Again and again, Ten has proven herself trustworthy. That is why I will follow her wherever she leads. That is why I will trust her, no matter what the circumstance might be.
If I had a team, I would ask others for help. Might even beg. Anything for Ten. But there’s no one here willing to offer aid or watch my back. My fault. Like Ambrosine, I lied to the people closest to me to advance my own agenda.
Never again.
I will be the man Ten wants. The man she needs. The man she deserves.
Victor enters another Stairwell. In order to pass through this one, however, he must endure an ID test. He places his hand on a data pad, and a machine reads the chip embedded in his Shell’s wrist. As soon as he’s cleared, we enter the most coveted neighborhood in Myriad, hence its name: The Coveted.
All of the Secondking’s children live here. This is where all Generals live, as well, and where all Abrogates will live, when they arrive. This is where I have wanted to live my entire life. Mansions, castles and palaces abound. There isn’t a hut or a shack in the bunch.
Victor lives in a palace that makes the most exquisite building in the Land of the Harvest look like a hovel. A bridge leads to a towering golden statue of his likeness. On either side is a wild, rushing waterfall that flows into a rocky moat. Ambrosia trees fill the courtyard and sweeten the air. Myriad’s emblem is carved in walls made of crystal.
Servants stand outside, opening the doors as he approaches.
“Leave us,” he barks.
The pitter-patter of rushing footsteps sounds as guards and maids rush to obey, dodging opulent furnishings framed by a plethora of precious gems. A Florentine ebony chest inlaid with rubies. A table made entirely of sapphires. A diamond encrusted sofa with a solid gold frame. But the prince’s most prized possession? An alabaster display case with a man-pelt inside.
I’ve heard the story about the pelt a million times. Everyone has. Over the eons, Ambrosine and his brother Eron have met twice to discuss a peace treaty. At least, Eron the Prince of Doves believed peace was the goal. The first time, Ambrosine betrayed and skinned his brother. The second time, after Eron’s skin had grown back, Ambrosine rinsed and repeated.
He would have killed Eron if he could have, but Eron survived.
One pelt hangs in the Temple of Unholies as a display of Ambrosine’s “strength.” He must have given the other pelt to Victor as a thank you for bombing Troika.
Once, I bought into the hype, believing true strength came from a willingness to do whatever proved necessary to achieve victory. No longer. If the means is unjust, nothing justifies it.
However, I’m not looking for justification right now.
Victor sets my cage in the center of the room, a loud clang assaulting my overly sensitive ears. I’m not yet healed from all those volts of electricity.
I search my surroundings and find one of my Shells stands next to the display case. On the coffee table rests a remote and a large metal tong—no question, it’s for my neck. Like the cage, the tong is made for both spirit and Shell.
He prepared for this, I realize. He planned to take over my “care” all along.
With a smile, he lifts the remote and flips a switch. Suddenly the cage is electrified, one volt after another spearing me in place. Even when the volts die down, I’m unable to move. Tremors continue to rack me, and I know Ten is enduring the same.
Payback will hurt—him.
His smile grows ever wider as he opens the cage and uses the tong to drag me out. He forces my spirit to slip inside the Shell and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Some force greater than myself acts as a magnet, holding me inside.
When he releases the tong, a metal collar remains around my neck, and the magnetic charge intensifies, ensuring I’m stuck inside my new prison—a prison bound to the wall with the same kind of shadows Javier used on Ten. The dark bands wrap around the wrists and ankles.
“I’m having fun already.” He unsheathes a knife—and stabs me in the stomach. “Are you?”
My lips part on a grunt of pain. While a Shell usually mutes the sensations a spirit feels, negative or positive, I’m overly sensitized. I. Feel. Everything. Which means Ten feels everything, my poor, sweet lass.
Revenge…
“I will make yer brain leak through yer eyes until you cry your thoughts,” I tell him calmly.
As Lifeblood pours from my wound, weakening me further, he steps back to survey his handiwork. “You look good with extra holes. Let’s add a few more, shall we?”
“Go ahead. Do it. Just know I’ll repay you a hundredfold for every slice.”
“Brave talk for a prisoner.” He sinks the blade into my other side, and as I hiss, Victor wipes my Lifeblood on his leather pants. “You should lighten up. This isn’t personal. I have a lot of anger issues with your girl, and not a lot of time to exorcise them.”
“Poor baby. Are you angry because she kicked your ass? Twice?”
Rage flares in his eyes—a reflection of my own? He punches me in the chest, right over my heart, warping the next beat. Then, deceptively calm, he asks, “What do you see in her? You can find a pretty girl anywhere, any time, and really, they all look the same in the dark. So what turns you and Archer into fools whenever this one steps into a room?”
Easy. “She has proven loyal, selfless and kind.” Three things I never knew I admired, until now. “Things you’ll never be.”
He laughs a little. “You make her sound like a dog.”
“Which is why dogs are often better than people.”
