an additional petal.”

“The petals you donated.” To Sasha, Indianna, Brendon, and Carson. To Lenna, in her second Fifth Ceremony, when he helped her regain her revoked panom powers. “How old are you, Ciaran?”

His chuckle was low. “I don’t want to freak you out.”

Hope laughed. “You hold me at the peak of a floating mass of metal, with a blindfold made of shadows, and a cliff I can’t even see in front of me. Do you think your age will scare me?”

He held his breath in, exhaling against her hair. “Does this scare you?”

“More than anything ever has.”

His grip on her body tightened in the slightest way. “I brought you here to show you something.”

Hope’s eyebrows lifted at the same time Ciaran’s shadows lifted, her blindfold vanishing.

The sunset in front of them overwhelmed her senses. The sky displayed a dance of crimson, orange, and pink. Underneath the hiding sun, a mass of waves caught the lights and colors. The horizon expanded, impossible to not appreciate the full expanse of the universe.

“Bless the Fifth.” Her voice was weak, faltering. Her hand reached to hold his metal hand across her abdomen.

She felt minuscule. The sunset was all that existed in front of her; Ciaran was all that existed behind her.

That was all, and all was plenty.

“This is my gift to you, Hope. My gift and my promise: the world.”