Page 53 of Petals for Deadly Power

The breeze hit her face first, then her neck and arms. She was sitting on the edge of a horizontal door, and then Ciaran was pulling her upwards. He held her body close to his, his hand crossing over her waist and holding her abdomen towards him, her back against his chest as he guided her a few steps forward.

His closeness, his firm touch on her body, his presence on her back, his shadows on her eyes—she could barely breathe, her entire being consumed by him.

Then his grip pressed firmer against her, making her stop. She wished she could speak, but her words were lost. Everything was lost except him.

Ciaran didn’t let go of her, his hand embracing her from behind. She couldn’t see, but she didn’t need to.

When he spoke, his voice brushed her ear in the most pleasant, outlawed way. “Did you want to keep it quiet?”

The question caught her by surprise. “You mean . . . about my ordeal?”

“That, too.”

“The Core Cardinal asked me five questions.” That was as much as she could—wanted—to tell him.

“Five answers for the crystal feather of a goddess—an apparently sweet deal.”

Except, Hope knew, it wasn’t sweet at all. It was cardinally bitter. Cardinally cruel. “Nothing is ever as it seems.”

Hope felt his nod against the nape of her neck, her shoulders tensing as her head tilted involuntarily towards his face. The shadow veil covering her eyes was so comfortable, so light, she barely noticed it anymore.

“I wasn’t talking about your ordeal. Yesterday you lived for a quarter of a century. Twenty-five whole cycles.”

Hope sighed. “How do you know?”

“Blame Llunal and his whispers.”

“Why does he care?”

Ciaran chuckled. “I will not ask him that.”

They didn’t talk for a while, the breeze and the distant sound of the sea were the only ones around them. When he spoke, Hope could have sworn he was nervous. “The Core Cardinal didn’t pick yesterday for your ordeal for no reason. Twenty-five is a sacred number in Thyria, Hope. Five years for each of the four petals, and five years for the core. Five times five, when a panom is closer to the origins. For each additional quarter of a century we live, the Cardinals bless us with an additional petal.”

“The petals you donated.” To Sasha, Indianna, Brendon, and Carson. To Lenna, in her second Fifth Ceremony, when he helped her regain her revoked panom powers. “How old are you, Ciaran?”

His chuckle was low. “I don’t want to freak you out.”

Hope laughed. “You hold me at the peak of a floating mass of metal, with a blindfold made of shadows, and a cliff I can’t even see in front of me. Do you think youragewill scare me?”

He held his breath in, exhaling against her hair. “Doesthisscare you?”

“More than anything ever has.”

His grip on her body tightened in the slightest way. “I brought you here to show you something.”

Hope’s eyebrows lifted at the same time Ciaran’s shadows lifted, her blindfold vanishing.

The sunset in front of them overwhelmed her senses. The sky displayed a dance of crimson, orange, and pink. Underneath the hiding sun, a mass of waves caught the lights and colors. The horizon expanded, impossible to not appreciate the full expanse of the universe.

“Bless the Fifth.” Her voice was weak, faltering. Her hand reached to hold his metal hand across her abdomen.

She felt minuscule. The sunset was all that existed in front of her; Ciaran was all that existed behind her.

That was all, and all was plenty.

“This is my gift to you, Hope. My gift and my promise: the world.”

33

---