Page 4 of Between Despair and Hope

I caught my breath for a second before I ran straight to Shivani. I expected her to pull the letter out of my line of sight, but instead, I noted her swallow as she held it between us, allowing me to read what she’d already started.

Declan held Rain in Darkhold, and he was alive.

The price of his ransom? Me.

Taking one last look at my sleeping daughter, sadly convinced she wouldn’t wake, I put on Rain’s robe and slipped out onto the balcony. The faint smell of his soap lingered on my skin, the only comfort I could give myself. Barefoot, I stepped onto the grass I had grown over the past few weeks. It was sparse in most places, bare in others, but I was proud of what I’d done. Rain had moved the earth and set gardeners to cultivate and transplant all the vegetation, creating a perfect garden in the middle of a third story balcony. In one of my frenzied states, I’d requested a gardener to seed it. And then, using my divinity like I had with the branches on the field, I coaxed the seeds to take root. I assumed it was part of Rain’s earth manipulation, something he hadn’t shown me or perhaps wasn’t very good at. I struggled to move the dirt itself, so maybe we each had our specialty.

It was well after midnight, the stars doing little to illuminate my surroundings as the new moon approached once again. It had been nearly a month since I got Elora back and lost Rain. With him gone, I felt adrift. It was strikingly similar to how I felt after Lucia died. I didn’t have either of the two people I cared about most. Not in the way I needed. Sometimes, the pain was almost too much to bear.

I walked the length of a path between lilac bushes, eyeing the wisteria crossing the trellis above me. Only branches were left of the plant, the gardener having pruned and trimmed it for the winter. It felt appropriate the garden Rain had created for us in beautiful moments of hope was frozen, dead for now. When I finally approached the railing, I spread my hands out over it and exhaled, watching the steam from my breath dissipate in the crisp air. I didn’t mind the cold; it helped me think. And since I was wide awake and thinking was all I’d likely do until dawn, I wanted the brisk clarity the winter air brought me. In the morning, I would meet with the council once again, and I knew what I needed to do. Since I had not been crowned as queen, I had little say in anything. But the moment I saw the message, I knew what had to be done. Vesta needed him. Elora deserved him.

I’d make the trade.

Dewalt had crowded me after the meeting, probably suspecting what I was thinking. He claimed I would have followers between Rain’s personal guard and the soldiers under Raj’s control at the Cascade. But why risk them? Not now, not after Declan’s letter. During the attack on the Cascade, Raj and Dewalt’s men suffered losses I didn’t want to think about. They were as fractured as I was. I’d helped Dewalt bury every single one of their soldiers, taking on the role Rain usually held. It was a struggle, learning how to move the earth while mourning their loss. No one had commented on my sloppy efforts, for which I was grateful. What men remained at the Cascade worked to remove the mercenaries and soldiers left behind in Clearhill, pushing them out so they could rebuild. Those men were already spread thin, and it was clear Ashmont had no intentions of attacking Darkhold. What options did I have? Ignore Declan’s demands and let them kill Rain? No. Vesta needed Rain more than it needed me. Lavenia had been helping Shivani keep things running properly, but Vesta would suffer without him.

I’d had those few sweet days with him, and they’d have to be enough.

The gods had brought Rain and me together again, ignoring his prayers to forget me and planting me in front of him instead. And they were nothing if not cruel to tear us apart so quickly. I shuddered when I remembered Ciarden and the way the God of Dark had appeared to me, blessing me. The sharp glint from his elongated teeth. The menacing smile. He appeared gleeful as he waited for the destruction I brought down because of Elora’s death.

Gods, she had died that day. In the truest sense of the word, she died. Her heart had stopped, and blood had spilled from her body. Afterwards, I remembered Faxon’s addled words and cursed him once more. You will be covered in her blood, and it will stink of your curse. I wasn’t sure if Faxon even knew what he’d been saying. Every time his voice broke through my thoughts, I wondered if he knew and hated him for it anew.

There had been so much blood.

When the prince slit her throat, he did it deep. There was no mistaking his intentions. Mairin had convinced me to spare him, claiming his aura knew no evil. Too exhausted to continue arguing with her, I had allowed it, permitting Dewalt to question him with force only until Rain returned. Until Elora woke or Rain came back, the prince could rot in the dungeon. Dewalt wanted me to accompany him, to read Cyran’s heart while he questioned him to help break the verit oath he was working against, to see what questions might lead him in the right direction. I couldn’t. I would beat the boy to the point of death and heal him, over and over. I knew my limits, and I would be cruel if given the opportunity.

But no merrow stood between me and the men who hurt Rain, I showed no mercy, and they had information I wanted.

