Page 36 of A Rising Hope

25

FINNLEAH

Ishouldn’t have been drinking, but I was.

The amber liquid I scavenged from Godric’s dusty cupboards burned my throat bitterly as I took another sip from the copper mug. The heat from the steaming bathtub I lounged in clouded the murky windows. A dark moon shone outside, its silver glow mixing with the warm candlelight of a countless candles that covered almost every inch of the spare bedroom that I had claimed as mine.

I stared at my new hands.

The skin was less wrinkled and not as tan, many knicks and little scars were gone. And the freckles . . . the freckles were so unnaturally placed, they looked painted on my skin. I took another big sip, wincing as I swallowed the rest of the liquid in the mug.

Gideon had a brother.

Half brother, to be precise.

He’d told me at least that much in that abhorrent fucking letter. And I had yet to make sense of that. AHealerbrother.

My husband also had blood magic. Of that I did know but the extent of his powers, the wards, the shields, the portals . . .He’d told me how he’d found me in the Desolate Desert when I had stayed behind in the Pleasure Dome, of how he could track people with just a simple drop of their blood, of a small ability to create shields.

That much he’d told me.

And yet the prick forgot to mention that opening portals was part of his skill set.

I reread his letter so many times I had stopped counting. At first, I was looking for answers, for any clues or hidden meanings. Because surely this was not it. Perhaps it was some devious plan he had orchestrated, and maybe I was missing something. But each time I read it—despair crawled further into my heart. Because no matter how much I dissected the letter, the words didn’t change, nor did their meaning.

He had abandoned me, and he was not coming back.

And whatever his royal fucking reasoning was, I didn’t care even one bit.

He should’ve trapped me there with him. Should’ve killed us both.

There were a multitude of solutions.

But whateverthisfuckery was, whatever his last resort was, this was not it.

At first, I had been completely devastated, broken. The terrible tears I cried left me empty, hollow. But now, hours later . . . that hollowness was filled with pure wrath.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the only way my anger kept me from disintegrating forever, but I was so utterly fucking pissed.

At the Queen, at Gideon, at the world, at the gods.

My eyes lingered on the scrunched up paper on top of the poorly made stool near me. Each time I looked, ire bubbled within me. Ready to lash out, ready to devour everything I beheld.

“That fucker . . . ” I seethed, not letting the letter out of my sight. Gideon had taken the time to write it. He must have sat there outlining each word, thinking of what to say to me, aware of the heartbreak he’d cause.

I clicked my tongue.

No, my fury was beyond me.

Live . . . be happy. Enjoy the peaceful life . . . Forever . . . Eternity . . . Dream your dreams.I had memorized his poisonous words. Each sentence, each curve of his handwriting. My mind tirelessly recited every phrase as if a curse, driving me absolutely insane.

He abandoned meandalso had the audacity to tell me what to do with my fucking life?

He gave me hope; he gave me a taste of true happiness and then ripped it away and expected me to move on and find other happiness in life?

I wished he was here just so I could tell him ‘Fuck you’ straight to his arrogant fucking face.

Perhaps it was the heat of the water or perhaps it was the rage, but my skin became molten. Alcohol coursed through my veins and yet my thoughts were sharper than ever before—blades ready for war.

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