Page 43

42

Lenna

D eath was warm and wet and windy.

Death was painful and quiet and not relaxing at all.

If this was death, she was not up for it.

As she was not up for having the last memory of her life being quite literally choked by petals right, left, and center, thanks very much. Were those petals still in her mouth, her nostrils, her ears? Cardinals bloody knew. Other than being uncomfortable and in pain, she felt nothing, saw less than nothing, heard a whole load of nothing, and had below-nothing idea of what was happening, if anything was happening at all.

If death was this annoying limbo, Lenna was going to be the angriest, least-conforming dead woman ever.

May the Cardinals guide you to peace , Thyrians usually prayed when beings lost their lives.

No, the Cardinals would not be able to guide her anywhere—let alone peace , if that even existed—because the moment she saw a red wing, the moment she saw the hint of a red feather, she would riot. From her immobile, totally constrained, absolutely useless limbo—she would riot. One could bet the Cardinals were shaking in fear.

Then, she heard him. No, not heard , heard him. Mind-heard, mind-listened, mind-felt—whatever the fuck it was meant to be called—it was him .

Jake. And his mental voice was full of bossy, authoritative threatening.

If you go, I’ll go with you, Lenna. Don’t you fucking dare.

Her snort in her mind was loud. As if she could go anywhere.

Snorting at me? Don’t take the piss, Brachyan , his voice penetrated her mind with a tinge of anger.

Wait—

a fucking—

minute.

No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t hav—

Death was confusing as fuck.

His voice was full of amusement the next time—and something else that sounded like . . . hope, perhaps?—and she knew exactly how his silver eyes gleamed and the corner of his lips tugged upwards when he spoke like that. Pity she couldn’t see him.

I’ve been waiting more than a fucking minute. The only confusing thing here is why it’s taking you so long to open your eyes, so instead of giving me mental backtalk, collaborate.

She cracked a laugh. Collaborate . That was actually very funny.

Centuries, eons, or seconds passed, the limbo limbing in silence, the confusion confusingly lonely. Maybe she had lost the little plot she ever had.

As if someone had woken her with a sudden backslap, she felt her body again and— fuck , it was awful.

Every part of her body hurt. Her unmoving limbs, her shallow-breathing chest, her impenetrably shut eyelids, her excruciatingly dry mouth, and every damned cell.

Every. Single. One.

But hey, at least she owned a body again. A distant, rottenly sore body, but a body after all. A body that felt better by the second in different places, a body held by strong hands that were familiar, a body that was being Healed.

She had been Healed before, by the man who held her as if she would break if he’d let go, but this . . . This was different, more intense, more varied.

Her eyelids fluttered weakly. It felt as if she had to push against the whole Radel Sea to move them even the tiniest bit, but after what seemed like a decade or five, her eyes half-opened, her wide pupils readjusting.

Ciaran, Hope, and Ayla were in front of her, their palms extended, dark green, Cardinal-red, and silver sparks floating from their Healing hands towards her body. They were absolutely soaked, their expressions a nice combo of fear and worry and determination and whatever else.

“Lorolbol,” Lenna muttered.

“Oh, dear. We’ve lost her.” Ayla frowned. “Her brain is fried.”

“Say that again, Brachyan,” Jake ordered, his breath against her ear sending a delightful sensation towards her.

“Lookorrible,” Lenna repeated.

“You can’t honestly care about how you look like right now,” Ayla spat, pursing her lips.

Lenna cleared her throat. Her not-as-achy, thank-fuck-already-much-better throat. What a pleasure to get one’s body to act the way one wanted.

“ You three look horrible,” she repeated for the third time. “And you’re getting me wet.”

Ciaran laughed, tilting his head back. “Fuck you.”

“Welcome back, Lenna.” Hope grinned, and her black eyes moved to examine the way Ciaran was grinning. His blue eyes met Hope’s and then danced towards her grin, lingering way-too-long on her lips. Cardinals above, this pair.

“Have you two fucked yet?” she managed to say.

Ciaran’s expression switched to grave and anguished, but his eyes still did not move from Hope.

“What?” Hope coughed, her eyebrows shooting to the sky.

The sky was spinning. “I’m dizzy as fuck,” Lenna whispered, and Jake put some red strands behind her ear. “What happened?”

“You were in your ordeal. Don’t you remember?” She didn’t know how long she had been gone but she had missed Jake’s voice in the quiet limbo.

She exhaled with effort, sitting up, and readjusting her sore back on Jake’s chest. His arms around her waist were a welcome blessing.

“I remember too well. It was a trap. There was no feather.”

“What do you mean, no feather ?”

“I honestly couldn’t put two and two together by then, but I remember an orb where a feather was meant to be, and there was no bloody feather.”

“Maybe it didn’t appear because the ordeal wasn’t completed the way they wanted?” Ayla asked.

Lenna had been wondering the same. “If I wasn’t worthy, you mean? After petals half-drowned me, I pushed my inner balance to a new limit, and I almost incinerated myself? The South Cardinal can shove her crystal feather up her ass, then.” She sighed. “I don’t know if I fucked up, if I wasn’t good enough, or what the Fifth hell happened, but I only know there was no feather. I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry for trying your best,” Jake said.

“Even if my best wasn’t enough?” Lenna asked, looking up at him.

“Even more so.”

The kiss he planted on the spot behind her ear made her close her eyes. She inhaled deeply, enjoying how his embrace filled her with his leather and ginger scent. When Lenna opened her golden eyes, Ayla’s green ones were observing her, an amused smile on her lips.

“You enjoy looking, Ayla?” Lenna asked.

Her twin chuckled, biting her bottom lip. “I’m simply happy to have a non-dead sister.” She tilted her head and added, “And to see you two together. You look like cute, traumatized lovebirds.”

Lenna slammed her hand against the deck floor, a painful idea that she immediately regretted. “Can everyone do me a damned big favor and not mention flying creatures for a while?” Lenna asked, covering her forehead with the other hand.

“You mean not even the Cardin—”

“ Especially not them.” Lenna’s fuck-you-smile was greeted by a cough that sounded very much like traumatized-indeed .

Hope finally removed her Healing hands. “You’re safe, everyone is alive. Fine, we have no South feather, but we have the other four. It could be worse.”

“Could it?” Lenna lifted an eyebrow.

“We could have zero feathers. We could all be dead.” Hope’s tone was as matter of fact as her stare.

Lenna opened her mouth to argue but then settled for, “Point taken.”

“So, who got the ink about the Fifth Judgment?”

Jake, Ciaran, Ayla, and Hope raised their hands. Lenna bit her tongue. How very kind of the flying creatures to exclude Lenna and then try to kill her.

“Any clue about where the Fifth Judgment could be?” Hope asked.

Ayla clicked her tongue. “Will they even accept us at the Fifth Judgment with four feathers? The math of this crusade isn’t in our favor.”

Hope narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “Surely we can’t just go back to Thyria as if nothing ever happened, as if all of this —all these weeks, traveling, suffering, ordeals, near-deaths—was worthless.”

“It wasn’t worthless,” Ciaran said in a low voice, looking at Hope. “And no, we aren’t going back to the same island ruled by the Organ Mandor with empty hands.”

“Even if the Card—” Ayla started, but rolled her eyes when Lenna faked a coughing fit and continued, “Even if they will not give us the Fifth Power because we lack the fifth feather?”

“Maybe we can exchange something equally important that convinces them we need the power. If they care about their island, surely, they can’t just look and clap at how my father destroys every living being in it.”

“Bargaining with goddesses,” Ayla sighed. “Fabulous plan.”

Ciaran shook his head slowly. “Not bargaining— trading .”