Page 62 of A Rising Hope

The horror-filled stares from the freed slaves still lingered on my skin. Their devastation and panic settled deep within me. I had listened, and I had helped, and I had buried those that weren’t quite as lucky as others. Loss after loss corroded the hope that I held on to so desperately.

The never-ending what-ifs swirled in my mind, drowning me in self-doubt.

I was a fraud. I was a nobody. A runaway slave.

And yet people believed in me. Placed their faith, their hope in me.

Savior of the people and Protector of the weak.

Fools. Couldn’t they see that I was none of those things?

I couldn’t even protect the one person I loved the most. I couldn’t figure out a way to save him. And that thought wounded me deeper than any blade ever could.

Gideon saved me. Again and again.

While I stumbled across every step I took on my path.

I had no business leading a nation.

I had no business even being his wife.

My thoughts, no better than vultures, gorged on my dying hope.

But battered and bruised, I carried on, striking the carcasses one by one. Despite the tiredness. Despite the grogginess settling in deep behind my reddened eyes. My dagger found its mark again and again.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been. How many hours had passed?

Tears had long dried, replaced by a certain lulling daze. My hands were numb, muscles strained and burning. I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow, pausing only for a moment. I was mesmerized by the first signs of the rising sun on the horizon.

The previously dark sky brightened by the slightest hint of pink. Beams of sunlight broke through the heavy clouds, erasing dusk inch by inch.

The light was making its way through the darkness to illuminate the world once more.

Gideon once thought that love was all prevailing.

But love wasn’t all prevailing.

It was all enduring.

Even in the darkness of night, even in the midst of the deepest despair, it would withstand, patiently waiting for the sun to rise, for hope to blossom once more.

I stabbed the next creature, yanking my dagger harshly out of its eyes.

“I’d go for the balls, just to be sure.” Xentar softly chuckled, and I whirled on my heels to face him. “Early morning?” He took a look at my sunken face. I tried to find the strength to give himanything resembling a smile. Tried and failed. “Why aren’t you asleep, Finn?” he asked as our eyes met.

“For the same reason you aren’t,” I said, returning to stabbing a pile of creatures.

“You needed to take a piss?” he joked. His usually rambunctious voice was dull, lacking its spark, still heavily weighted down by the events of the day prior.

“Precisely.” I grunted, shoving my dagger straight through the vile creature’s skull.

“Marital life must be exhausting from the looks of it.” Xentar glanced around, a sorrowful look flashing across his face. He folded his arms, observing me striking the creatures down the path.

“You have no idea.” I huffed a weary snort.

“Finn . . . When was the last time you slept?”

“I’ve been somewhat occupied.” I dismissed his very clear concern.

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