Another flare of rage. Another punch in the chest.
Forgive. Win with Light.
Again the other side of me speaks up. This time, as I fight for breath, I actually listen. I want to win. Obviously, fighting fire with fire doesn’t work. You must fight fire with water. Only Light can chase away darkness.
Right now, there’s only one person who might share her Light with me.
Hating myself, I push my voice along the bridge that’s connecting me to Ten. —I need your Light, lass. Archer’s, too. Actually, any Light anyone in Troika can spare. Please. I doona deserve it. I know this. But I’m askin’ anyway. It’s the only way I know tae save you.—
Seconds tick by without a response, and I fear she’s given up on me.
One more chance. I need one more chance. I won’t mess up, not again. I’ll pour everything I’ve got, everything I am, into this.
Finally her soft voice whispers over the Grid. —Or you hope to weaken me further, and do what Javier failed to do: destroy Troika through me.—
The accusation cuts deeper than Victor’s blows. But just like Victor’s blows, it is deserved. —Please, lass. I know I’ve done you wrong, but I need the chance tae do you right. This is the only way.—
—Only Killian Flynn can be pervy and apologetic at the same time.—
—It’s a gift.— She’s going to trust me? At least in this? I wait, hopeful, ready to be flooded with Light, but one minute ticks into another and the darkness remains as thick as ever.
Too weak?
Decided not to trust me, after all?
—I’m not currently connected to Archer. I got my Light from—never mind. Ready?— A moment passes in silence. —Argh! This must be how Archer felt when he tried to send me Light. You’re shielded. Drop the shield, Killian.—
Shielded?
A fist slams into my jaw, my head whipping to the side. “Are you paying attention?” Victor demands. “Or are you going to tell me I’m hitting like a girl?”
“I would never lie so outrageously. I mean, you’ll need to hit a lot harder if you want to be compared to a girl.”
My words prick his pride, and once again rage explodes inside his eyes. Shouting obscenities, spittle spraying from the corners of his mouth, he whales on me, slamming his fist into my face again and again. With every new blow, my pain magnifies, more Lifeblood leaking from me, my skin shredding inside and out.
What’s worse, I can feel T
en’s pain. Almost my undoing.
“You want this to stop?” Victor runs his tongue over his teeth. “Beg me, then. Beg me, and I’ll stop.”
I…can’t. He’s read my file; I know he has. Even the parts Archer deleted. There’s always a backup. Victor knows the General made me beg, then never followed through. He won’t follow through, either.
Would Ten beg for my life, just for the chance to save me pain?
“You picked the wrong team, Killian. In Myriad, you could have become someone of means, who makes a difference. In Troika, you will never be accepted. You’ll always be the Butcher.”
Maybe, but maybe not. How will I know unless I give everyone a chance?
How will I know if I don’t fight for better?
The truth is, people who are hurt oftentimes choose to hurt others, whether wittingly or unwittingly. Either way, it’s a vicious cycle. By maiming and killing him, I will perpetuate the problem.
Perhaps Ten did manage to share her Light with me. Perhaps I possess a reservoir of Light and just didn’t realize it. Miracle of miracles, my desire for vengeance has begun to fade. But then, darkness is never a match for Light. The two do not tangle up. As soon as Light comes, darkness cannot remain the sole focus.
My shields drop. Suddenly a beam of Light zooms across the Grid, followed by another and another.
Ten’s voice fills my head. —Thank the Firstking! I’ve opened the link with Archer. We’re giving you all we’ve got.—
Victor lands his next blow—and bellows with pain. He stumbles away from me. At the same time, the shadows in my head scramble, desperate to hide. The shadows around my wrists and ankles loosen, fall away. The collar around my neck clinks open and thuds on the floor.
For a moment, only a moment, I’m bathed in pure Light. Not just Light, but a rainbow of Light. More real than the Shell I’m housed in or the air I’m breathing. It is brilliant. Luminous. Glorious. Hope and beauty in vibrant Technicolor. Everything my life has been missing. Everything I never knew I needed.
The Light heals my wounds, strengthens my body and fades. Like one of my memories, it vanishes, all used up. I mourn the loss. Light is like food, I realize. One meal will never be enough to truly live.
My eyes narrow as I focus on Victor. Another gift of the Light—the magnetic charge is gone. I can move in and out of the Shell at will. I can move, period.
Before he can puzzle through what’s happened, I yank the blade from his grip.
The old me would have smiled at him, the same cold smile he’s leveled on me so many times. I would have stabbed him, gifting him with wounds similar to my own. But I’m not the old me. Because of Ten, I’ve been made new.
1 + 10 = 11
1 + 1 = 2
2 is better than 1. We are better together.
In a single, fluid movement, I pick up the metal collar and dive for Victor. As our Shells crash together, he’s ready for me and throws a punch. A split second after I block, we land. He takes the brunt of impact, his skull knocking into the marble tiles, disorienting him.
