Shadows protest such close proximity to her, my bride. The bond warms and tingles, empowering the Light inside me. I don’t care. Tension crackles in the air, so thick I can feel tendrils of it brush against my skin, sensitizing my nerve endings. She feels it, too. Her inhalations grow shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick succession.
She’s tall for a girl, but I dwarf her. I have a good hundred pounds of muscle on her, too. I could easily overpower her. And yet, just then, overpowering her isn’t what I crave…
The fact that she doesn’t back down, well, I’m impressed.
“Before our bond, someone in Myriad told you the identity of the human your mother’s spirit is supposedly Fused with. A teenage girl,” she says, her voice as calm and steady as before. “You tracked her down, and decided she couldn’t possibly be the woman who had given birth to you. Couldn’t even be half of her. So I told you my suspicion—Fusion is a lie Myriadians tell to cover up the fact that they wind up in Many Ends after Second-death.”
Please. “I would know if Many Ends was connected to Myriad.”
“Because you know everything? Because you’re never wrong? Because no one in Myriad has ever been dishonest for personal gain? Which is it, Killian? One, two or three?” She grips the bars of the cage, and shakes. “Maybe all? A lie cannot stand forever, because its foundation is fundamentally cracked. When a storm comes, the lie will crumble and fall, and only the truth will remain.”
I don’t want to answer her questions or respond to her analogy, but for some reason I don’t want to lie to her or hurt her, either.
Wanting her off guard, I reach out and place my hands over hers. She gasps, but still she doesn’t back down. Her gaze zooms to my wrist, to the horse branded there.
“Have we had sex yet?” I ask with enough sneer and leer to enrage a saint.
Her gaze jerks back up, meeting mine. Twin pink circles stain her cheeks. The blush quickly spreads to her neck, covering the pulse hammering at the base, and along her collarbone. How I would love to strip her, find out just how far that blush travels.
“No,” she snaps. “We were waiting until we could touch without our Shells.”
As we’re doing now? “Interesting, considering I’ve never waited for anyone.”
“You said you’d wait forever for me.”
Another lie. Except…
I’ve never wanted anyone this intensely.
Slowly, so slowly, giving her time to avoid me if that is her choice, I lift my hand toward her face. She merely lifts her chin another notch. The closer I get to contact, the tenser we both become. Then my fingertips are on the rise of her cheekbone. A tremor rocks her at the same time that whitelightning arcs through me.
White-lightning…pleasure.
Undiluted bliss.
With a grunt, I drop my arm to my side to sever contact. I’d wanted to tease her, as well as put her on the defensive by saying something smarmy like, We can touch now. How about you hit your knees, baby, and drink me down. At the moment, I can’t work a single word past the lump growing in my throat.
The front door of the house suddenly bursts open, and a new snarl leaves me. Archer Prince, a boy I despise with every fiber of my being, stomps inside, a massive whiteand-brown dog at his side. A tiny Chihuahua trails behind them.
My mind locks on a single thought: Archer was dead, and now he’s alive. I watched him die. We were in the middle of a battle and—
Shadows sink their claws into the memory. Distorting my view of it? I wince.
“I said I would prove spirits that experience Second-death never return to the Land of the Harvest. Well, here is my proof.” Tenley sounds almost smug. “Fusion is a lie.”
“For Troikans, at least.”
Now she sputters for a response.
Not by word or deed do I reveal she’s set my mind on a new path. Could Fusion be a lie for Myriadians, too?
A bolt of Light slams into the shadows. Hisses erupt. Darkness scatters. Despite a flare of pain, a memory clicks into place. I’ve heard rumors that Troikans can be resurrected; Light is life. That Myriadians cannot be resurrected because shadows are, supposedly, death.
Perhaps Myriadians could be resurrected, as well, if our Secondking would let us? But in order to preserve the illusion of Fusion, the dead must stay dead.
Not that Fusion is an illusion. Truth…lie… Suspicion niggles the back of my mind.
