Chapter 33
Hope
Apparently, her missing hand was a matter that couldn’t wait until the sun rose. Apparently, the sleeping pattern of the person Ciaran was taking her to was not worthy of consideration.
To her confusion, in the middle of the West House gardens, Ciaran rapped his knuckles against the wall of a shed.
“It’s me,” he said.
“Of course it’s you,” a low voice replied before the wall split down the center and swung open like a door.
The man standing before her had a scar slicing across one pale eye.
One eye white, the other black. A black hood shadowed his hair, a metal mask covered his face from below the eyes to his chin.
His clothes clung tight to his body, accentuating the significant bulk of muscle that shifted like steel under skin whenever he moved.
“Who are you?” Hope asked.
“I’m No One.”
Ciaran’s mouth curved in a half-smile. “He’s the Key Master of the West House.”
No One snorted. “For example. Tell me, have you lost your cock?”
Hope arched a brow. “No, he hasn’t. It’s intact. But I’d appreciate you minding your own cock—if you have one.”
A muffled snort escaped from behind the mask.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“A hand,” Hope said matter-of-factly, lifting her stump. “Can you help?”
“Not the kind of work that excites me, but for Mister Shadows—of course. Don’t think for a moment I’ll lose count of the favors you owe me, Ciaran.”
“Never had a doubt a mind like yours would forget anything.”
No One disappeared into the back of the shed, the sound of metal clattering and tools shifting echoing like a storm.
Hope half-expected him to return with an arsenal of vicious instruments that would make her regret asking.
She tightened her grip on the dagger in her good and only hand, reminding herself why she had to endure whatever came next.
Instead, he came back holding only an open bottle of myster, already half-empty.
Without a flicker of Taking or Giving—the man’s hands didn’t so much as twitch—the clutter across the marble counter slid aside.
Every item shifted, balanced with impossible precision, stacked so delicately that even the faintest breath could have toppled it all.
“Your hand,” he demanded. Cardinals, this man was blunt. “And don’t look.”
“It’s fine. I’m not afraid.”
“I said don’t look. That wasn’t a request, nor the opening of a debate. And—partial truth. You’re not afraid of the pain or of me. You’re afraid you won’t recover the hand you need to kill your enemy. So let me do my job. Mister Shadows, blind her—or I will.”
Hope clenched her jaw, attempting to keep her face unreadable. She gripped Ciaran’s arm tightly, a silent plea not to snap at the man.
“I appreciate your mastery.” Her fingers brushed Ciaran’s metallic arm in emphasis. She opened her hand and Gave herself a thick, Cardinal-red blindfold, wrapping her eyes in absolute darkness.
She half-expected No One to complain—that it wasn’t enough, that he didn’t trust her blindness—but he didn’t.
“Good,” he said, his voice final. His hands, cold as steel itself but with the unequivocal touch of flesh, held her amputated wrist.
She didn’t need sight to know he was numbing the limb. The nerves went quiet, cut off from her awareness until even his touch became nothing.
Sweet, mercilessly effective analgesia.
“The things one learns…” No One muttered.
Hope felt, rather than saw, Ciaran nod beside her, before he whispered, “The things one will keep quiet.” She couldn’t tell if it was a warning to him or a reassurance to her.
“You’re welcome,” the masked man said flatly, just as sensation returned to her limb. Her awareness snapped back all at once, and she didn’t need another cue to strip away the blindfold.
She gasped.
A hand. A whole, gleaming, metallic hand flexed at the end of her arm.
She clenched and unclenched the new fingers, admiring the smooth precision of each movement.
Cardinal-red sparks flickered over the polished surface, leaping eagerly across the room.
She Gave a sharp blade into her palm, then Took it away again before it could strike the counter.
The hand obeyed as though it had always been hers—only sharper, stronger, impossibly attuned.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head.
“My pleasure, Miss Mandor.”
Ciaran’s stare was sharp, unrelenting, but No One only returned it without flinching.
“You never fail,” Ciaran said at last. His voice carried the weight of an old truth.
“Failing is boring,” No One replied simply. His attention shifted to Hope. “One last thing before you leave: the worst enemy of success is patience.”
The ticklish sensation of an incoming familiar ink on her forearm woke Hope up.
Ayla’s silver handwriting vanished right after she finished reading her words. The bed was empty, but a thin trail of shadows still lingered on her ankle, comforting—safe.
