Chapter 30
Hope
In the Seizing Wind on the South Petal, a falling dune buried the treasures of many centuries before their eyes. When Hope and Ciaran landed straight into the gardens of the West House, though, the world was made of pure water and a post meridiem sky.
A magnificent white castle with dozens of turrets and towers lay on an island in the middle of a lake.
A handful of white stone bridges connected the castle to the gardens.
The gardens expanded for miles, with some summerhouses and sheds here and there, from the edge of the lake until the exterior, tall walls of the West House.
Hope turned to Ciaran with her eyebrows raised. “You never said the House of Healing was a fortress.”
“You never asked.” He smiled, his eyes glinting under the reflection of the lake as he extended his metallic hand behind him, inviting her to take it and follow him into the castle.
The closer they got to the castle, the lower Hope’s jaw dropped. Anywhere she looked, there were precious crystals ingrained in the walls, forming symbols and patterns she had never seen before and very much could not interpret.
“I don’t understand.” She furrowed her brow as they continued approaching the main entrance formed by two identical, huge marble doors. “Your castle—it’s…not white.”
“Oh, yes, that. It looks white to everyone but the Ruler, the heir, and the Organ Mandor, though. The House protects itself by imposing a mirage on any other beings who admire it. I still see its true form, even if I’m not the heir anymore; I’m not sure why.”
Hope nodded quietly as she approached the wall and hovered her palm over a bright blue crystal at her shoulder’s height, the size of her fist. “These crystals have a lot of power in them. Power…and something else.” She narrowed her eyes and felt the patient stare of Ciaran on her hand, her extended arm, her face.
“Something else indeed,” he said, and she didn’t need to look at him to feel the hint of a smile in his voice.
The closer she approached her hand towards the crystal, the clearer she felt it. At the back of her neck, the West petal on her panom mark was beating of its own accord, as if doing an intimate magical dance, willing to be connected to the crystal, willing to be used.
“Healing properties,” Hope gasped, moving her hand to hover over an amber crystal, a magenta one, a silver one.
The crystals piled up and up in a continuous mosaic that formed the exterior walls of the castle.
“They feel as strong as the crystals of the Lawful Stabs and even the crystal feathers of the Fifth Crusade, but…these crystals have incredibly strong healing properties.”
When she looked at Ciaran, he was nodding with his lips tight, and a shine in his blue eyes that claimed love and pride. He lifted his hand, his shadows diving under the marble doors, before they opened with a quiet metallic sound that was pleasant and somehow familiar.
“Welcome to the West House, bloodrose.”
Ciaran waited for her hand, and with a last look in each other’s eyes, he welcomed her into the House where he had grown and lived for centuries.
The interior of the castle was very much not how a fortress would have looked, according to the books Hope read during years in Verdania, but instead, not-so-surprisingly, resembled the interior of Ciaran’s safehouse in Corentre.
On the interior, all the walls were truly white, without hidden crystals to unwanted eyes.
The dark and grey tones of the furniture and decorations aligned with the minimalistic design and the fact that they were made of metal, glass, or polished wood.
Every item served a well-thought purpose, from the low glass table in the center etched with shifting symbols that doubled as a map, to the polished wooden cabinet built seamlessly into the wall, its compartments filled with neatly arranged vials of herbs, powders, and miniature crystals.
Hope longed to lose herself in this place, to uncover every secret, every detail, every ingenious touch woven into its design. A House built with purpose and clever efficiency? How could she ever resist?
“Your House is a paradise,” she whispered, not resisting letting go of Ciaran’s hand and exploring the cabinet with the map and symbols.
“What is this?” She didn’t know what the symbols meant, but there was shiny liquid moving swiftly down every trace, its silver, metallic liquid with unusual hints of blackness.
“Mercurium in its original state. Very rare.”
She turned to Ciaran with a grin on her face that she couldn’t, nor did she try to, contain. His expression was solemn, his eyes focused on the moving liquid, as if he saw something that Hope couldn’t.
“Are you ready to meet my father?” he asked, his eyes still locked on the movement of the liquid inside the symbol’s shape.
“Cardinals guide me,” Hope murmured, as she felt the air leave her lungs. “Sure,” she said without choking.
As if he had been waiting for his cue, Cobrian Castel, West Ruler of Thyria, father of Ciaran, appeared at the top of the white stairs with a grin on his face as he clapped and started walking downstairs.