If this is true, the other might be true as well, and more than the Unsigned go to Many Ends.
Unease slithers through me.
Archer’s copper gaze skips over me to land on the girl. For some reason—that treacherous bond, no doubt—I’m not happy that another guy is looking at her, and she’s looking back.
Can’t get her to Myriad soon enough. Will use her against Troika, lock her away and finally wash my hands of her.
Blue flashes from Tenley’s comm. With a single tap, a glowing message appears just over her wrist. I’m unable to read the words, but she hasn’t received good news. Her color fades. She frowns.
“We’ve got problems,” Archer says.
“Tell me about it,” Tenley mutters.
“The army…it’s already here.”
TROIKA
From: Unknown
To: T_L_2/23.43.2
Subject: Hi
Did I tell you I died? I’m sorry I killed Killian.
I cried. You cried. I cried some more. I’m glad my husband made it up to you.
Light was the answer. Light was always the answer.
TROIKA
From: T_L_2/23.43.2
To: Unknown
Subject: Aunt Lina?
Let’s face it: If anyone could find a way to reach me in the Everlife, it’s you. But I need clarification about, well, everything you said. You died, or you will die? Are you in Myriad, or will you wind up in Myriad sometime in the future? Please—PLEASE—help me understand.
And what do you mean, you killed Killian? Tell me every detail! You have to know I won’t let you hurt him. I will stop you—wait. Is that why you die? Do I kill you? (If you aren’t already dead, that is. Ugh, I’m confusing myself.)
Second to last question: If Light is the answer, what is the question?
Lastish query (on my part): Who is your husband? You and Uncle Tim are divorced, and you’ve never remarried.
Light Brings Sight!
Conduit-in-training,
Ten Lockwood
chapter eight
“Make others fear your anger now, and save yourself heartache later.”
—Myriad
Ten
Anger and frustration mount as Lina’s message plays through my mind. Neither of which will do me any good right now. Lashing out will make a bad situation worse.
My emotions cannot dictate my actions. Right. I block the message and all its implications—for now—and focus on the matters at hand.
Bea growls at Killian, the cutest little bundle of ferocity I’ve ever seen.
Killian growls right back, though there’s no heat to the action.
Unable to trust my husband at my back, I step away from him and toward Archer. Bea goes quiet, but turns her focus to me, as if daring me to make a move against her charge.
“How many soldiers?” I ask him. “How many Generals?” A sense of urgency kicks my heart into a gallop that would put our zebras to shame. “Where are they?”
“Two hundred soldiers, led by Luciana and John,” he replies. He’s pale, little tremors shaking him on his feet. “They—”
“Hey. Are you all right?” I ask, fighting concern. Leaving the Rest couldn’t have been easy for him. There, he’d had peace. Here, I’ve tossed him straight into war.
He continues as if I never interrupted. “—just exited the nearest Gate. I’m guessing they want to capture you and lock you up until they can find a way to break your bond with Killian without killing you.”
John Blake. I don’t know much about him. Considering the current location of his army,
I have roughly five minutes to learn everything I can. “What do I need to know about John? And was there any sign of Shamus?”
“No sign of Shamus.” He thinks for a moment, frowns. “There’s a back entrance to every city, one only Generals are supposed to use. Shamus could be sneaking in from the other side.”
Or he’s staying as far away from me as possible, because he fears what I’ll do to him the next time I see him.
“As for John,” Archer continues, “you should know he’s—”
“The one who’s called upon when capture rather than death is the desired result,” Killian interjects. “That’s why your boyfriend thinks the army plans to capture you.”
I scrub a hand down my face and mutter, “Archer isn’t my boyfriend. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” Killian glares daggers at me, as if I landed a powerful blow. “What does that mean?”
A romantic relationship with Archer would have been easy, even effortless. Too bad I feel only sisterly toward him.
Archer’s gaze is unreadable as he glances between Killian and me. “John’s soldiers will do their best to split us up. They’ll want to capture one of us, at least. Once they succeed, they’ll torture the captive in an effort to control the rest of us.”
