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Lenna

T he Birthing Pit of Blackness was anything but black.

Whoever had given this place its name was a liar, and a bad one at that. Someone Likes Red Sparks , Massacre After a Head Smashes , or Pretty-Explosive Bloody Shower would have been more suitable names.

The red moon shone as bright as ever in the dark sky, its red shade falling over the tall trees, its light peeking through the narrow spots between branches until it touched the rocky ground. The tall trees were covered— covered , from leaves to trunk to branches—in red sparks. The same color of—

“Cardinal red,” Ciaran muttered. “Fuck.”

“I’ve never been here before,” Hope said, her voice trembling. She walked towards the closest trunk, her hand suspended in front of the shining redness before she inhaled deeply and touched it. The sparks didn’t move, didn’t react.

They didn’t react because they weren’t sparks. “It’s like . . . permanent ink.”

“The color of your magic, your sparks, your mark,” Ayla said, looking at the equally red, four-petal mark at the back of Hope’s neck her two braids left exposed.

“Yes, and no. The color of my magic, but also . . . The color of the Cardinals.” Her black eyes narrowed, as if she couldn’t make sense of it.

“They told you all to come here, didn’t they? Casually leaving me out of their messages. Well then, where the fuck are they?” Lenna asked.

It could have been Hope touching the ink or the presence of five panoms in the Birthing Pit of Non-Blackness, or it could have been Lenna’s words. It could have been ante meridiem striking the night’s clock or everything at once, but a path appeared between the red-painted rocks and moss. A path of red feathers, guiding them into the pit.

Hope didn’t hesitate, her steps not faltering. Ciaran followed her lead, Ayla in the middle before Jake and Lenna holding hands closed the rear.

Feathers and sparks led them into a narrow opening into the rocky surface of the Veiled Mountains, and when they stepped inside, shadows engulfed them.

“It’s safe,” Ciaran said as Hope halted. “The shadows are welcoming us.”

Lenna lifted her eyebrows, a sarcastic smile already on her lips. Well, it was nice to know these spiraling dark forces surrounding them were welcoming and not planning to strangle them.

Despite the moving darkness that had been waiting for them behind the veil, they walked for a few minutes with their sparks as the only source of light, until their path became wider, and they reached a—

“Shut the fucking fuck up,” Lenna gasped.

They were in the land of the courtrades, the land created by Llunal, in the mountains he had lived in, according to Stevian. So why was there a four-petal chamber as big as the Cardinals Temple of Thyria, with the same massive dome carved inside the mountain—inside his mountain?

Unlike the one in the Organ House, this dome wasn’t made of crystal, but of the smoothest rock, polished until perfection by hands or magic, or both.

Each petal of the wide chamber hosted an empty red throne facing the center of the panom. Four thrones of red feathers and red crystals. In the center of the four petals, in the very middle of the inner circle, there was an intricate circular pedestal.

“Interesting,” whispered Hope as she stepped cautiously into the flower, clearly wanting to reach the center.

Ciaran stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, and Hope turned to him, her fingers meeting his. Her black eyes glittered with what she must have read on his face, hidden from Lenna.

“Be careful if you trade, Hope. There's more to life than giving everything until there is nothing left to give. No bravery should get you killed.”

Her black eyes blinked as she swallowed, her fingers tightening on his touch. “Ciaran.”

His metallic hand caressed her cheek slowly, his touch lingering as if it was the last time he would ever touch her.

“Lenna,” Ayla's pissed off voice made Lenna stop contemplating the pair. The green eyes of her twin had an edge of fear and worry on top of the anger that her words let go. “You have no feather to offer, you failed your ordeal. Remind me why are you here again?”

“I'm here to have a civilized conversation with the South bird and demand some answers.”

“No civilized conversation is going to end well if you call her bird .” Ayla’s green eyes were sharp, unforgiving. “And you don't demand answers to goddesses, for Fifth's sake.” Ayla's voice broke at the end.

Lenna smirked. “Watch me.”

“Your pretty mouth better not get you killed this ante meridiem, sweet fire.” Jake’s grip on her wrist was tight, his other hand holding her chin until her stare met his, the silver in his eyes burning.

“Oh, my pretty mouth can do many useful and skillful things,” she winked, “and maybe it's not your favorite, but one of them is talking.” Against his cold, dubious stare, she sighed. “Honestly, I don’t plan on getting myself killed. You will not get rid of me so easily, Jake.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you at all, Lenna. Ever.” His grip tightened on her chin as he lowered to reach her lips, his other hand fisting her mass of fire hair. His kiss was warm, definitive, unforgiving. A warning and a threat. Proof of his love in its purest essence that she could get lost in forever.

Ayla made a scoffing sound that no doubt included rolling her eyes.

When Jake pulled back and left Lenna with her mouth half-open, begging for more, he tilted her head sideways and whispered against her throat. “Behave. I can’t lose you.” Then he stole towards the red throne marked with the word East .

Lenna sighed, hands on her hips. If he only knew she was here to not so much have a word with the cheating goddess who had tricked her into an already-lost ordeal, but to make sure the Harming bitch who almost destroyed him inside and out during his own ordeal didn’t harm him again.

By the time Lenna managed to drag her determined stare from him, everyone was in position. Ayla was directly opposite her, standing in front of the throne in the North petal, her arms crossed with her smooth curtain of red hair falling over her shoulders, her chin tilted backwards, and her lips pursed. Her silver dress fell to the floor, a tad more modest than Lenna’s golden gown with a side slit that went farther up than her hips and met a drastic line of exposed skin from her shoulder. Lenna felt a sudden rush of pride. Her twin looked fearful and magnificent, a true deserving heir of the North House.

Ciaran and Jake were opposite each other, the former a few steps away from the West throne, her man eyeing the throne in the East petal he stood in. Ciaran, dressed in black leathers very similar to Hope’s, stood with his legs slightly apart, his whole focus on the dark green sparks he was conjuring atop his biological hand. It was always difficult to know what he thought, but it was even harder now, for so many feelings were no doubt layered behind the blueness of his eyes.

In the middle of them was Hope, slowly circling the crystal pedestal in the Core, her black eyes slightly unfocused, no doubt taking in every single movement, every single breath in the chamber. Her steps were surprisingly silent despite the amount of metal she had clinging to her tight leathers.

When Jake turned to face Lenna, his side-smile and the wink of his silver eye made her want to cross to his petal and kiss him even more, and maybe she would have, if five goddesses hadn't appeared from thin air.

The North, West, South, and East Cardinals stood in front of their respective thrones.

The Core Cardinal stood in the middle of the four-petal flower, beneath the center of the dome. Her red eyes gleamed with something difficult to identify as she examined the five panoms in the room, her stare meeting Hope’s for seconds that seemed to stop time.

Then, the Core goddess opened her arms wide, her body spinning atop the rotating pedestal. When she spoke, her voice echoed throughout the chamber, in their heads, and by the way Lenna’s blood trembled, it might even have been inside their very veins.

“Strivers, welcome to your Fifth Judgment.”