Page 8

7

Hope

H ope had finally decided to talk to Lenna about a recurring worry she had. Shame she had been unable to find her today. Jake hadn’t been around, either. They must have moured outside the safehouse, as they sometimes did.

The risk of someone intercepting them in the middle of a guarded mouring was very low, according to Ciaran and Jake. But that was the thing with risks—the possibility of error was always there.

Not that risks had ever stopped Hope before.

She had been considering for a while what would happen when Rhei Coralt died. Because everyone in the house seemed to think that because Hope was the heir, she would take on the role of the Organ Mandor. But she had no clue about how Thyria and its society full of human beings, Elite, and panoms worked. She was not the appropriate person to rule anyone, let alone a whole country.

Sometimes Jake and Lenna came back in a few hours, sometimes in a few days. Since Jake and Ciaran were meant to be discussing strategies to get the Fifth, the former was the likely option in this case. But in case, it wasn’t, Hope sent her red ink to Lenna:

There wasn’t an answer straight away, but eventually the golden letters of Lenna’s handwriting inked Hope’s forearm:

Hope snorted. The amount of fuss Sasha and Lenna made when Hope did anything with her blades was something unheard of.

Not that long ago, they had interrupted her daily throwing practice, right after she aimed at the head of a mannequin she had Given the room and knocked it backwards, by squealing, clapping, and cheering. She had patiently waited for them to leave, talking about their books, before she Gave another mannequin and aimed at its heart from a bigger distance.

Another golden ink followed not long after:

Hope heard the confident steps of the high heels before a smiling Lenna walked through the door.

“Hi there. Brendon just told me the roixers are busy following some fake clues leading to us in the South Petal. The amount of work that man can do in the span of a few hours is admirable.”

Hope nodded vigorously. “He’s very good.” Years working at the Invisible Grand, the most secretive organization of Thyria, had made the blond and green-eyed man a dangerous, misleading tool. Hope sometimes doubted if he was doing it purely to help them not be caught, or because he was delighted messing around with the military roixers and making them waste their time.

Lenna looked at her expectantly.

Hope inhaled. “So, I’ve been thinking about what will happen when the current Mandor is dead. And I thought . . . Would you do it?”

“Do what?” Lenna raised an eyebrow.

“Rule Thyria.”

Lenna's eyes widened and the look she gave Hope made her hear her thoughts out loud. Lenna thought Hope had lost her mind. The tinge of worry in her frown might have been a sign that the red-haired thought Hope’s brain damage would be irreversible.

Hope continued before the red-haired woman could add any ironic retort. “You know how things work here well enough to fight against the injustices of the system and speak up for the voices of the beings that panoms don't want to hear.”

Lenna shrugged. “That doesn't mean the Cardinals have blessed me with the blood of the Core. They would be royally pissed if you just pass your heirloom like you're passing a lipstick. Plus, I don't think it's doable. Your father took my heirloom and passed it to my sister because being twins makes us similar enough that the change in duties didn't make the land collapse.” Lenna bit her bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt at keeping her side smile in. “Seeing how your Fifth Ceremony went in terms of breaking half the city, I can guess how refusing to become the Organ Mandor would go.”

A panomquake caused by that would leave no one and nothing left to rule.

Hope swallowed. “I can't do it, though. I mean, if I have no choice, I will do it. I'm not going to let people die because of me." Not again . Not if she could avoid it. The desperate cries and the bodies spread on the Beftac Center for Injured Beings after her Fifth Ceremony still chased her dreams. “But I want to do it properly, and I cannot do that by myself.”

She couldn't remember the last time she had asked for help. So openly, and most importantly, without being ashamed of admitting out loud that she couldn't do something by herself. Maybe there wasn’t a last time because this was her first time . Ever.

Lenna passed a hand through her fire-colored waves, the ends of her hair moving against the white, revealing stripes of her top. Her golden eyes were fixed on a spot on the opposite wall.

“I could be your First Hand, if you want,” Lenna said.

“Excuse me?”

“Some Rulers in the past had a panom that gave them advice and supported them when making decisions and that sort of stuff.” Lenna chuckled before adding, “My mentor would be proud to know I remember some facts from his history lessons.”

“Why Hand , though?” Hope asked.

“The Fifth only knows. But it's boring, right? I wouldn't sign up to be called body parts of anyone. But if you call me something cooler, I would consider it.”

Hope lifted her eyebrows. She was not the right person to think in terms of coolness. “Is First Feather a better fit?”

Lenna put a finger on her chin. “I can work with that.”

The sudden sharp pain in Hope’s arm woke her up as the door of her bedroom opened with a bang.

Ciaran stormed inside, panting and gasping.

As soon as his blue eyes locked with Hope’s, he covered his face with both hands. “I’m going to kill him even if it’s the last thing I do,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Shadows trembled on his wrists and ankles as if they held so much tension and rage that they could kill someone there and then.