“If they fail, will they try and use Jeremy against me?”
“No. Never. Not for any reason.” Archer shakes his head, adamant. “He’s a child, an innocent, and he’s off-limits.”
Inhale…exhale…
Will I sacrifice my friends to save Killian?
Will I sacrifice Killian to save my friends?
Yes and yes. Sacrifice anything and anyone. Save yourself.
No and no. Sacrifice yourself to save the others.
Ugh! There are two sides of me. Troikan and Myriadian. Those sides will never agree. Not exactly a news flash, I know, but come on! The constant tug-of-war leaves me floundering.
I’d go with what I know, but any sacrifice I make will be in vain. Archer is right. The Generals hope to sever my bond with Killian. I can’t let them. I must get into Many Ends.
One of the reasons I choose to live in Troika? The people (supposedly) support each other in the best and worst of times. The people (supposedly) love each other. Didn’t take me long to learn that people are people, and no matter their realm, they are flawed. They make mistakes. Even Troikans sometimes let their emotions get the better of them.
Sow and reap. A harvest will come in. Sow support, receive support. Sow dissent, receive dissent. Today, I will sow support—for the innocents who need me. I will not let the shadows win.
“Here.” Archer tosses me two short swords, his aim off. “You don’t want to hurt our people. I know. I get it. But you can’t remain weaponless while armed soldiers approach.”
I have to jump to the left to catch both swords by their hilts. “You just came back from the dead, and I’ve thrust you into the middle of a war with people you love, respect and admire. If you want to ride the pine for this battle, I will—”
“Ride the pine while you risk your life?” If looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Never!”
“—knee your testicles into your throat,” I finish.
A moment passes while he absorbs my words. Then he snorts, and the reaction is pure Archer. He’s always appreciated my snarkier quirks.
“A little obsessed with balls, wouldna you say?” Killian asks me.
His accent has emerged a couple of times, thrilling me. Even better, his words are classic Killian, his snarling tone suggesting he’s upset that I dared to threaten another male’s genitalia. Like I’m supposed to threaten his, and his alone.
I turn, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. However, he isn’t focused on me but Archer, and it’s safe to say he’s forgotten the truce he and his former bestie once shared. Killian’s expression is cold and dark, and his hands are twitching, as if he wishes he clutched his own pair of blades.
Boys!
His life matters more than his feelings.
The house begins to shake, only to stop…shake again. Stop. Shake. Stop. My heart thuds in time. “Bombs?”
Archer smiles with genuine amusement. “Nah. I think the elephants have arrived.”
Elephants? Seriously? Well, why not?
Killian looks at me, one brow arched. “Perhaps you’re Fused with Tarzan. Or some kind of Disney princess.”
Fusion again. Before this day ends, I’m going to slap him. As a favor to us both. Maybe I’ll knock some sense into him.
Ignoring him, Archer says, “I placed inter-realm Bucklers around the house. No one but us will be able to transport inside. On the other hand, none of us will be able to transport out, either. We’ll have to walk.”
A small price to pay for a safe haven. “Where are the others?”
“Here.” Raanan’s voice blasts through the house.
He appears, with Clay and Reed at his sides. Clementine and a blonde Healer named Dawn are quick on their heels. Dawn has patched me up on numerous occasions.
Different animals trot in behind the group, and introductions are made.
Raanan’s guardian is a donkey named Pop Tart. Spot, one of the zebras, is working with Clay. Paco the parrot stakes his claim on Reed by perching on his shoulder. A black Lab named Frank remains glued to Clementine’s side. Gloria, a deer, is paired with Dawn.
I wish Kayla were here. Forget any trust issues. She would understand me better than most. And she’s part of our crew. She’s valued. Where is she? Last time I saw her, she was inside a makeshift hospital, recovering.
Dawn looks me over, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. “What have you done to yourself?” When she’s standing directly in front of me, she checks my vitals and pulls a small syringe from her pocket.
