Chapter 2
Hope
The red moon shone bright in a star-filled dark sky, as if the Cardinals and Llunal themselves were witnessing the fifteen navias and their passengers arriving in Thyria.
Swirls of two hundred strong shadows surrounded the moon-shaped vehicles, products of the army of wielders aboard, pushing them closer and closer to the land of petals and panom magic.
The red-haired Brachyan twins, Ayla and Lenna, Hope’s step-brother Jake, the no-longer-panom but very-much-still-courtrade Ciaran, and Hope herself had left Thyria as fugitives, wanted by the military Roix, with their deaths promised by Hope and Jake’s own father.
They were returning as murderers, some of them with additional responsibilities, but amongst everything, they returned with the promise of a better future citizens, panoms and courtrades deserved.
Their titles had changed, and Hope was far from becoming familiar with her new role as the leader of House Rulers.
One year ago, when she was killing other beings to survive day by day in Verdania, she would have never thought she’d carry this title on her shoulders.
Perhaps her bastard blood had known she had been born to be the Organ Mandor of Thyria, but that didn’t make Hope any more ready to rule a nation.
She was twenty-five years old, experienced in killing and death, in survival and fighting, in relentlessness and resilience, perseverance and never giving up, but that was it. She was inexperienced in absolutely everything else.
The Cardinals hadn’t picked the best candidate; Hope didn’t have any trace of doubt about it, yet she had sworn she would try her best to advocate for the voices of the living beings she now governed.
Even if the easiest, most efficient way to get things done was with blades.
If someone misbehaved, she could either pierce their eyelids with daggers or hang them by their balls from the wall. That much, she could do.
But representing an entire society, advocating for their voices, using communication, fairness and patience? That was surreal. The knot in her chest tightened with the pressure of the biggest task the goddesses had wrongly picked for her. She was not made for this.
Until a year ago, Hope had only interacted with a handful of people, and handful was being generous. The most accurate, real truth was that she had only known one person: her mother, whom Hope and Ciaran buried under protected woods after her mother’s past lover—Hope’s father—assassinated her.
She was a twenty-five-year-old orphan with twenty daggers hidden in her black leathers.
Two of them were the most dangerous crystal blades ever to exist, created with Cardinals’ blood.
The Black Lawful Stab, made with the blood of the Cardinal Queen, and the Red Lawful Stab, with the blood of the five Cardinals, throbbed against her thighs, demanding that Hope use them, to harm, to kill.
It was a constant battle to resist the urge to touch them, to unleash them and wield them, but self-control had been the first of many lessons in self-discipline Hope had learned and mastered.
The blades had a beating pulse like the arteries of any living being, but they were not individual entities.
They needed her, and she wouldn’t let them win.
Her mind was stronger than the blood of the Cardinals.
Hope inhaled, the scent of night and pine filling her nostrils and soul at the same time.
She couldn’t resist closing her eyes as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Even with the purest, rawest darkness of shadows surrounding her, she didn’t need to see him to sense the man approaching. His presence.
With it always came an irresistible physical reaction, a pleasant turmoil of feelings.
Her thighs tensed, her nostrils slightly flared, her chin tilted upwards, impatient for his closeness.
Her hands imperceptibly shook, her core tightened, the rhythm of her heart sped up, impatient for his touch and everything else that had been forbidden until he let go of his panom blood for her. All so they could exist together.
Nothing and nobody else caused anything remotely similar to her whole body, soul, heart, and mind. Only he did.
“Darkness Commander,” she prayed, her eyes closed as his scent became even stronger.
A soft kiss on her brow sent goosebumps up her spine.
She held her breath as his hands clasped her waist firmly, her hands surrounding the leather around his powerful torso.
His familiar shadows created a protective bubble around them.
Hope couldn’t stop smiling, forgetting the rest of the world even existed.
Ciaran was her happiness, her safety, and her protection. She had never felt such strong, decisive feelings. Such beautiful yet terrifying feelings. Even the Fifth Power in her veins didn’t seem as powerful as what she felt for him, as the bond they shared. This man was her home.
“Organ Mandor,” he whispered in her ear, making her chuckle. He moved her long, dark braids to the side to kiss her neck.
Even the overwhelming, mind-blowing and heart-warming emotions and thoughts Ciaran caused were proof that she was nowhere near prepared to rule this world.
Unquestionably a governor of nations, a Ruler of Rulers, would not find feelings difficult to understand and digest. Surely a true Ruler wouldn’t be frightened of such things.
Hope was inexperienced in love, but as she felt his body around hers, holding her tight in the middle of the shadow storms covering the Radel Sea, this didn’t seem to be a problem.
This felt right. Their union was right, as if it had always been meant to be.
As if whatever the world threw at them, they would be able to fight together.
They had always been alone, but they were no longer.
They had each other. Two leaders of different nations, of different power-wielders, united by love.
Against hers, every single muscle in Ciaran’s body tensed.
She stroked his cheek as she opened her hands and Gave red sparks to look at him in the darkness. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
His dark blue eyes glinted, reflecting the red sparks of her magic floating around them. His black hair fell smoothly over his shoulders; the metal ring on his bottom lip bobbed as he hesitated for a millisecond. “Whispers,” he muttered, his jaw clenching even harder.
Hope’s brow furrowed, not taking her black eyes from his.
Whatever message the god of night and darkness was whispering to Ciaran, it wasn’t good.
Both his biological arm and his metallic arm tightened around her waist and her back, pressing her even closer, as if he wanted to keep her from harm.
She waited, holding him tight, hoping that would ease whatever discomfort the news was causing him.
After what seemed like a lifetime of uncertainty and tension, he pulled back, holding her face with both hands.
Hope always welcomed the cold touch of the metal of his fingers, the warmth of the flesh of his other hand, but the way his lips were tight in a line, the tips of his fingers shaking only enough for her to feel it—that was new.
She had never seen Ciaran faced with anything.
He didn’t only seem affected. He looked frightened. For her.
“Hope,” he said, biting his bottom lip before continuing. “There is someone waiting for you. Someone we hadn’t expected. Someone we hadn’t counted on.”
She pursed her lips, nodding as her hands immediately went to the hilt of her daggers, her never-faltering comfort and reassurance. “Where are they?”
Ciaran swallowed. “In your House. She is in the Organ House.”
“She?” Hope’s eyes narrowed.
“The Cardinal Queen has returned, freed from her two-hundred-and-fifty-year curse, and she is sitting on your throne.”