Page 66 of Petals for Deadly Power

Words had vanished from existence. But luckily, Ciaran continued. “Now . . . Now their purpose has been fulfilled.”

“What purpose?” Her voice was hoarse.

“To remind me to believe in the fates the gods laid out for us. To remind me to be patient, that you were real, and one day I was going to meet you.”

She swallowed, praying the ongoing wind would continue pushing for a while even if she needed to use her hands for something else, because she was physically unable to stop her fingers from caressing his skin, from tracing the shadow inks that marked his biological arm. Ciaran’s eyes closed at her touch, his head tilting slightly back as he inhaled deeply.

Hehad been patient. He had been patientfor her. Forcenturies.

Feelings that could wipe Terrha in one go were surging from a very specific part of Hope’s chest.

“If they’re made of shadows, could you make them vanish now?”

His eyes opened to look at her, his brows furrowed. “I would never. They've shaped who I am. They were there when nothing else was. They've been my compass and my moon. I owe them my life.”

He caressed her cheek as a tear rolled down. She hadn’t noticed her eyes watering, she was too busy feeling everything else, understanding the brutal impact of what he was revealing.

“The inks are getting all the credit, but don't be fooled.” He cupped her face, the tip of his nose touching hers. “Youhave been my compass and my moon, Hope. You kept me going when the world seemed hopeless. I begged the Cardinals for answers, for any little hint about you. They gave menothing. And then you appeared, blades in hand, panomquake under your feet, shaking this world like no one else had. You shook my world. The moment I saw you, I knew—I knew the wait had been worth it.”

Hope’s breath shook and he didn’t let go of her face. Her arms reached to hold his—to hold them as if she was holding on for dear life. Every time he spoke, it felt as if a new dagger stabbed her heart, a dagger full of the most meaningful and the most destructive venom to ever exist.

“You are more than I could have ever dreamed. You are fearless, humble, loyal, lethal. There was never a chance I wouldn't love you.”

The air between their lips was tense, in static suspension. She wanted to kiss him. Sheneededto kiss him so badly.

“I hate them,” Hope whispered, her voice shaking between the tears. “Why make you wait all your life, waste all your precious years, for somethingtheynever allowed? Why make us suffer, why break us by forbidding—”

Ciaran’s bit his bottom lip in a way that had to hurt, his eyes glittering as if he was shattering in a million pieces. She didn’t want to say the words out loud, but it was too late to stop them.

“—our love.”

For a second, Hope thought her words had been the cause of a panomquake. But when she managed to look at something other than the man in front of her, the man who had overtaken the reason for living and breathing, she understood.

It hadn’t been a panomquake, but the crash of one navia against another.

On the deck of the other navia, a man covered in burns with black hair and silver eyes—Jake—held the limp, pale body of a red-haired woman—Lenna.

As one, Ciaran and Hope were on the move before the next heartbeat, sprinting to the rail and jumping into the sea, ready to climb on the navia as if their lives depended on it.

42

Lenna

Deathwaswarmandwet and windy.

Death was painful and quiet and not relaxing at all.

If this was death, she was not up for it.

As she was not up for having the last memory of her life being quite literally choked by petals right, left, and center, thanks very much. Were those petals still in her mouth, her nostrils, her ears? Cardinals bloody knew. Other than being uncomfortable and in pain, she felt nothing, saw less than nothing, heard a whole load of nothing, and had below-nothing idea of what was happening, if anything was happening at all.

If death was this annoying limbo, Lenna was going to be the angriest, least-conforming dead woman ever.

May the Cardinals guide you to peace, Thyrians usually prayed when beings lost their lives.

No, the Cardinals would not be able to guide her anywhere—let alonepeace, if that even existed—because the moment she saw a red wing, the moment she saw thehintof a red feather, she would riot. From her immobile, totally constrained, absolutely useless limbo—she would riot. One could bet the Cardinals were shaking in fear.

Then, she heard him. No, not heard, heardhim. Mind-heard, mind-listened, mind-felt—whatever the fuck it was meant to be called—it washim.

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