Hope elbowed Ciaran, as she had not the hint of a doubt that he had felt his father approaching, and still the warning had been par to none.
“I wondered what the House was fussing so much about,” his low voice said.
His green eyes examined Hope from above, his white beard thick, equally white hair falling over his shoulders, to the exact length Ciaran’s did.
It was Stevian’s line and his daughter, Ciaran’s mother, who had given him the blueness of his eyes.
“I hope it’s not a cause of anger that I’ve returned without a drop of panom magic in my blood, and that I’m no longer the heir,” Ciaran said, and when his father reached the ground level, they gave each other a long, heartfelt hug.
Hope didn’t know what to do with her hands, her face, or her life, right this very moment.
She was the reason Ciaran no longer had panom blood, and he was no longer the heir.
If the House was angry, she was damned for good.
It was probably ridiculous, but she felt immediately sad that a House she had fallen in love with, because of its intelligent artifacts and abundance of hidden power disguised as normalcy, would feel anger at her.
“Very much not, son.” His green eyes did not stop looking at Hope while he smiled, and she was getting more and more nervous by the second. “The House is humming rhythms I haven’t heard in a long, long while. Music of petals and destiny, of prophecies and magic, hope and—”
“My deepest honor to meet you,” Hope blurted out, right before realizing she had interrupted Cobrian and blushing probably harder and faster than she ever had. “My apologies, I thought—Please continue.”
Ciaran walked towards her, put a hand around her waist and held her close to him. His shadows caressed her ankles gently, reassuringly, while she tried to breathe like a civilized being. “Hope, this is my father, Cobrian. Father, this is my future and my fate, Hope.”
There was silver lining in Cobrian’s eyes as he swallowed, looking from Hope to Ciaran, from Ciaran to Hope, from his shadows around her ankles and his firm hand on her waist to the way she leaned her head slightly towards his neck.
“At last, you found each other.” A single drop abandoned his eye and got lost in his beard. “Your mother must be so happy, from whichever star she guards you. So am I, and so is this House.”
It wasn’t like Hope to cry, and yet, tears were trailing down her cheeks at an impossible speed. Ciaran kissed her forehead, and she felt his own cheek wet around where his lips met her skin.
“Your son has saved my life more than once and has protected me from the start. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. There aren’t words to express how blessed I am to have found him.”
Ciaran inhaled deeply, holding her tighter than before, as if his life depended on it. As if his life had always depended on it.
Cobrian dried a second tear. “Then it’s indeed a blessing he found you, because Thyria needs an Organ Mandor, and you’re the first female ever with Cardinal-red ink.
It’s no coincidence your blood belongs to the Core.
” He nodded slowly as he continued talking.
“When I received your ink, I immediately knew. The murderer sitting on your throne… The Cardinal Queen has returned, hasn’t she? ”
Hope nodded, clenching her jaw, also drying her tears up with both hands. “She has returned,” she confirmed. “I don’t intend to let her live for much longer.”
“Sangins have been seen attacking isolated families in villages in the mountains, but by the time my men and women arrive there, all that’s left is bones and black feathers.”
The sharp inhale and the sudden rush of adrenaline at this news reminded Hope precisely why she had to end the Queen’s life and therefore the lives of every sangin as soon as possible. The hands hovering over her daggers were useless right now, but her need and will to fight were very much real.
“Do you think Thyria will drown when the Queen is dead?” she asked Cobrian, a question she had been fearing for days. If she was going to drown the entire island, there would be no sangins and no Queen, but also no one alive left.
Cobrian brought his hand to his beard, massaging his chin.
“Thyria cannot drown, ever. Underneath the island, underneath the Radel Sea, there are Vessels the island was built upon. They interconnect the magic of the land and the sea, linking the geography and the Petals. The Cardinal Queen is strong, but she didn’t build Thyria by herself.
What might happen is a panomquake that causes utter destruction. ”
Hope nodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “As long as there is an island left, even a broken one, we will rebuild it, in peace, democracy, and justice.”
“Then tell me what you need from the West House and myself, and we will help you. You are Ciaran’s family; therefore, you’re also my family.”
The knot in Hope’s throat threatened to let loose another tear, but she contained it. The time to let black blood go until it drained was approaching, and there was work that needed doing before it was too late.