“Whoa,” I say. “Hold up.” A sedative? What if she’s here to knock me out and make me easy prey for the Generals?
“So suspicious.” Again she clicks her tongue against her teeth. “This is concentrated manna. You have my word, Conduit. I’m a Healer. I’ve never hurt anyone, never will.”
Deciding to trust her—because she’s never lied to me before—I relax, allowing her to inject my bicep annnnd yes. Warmth seeps inside me, trailed by strength. Definitely concentrated manna.
The shadows kick up a fuss, malevolence spewing from them. They crave death and destruction—not just mine, but everyone’s.
These shadows…
Ambrosine and his people revere them. But…but…why? I don’t understand. Why is Ambrosine like he is? He has the same father as Eron. The two had the same upbringing. How can one brother be so good and the other so evil?
Choice.
The single word whispers across the Grid, and I suck in a breath. New Light floods me, the Grid suddenly glowing like a tree at Christmas, sending the shadows fleeing, desperate for cover.
Relief nearly buckles my knees, and yet, my mind remains on the quandary. Ambrosine versus Eron. Always everything comes back to choice.
Something I know firsthand: Every downward slide begins with a single thought.
Troikan history claims Ambrosine envied—envies—his brother. When the first vine of envy grew in his heart, he must have fed and watered it, rather than yanking it up by the root and destroying it. Eventually he would have reached a point of no return, his mind completely overshadowed by a garden of jealousy, resentment and rage.
Now he is obsessed with the idea of besting his brother.
And Killian is currently his staunchest ally.
My husband has devolved into the person I first met at Prynne, doing everything in his power to intimidate me. Or seduce me. With him, there’s no middle ground.
How am I supposed to deal with him?
When he touched me moments ago, the shadows inside my head quieted, but only for a few seconds as pleasure assailed me. I’d begun to hope. Surely we can make this work. Then he backed away as if I’m the equivalent of toxic waste, and the shadows erupted all o
ver again.
I’m floundering. I want to hug and kiss him, then shake and slap him.
Actually, there’s no need to deal with him right now. Lives are at stake. I’ve got to take my relationship out of the equation. And really, no relationship is going to be a fifty-fifty give-and-take every day. Some days—some weeks and even months—someone is going to need their partner to pick them up and carry them.
Dawn uses a second syringe on me. Warmth…a river of new Light…a new tide of information from the Grid…
When the first human spirits arrived in Myriad and bonded to Ambrosine, their Secondking, his shadows had new hosts. Mere playthings. New darkness was conceived, and the vilest emotions quickly spread.
Ambrosine can’t just be dethroned; he must be killed. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Although, the notion goes against everything I’ve come to believe. All life is precious.
How can I justify murder?
In war—on the battlefield—I protect the weak, the innocent, even the not so innocent, those who can’t or won’t defend themselves. An enemy who attacks us must be dealt with, plain and simple. Otherwise we’ll be enslaved or slaughtered.
When Ambrosine dies, his shadows will die with him. At least in theory. Myriadians could be freed from his evil influence, able to live life on their own terms.
Yes! This! This is what I want.
Since no one else seems willing to do the deed, the burden falls on me. But how am I to accomplish it? Ambrosine isn’t human or spirit; he’s something else entirely. Like must fight like. Flesh to flesh. Spirit to spirit.
And what about my shadows? How did they come to be? At first, I thought they came from my bond with Killian. Then I suspected they’d been with me for years. Now I’m certain. We all have a garden in need of tending. I failed to uproot hatred for my father and fury directed at my mother. I fed and watered both in the bowels of Prynne Asylum.
Upon my escape, I buried my emotions, but I didn’t eradicate them. They’ve been with me for years.
I shudder. I need a complete overhaul, but oh, wow, there’s so much to do.
One mission at a time. Right now, I choose to focus on the emancipation of Myriadians. They can be saved. And, no matter who they are or where they come from, they are worth saving.
Everlife (An Everlife Novel) Page 11