Ciaran was probably with his father or doing Darkness Commander duties and liaising with the courtrades, who had been chasing and whispering to him for a meeting the previous night. He and Hope had been very busy the previous night, though.
Her core tightened with the memory of the most intimate connection and bond she had ever experienced. She could have never imagined anything remotely similar was even possible. What she felt towards him, and what she felt from him, was otherworldly.
Ayla was waiting for her in the woods by the West House, the reddish moonlight softening the sharp edges now carved into her face.
When Hope approached, Ayla rose from the tree branch and stepped forward.
She looked different, but not physically.
Her smooth red hair covered her chest, perhaps longer than before, her pale skin contrasting, the shiny silver of her metal eyes following Hope as she approached.
“Hello there, North Ruler,” Hope greeted her.
“Long time no s—nevermind,” Ayla replied with a nod. “I bring you a piece of heart.”
“I already had dinner, thanks,” Hope chuckled, as Ayla pressed a metallic bag into her palms. “Much appreciated.”
“She grows closer,” Ayla whispered, voice hollow, resigned. “How will you destroy the three pieces you have?”
“That is an excellent question.” Hope clutched the metallic bag tighter, its cold weight sending a shiver up her arm. “How’s Nina?”
The pause was heavy. Ayla’s jaw worked as though the truth itself cut her tongue.
“Her nightmares come almost every night now. Her hair…” She drew in a shaky breath.
“They said it’s more than half black. And the iris of one of her eyes is nearly gone.
It’s no longer the ocean-blue we knew. Just black, like ink spilled across glass. ”
The Black Lawful Stab at Hope’s belt hummed violently, so loud it seemed to vibrate inside her ribs. Hope’s gaze snapped to Ayla’s hand—and her stomach dropped. Black ink coiled around her skin like vines, trailing from her nails to her wrist.
“She is now connected to you, too, isn’t she?”
Ayla’s eyes flickered, then lowered. “She is. I can hear her. But Nina doesn’t know. I won’t let her. She doesn’t need to worry when—” her voice cracked, then steadied with iron. “When there is no need to.”
Hope’s chest tightened, understanding sparking with compassion and grief. “But there is a need, Ayla. The Cardinal Queen has access to you, just as she has to Nina. Nina would want to know. She would want to stand with you. She wouldn’t want you to bear this alone.”
Silence stretched. Only the thrum of the three pieces of heart Hope had on her body filled the air. The metallic bag with the North piece in her hand was a new addition to the Southern piece in the crystal case from her pocket and the cage of shadows with the West piece.
Finally, Ayla sighed. “Indianna has been working on a cure. To strip the ink from the body, so Nina won’t end up like Raoul. And, now, to save me too. But you’re right. Nina would want me to share it all with her. Even if it means more sleepless nights.”
“She might even welcome an excuse to stay awake,” Hope said, softer now, “if it meant avoiding another Queen’s visit.”
That broke a chuckle from Ayla, thin but real. “That’s exactly what she would say.”
“How far is Indianna from a cure?”
“She doesn’t know. And we don’t speak to her much. She barely leaves her lab—eats there, sleeps there, lives among pipettes, tubes, blackened specimens. She’s pulled strands of ink from Nina’s hair, scraped it from my nails, and she studies them until her eyes burn.”
Hope swallowed hard. She could argue those weren’t living conditions. But what was the point? When a clock ticked right in front of their eyes, by black ink spreading night by night, every second mattered. Hope would have done the same if she had Indianna’s knowledge.
And the clock of their lives was ticking because the Cardinal Queen was still alive.
“Please tell everyone this will be over soon and we will be together again, as a family,” said Hope.
“I will. Be careful and let us know when you need us. We are ready.” Ayla hugged her briefly, and then moured away.
And then, it came.
The sharp, invasive lash of the Queen’s ink message struck through her forearm like a spear. Hope staggered, clutched her head, but she couldn’t block it. Not this time.
Hope inhaled sharply before another message appeared on her. A message not directed at her.
The ink seared her skin, and then it was gone. Hope gasped, clutching the three pieces of heart against her chest, her blood racing through her veins as her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.
She couldn’t wait. Not another night. Not when Nina was at risk. Not when Ayla’s veins already carried the Cardinal Queen’s poison. Not when the lives of more innocents were about to end.
Hope was ready to fight.
She was ready to destroy three pieces of the Queen’s heart, right here, right now. Then she would go and help Lenna get the piece from the East, destroy it, and finally go to the Organ House for the fifth piece of heart.