She could feel the deep frown on her face. She had never seen him like this. Ciaran always was the embodiment of self-control and serenity.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was urging.

“Me?” Hope shook her head, the adrenaline of the feeling that something was very wrong building up in her veins. “I was sleeping. What’s wr—?”

Before Hope could finish her sentence, Nina screamed, horrified, at the other end of the apartment. Hope jumped out of the bed and started running towards the location of the scream.

They collided in a corridor, Nina shaking while touching Hope’s face over and over to make sure she was real. Her ocean-blue eyes were tinged with red broken little capillaries. Nina hugged her, crying while she repeated, “Thank the blessed Cardinals. Thank the blessed Cardinals.”

Ciaran’s steps had followed Hope closely from her bedroom, and while Nina cried, Hope asked Ciaran, “What happened?” Her face tensed with worry at whatever danger Ciaran and Nina had encountered.

Ciaran looked at the crystal ceiling, shadows still curling around his ankles. Dark green sparks jumped from his metallic arm as if it was electrified. “Come and see.”

He guided her to the balcony facing the Sweetgum Beech. Hope only stopped briefly to leave Nina in the kitchen with Ayla, who started preparing her a hot drink straightaway. Whatever had caused Nina to be so distressed, she didn’t need to see again.

Hope let out a broken gasp when she saw the water fountains.

The water wasn’t clear as usual. It was red. And there, in the middle of the platform, surrounded by water where the artists used to perform, lay a dead woman.

A black-haired woman with two braids, a muscular and fit complexion, taller than average and wearing the same dark clothes Hope usually wore.

A chill ran through her veins, placating the warm adrenaline rush into an icy fury. The eyes of the dead woman were closed, but Hope had a feeling they were black like hers.

The Organ Mandor had done a public mock assassination of his daughter.

“Does he know we are here?” Hope asked, her voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions cascading inside her.

“He can’t know that. The house is invisible to unwanted eyes.” Ciaran didn’t falter, his clenched teeth marking his strong jaw. “He has chosen the busiest part of his city to make a public threat.”

Even if the beings looking at the corpse, covering their mouths and whispering, had no idea who the threat was for, and what it was for.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice tense, on edge like his shadows and his temper.

Hope knew all too well who had sent her bleeding ink. Her bleeding arm was nothing compared to the innocent, lifeless woman left on display for the citizens of Corentre to see. For the citizens of Corentre to fear .

She read his ink with a devastating repulsion and hatred towards the sender, and a nauseating frustration at not being able to stop his words on her flesh.

Her blood froze.

It was wrong.

It was so wrong that he could invade her body like that. It felt almost like a violation. It was a wicked, disgraceful intrusion.

Ciaran’s eyes widened as he read the ink before Hope Gave herself a bandage. He looked at her, an angry and concerned frown making his eyebrows get closer. “This is not the first time he’s sent you ink.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an affirmation.

“It’s not,” Hope confirmed.

Ciaran’s blue eyes darkened with the promise of the painful and long death Hope was planning on giving the Organ Mandor.

Until now, she had found the bleeding inks unnerving but useful to keep track of how lost and desperate Rhei Coralt was to find them. To find her . But this . . . This sadistic exhibit of wickedness and barbarity was too much.

“Is there any way to stop his inks from coming?”

Ciaran grabbed the rail of the balcony, the muscles of his biological arm tensing. “He is very powerful. I can show you how to block incoming inks, but he might still break the glass.”

“It’s worth trying,” she said. “We can do that another day.” She wasn’t in the mood for any lessons right now.

“Please come with me,” he said, as he moved his hand, and dark green sparks went flying through the door in different directions.

Hope had seen him use that trick to gather people a few times before. Each spark would find a person and lead them towards where Ciaran was.

Shortly after, his sparks had gathered everyone in the living room.

Ayla had a gentle hand on Nina’s shoulders. Nina’s eyes were still red, but she wasn’t crying anymore.

Raoul had walked by himself, Indianna hovering next to him in case he needed an extra hand.

Lenna sat on Jake’s legs, her lips tight in a line that promised serious trouble if required. Jake’s hands were laced around her waist, and Hope didn’t miss the dark cloth covering his forearm. It looked like she wasn’t the only one receiving bleeding inks from their father.

Brendon and Sasha sat in the same chair, both using half the seat and looking surprisingly comfortable considering half their legs were unsupported.

From the empathetic stares around the room, Hope knew the word must have spread about what happened at the Sweetgum Beech.

Ciaran looked around the room, his jaw set firmly, and his blue eyes narrowed. When he finally spoke, his words were a declaration.

“Enough researching and planning. There is a man who needs to be killed, and it better be soon, or I will lose my fucking mind. We’re going to get the Fifth Power.”