Feeling the itch of Ciarden’s blessing beneath my skin made me fearful of what I would do to the boy. I didn’t think I should give into the temptation—the vile dark power coiling deep in my stomach. Ciarden had never been portrayed as evil, and, in fact, was the patron god of many good things. He was the caretaker of sleep, of dreams, of storms which made our lands flourish. He was the hunt and passion—often attributed as the god of pleasure and desire. None of these things were evil, and yet what I felt within me reeked of it.

Ciarden clearly wasn’t a conduit or a human, and it unsettled me to think about every time I imagined him. The fangs protruding from the corners of a wicked smile were especially unsettling. I would have thought he was elvish because of the teeth, but couldn’t remember if the tips of his ears were pointed. He had eyes the color of frost; I saw them too often in my dreams and nightmares alike. Dryul haunted me too—his body on top of mine, fingers scratching at my throat. The moment I’d told Cyran to take her, and he’d split her skin instead, a curtain of blood raining down. In that instant, I had felt the world stop. And then just behind them, Ciarden—the moonlit skin and dark hair and the way he licked his lips when he watched me. The way his shadows became mine and touched me, ensnared me, their caress a wicked pleasure.

And then I killed Dryul, and something else overcame me. Something predatory and vicious. Something which wasn’t quite me. Maybe it was the divine light meshing with the golden part of my soul. But it took over, and I couldn’t remember anything after that. Not until I woke with Elora in my lap, her wound healed and her heart beating again. I barely had enough divinity left to form the rift, let alone hold it open as I had for Thyra and Dewalt.

I made my way back inside, pulling Rain’s robe closer to me. I was careful when I opened the door, wanting the bedroom to stay warm and comfortable for Elora. Though, part of me wondered if a shock to her system would do her good. If dumping ice water on her would wake her, I’d do it with no remorse. I’d wake her and take my time telling her how much I loved her, saying my goodbyes. To say it while she slept was painful.

She had been dead, and I brought her back. But was this living?

The next morning, everyone gathered in the council room, and all hell broke loose. It had been an hour of arguments and bickering which grated my nerves. Shivani and I sat on opposite ends of the table, the only silent people in the room. I had tuned out the individual voices of the council, only staring at the shell sitting on the table in front of me, a low buzz of sound registering in my ears. Declan had sent it, claiming it had been in Rain’s pocket. The shell was tiny, no larger than a coin, with white and red coloration on its scalloped edges. I wondered how long he had carried it, waiting to give it to me. The shell was proof he had Rain, and Shivani had eyed me cautiously when she handed it over, waiting for me to confirm the truth. I didn’t have to say it because she saw it in my eyes. Gods, it hurt. In his letter, Declan spoke of sending us bloodier gifts if we hesitated. The thought of Rain being hurt pushed me to speak. I’d decided the moment I read the letter, and I’d allowed them to debate for too long already.

“I’ll go.”

Dewalt was the only one who heard me, his mouth clamping shut mid-argument, and he whipped around to face me, eyes ablaze. “Shut up, Emma. Shut the fuck up.”

I ignored him, standing up and speaking louder. “I’ll go. Maybe I can kill him, but if I can’t, you’ll have your king. I will go.”

The council members quieted. Shivani’s gaze remained on the table in front of her, hands clasped in her lap as they had been for the last hour.

“Your Majesty, that is unwise. Perhaps Folterra does not know we have one of their princes in our dungeon. We can try to negotiate.” Sad and placating, Lord Durand’s argument was weak, and I didn’t want to hear it. He’d been one of the few councilors who gave vocal support to me, however limited it might’ve been.

“Durand, I appreciate it, but is it not more unwise to let Declan send back pieces of your king? I will not allow it.” Voices rang out around the room as I sat down. Arrangements were already in place with Thyra to ensure Elora would be well-cared for. I still needed to write a letter, to put in words what my heart ached to say. Was there a simple way to explain I was sorry, that Rain was her father, that I had tried, and I loved her? Gods, how I loved her. I would have gone through this hell over again for her. I was grateful for the time I’d had with Rain, but it was time for me to take care of Vesta. And Vesta needed its king. I barely noticed when Dewalt knelt beside me.

“Emmeline, what the hell are you thinking? If you go to Declan, he’ll kill you which is as good as killing you both.” He had his hands on my knees, turning my body toward him, forcing me to look at him. He and Thyra had been the only two to really look at me these past weeks. While Thyra was there, providing comfort in her presence, Dewalt was the one who saw my grief and anger, who understood and was unafraid. I had barely spoken to anyone outside of these council meetings and for good reason. What was there to say?

“Dewalt, if I don’t do it, he’ll kill him. Which is also as good as killing us both. The difference in my plan is that one of us will survive, and Vesta needs Rain, not me.”

“What about Elora?”

“What about her?”

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