Wasting no time, I throw a punch. Or four. My rings rip through his skin, Lifeblood seeping from him. I have forgiven him, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to let him go free. He must be stopped.
When he is sufficiently disoriented, I scramble up, my knees pinning his shoulders. Once again I hammer my fist into his face. With my actions, my rage attempts to resurface and overtake me, but I fight it off with the same fierceness I fight Victor, maintaining a clear head. Ten was right. Emotion clouds judgment. Alive, Victor can be used…
Now I grin, a plan beginning to form.
The change in my expression frightens him. Good. “Please,” he croaks.
Well, well. Look at him beg.
“You mean I should show you mercy when you showed none to me?” Teeth bite into my skin, cutting into my knuckles, but I never pause. He bats at my arms—at first. “Apparently you have no’ heard of sowin’ and reapin’.”
And what are you sowing right now?
You chose to forgive him. Now act like it.
A curse spills from my lips, but I raise my arms in the air, ending the assault.
His body goes lax as his head lolls to the side.
Taking no chances, I hurriedly step out of my Shell, pull his spirit out of his, and switch places with him. That done, I snap the collar around his neck.
It’s odd, enslaving a Shell with my face.
Next I wrap a cloth around his eyes to hide the color of his irises, hook a muzzle over his mouth to keep him quiet, and anchor his hands behind his back.
“Doona think tae blame me for this,” I tell his unconscious form, no longer fighting my accent. Had he let me go with Ten, this would never have happened. “Yer need for vengeance drove you straight tae yer doom.”
A sense of urgency propels me from my new Shell. I strip, thankful there are mirrors everywhere. I study my tattoos. Line…line…line. Image. A woman’s face, gentle, serene, even as tears of blood drip down her cheeks. One of those tears splashes onto one of the lines…
A memory clicks into place. The location of a stash of Troikan-made weapons. Things capable of hurting fellow Myriadians. Forbidden items. The penalty for having one, much less an arsenal, is death.
I look over the rest of my body. Click, click. Click. All excellent items. Myriadian weapons. Extra ambrosia. Shells. But none will help me now. Then I turn, look over my shoulder and scan my back. Again, I discard one buried treasure after another—
Click. A universal key. Yes. That! I can use it to free Ten from the town square.
Firstking save the realm then. I won’t stop until every inch of Myriad is laid to waste.
Forgive. Save.
A demand from the other side of me. The Light side. I forgave Victor, because I sympathize with his past. I know the pain hiding in his heart. Been there, done that. But I don’t think I can forgive Ambrosine. Too much betrayal, on too wide a scale.
You must. Break the cycle of betrayal.
Can I? I’m a new man, but old habits die hard.
Jaw locked, I dress, return to Victor’s Shell, and head off.
I have to choose, and I choose Ten. Though I’ve broken the fragile threads of her trust, I will make amends. I will be better. She is my family now, and I’ll prove it.
TROIKA
From: A_P_5/23.43.2
To: T_L_2/23.43.2, R_A_5/40.5.16
Subject: We’ve got problems
First, I’m using a stronger wattage, so hopefully this will reach you. Second, try not to crap yourself. I’ll do the same.
Remember how I told you that two Generals joined Raanan, Deacon and Clementine at one of the warehouses? And do you also remember how you told me that Myriad was sending people to kill the Abrogates? Well, Myriad sent more than a few people. They sent an army. A battle broke out at all eighteen warehouses.
We were winning…until Myriad decided to bomb the warehouses, killing their own people. Many of the Abrogates are dead, their spirits now in Myriad.
General Ying Wo is dead, as well. General Alejandro is missing.
Also—yep, there’s more—Sloan was killed. I’m so sorry. I know you loved her. Perhaps this will lessen the blow: She fought like a true warrior. The humans we managed to save, we saved because of her.
Or perhaps that doesn’t lesson the blow. Death is death. Deacon is inconsolable.
What’s worse—yep, there’s still worse—Penumbra has already begun to spread among humans…and spirits.
I’m sorry, but I won’t be sending you any more Light, just in case I’m tainted. You’ve got your own darkness to handle. And I don’t want to risk contacting you Grid to Grid, either.
We’re in crisis, Ten, trying to cleanse our infected. We’re new Conduits, and we’re struggling, even with the princess’s help. We need you. Please, come home. In Myriad, you are nothing but a target.
Light Brings Sight!
Archer Prince, Conduit of Conduits ←Yeah, I sai
d it, and I stand by it
PS: Biscuit says “Hi hello how are you I miss you like crazy where are you I want to be with you please come home soon or I’m going to start peeing on your friends.”
chapter eighteen
“Be true to your desires—be true to yourself.”
—Myriad
Ten
As Javier carts me through the town square, he calls, “Meet Tenley Lockwood, a Troikan Conduit. She’s considered their best soldier. The one they believe will win the war— for them.”
Snickers ring out first, followed by boos, hisses and curses.
“Troikan trash!” Rotted ambrosia pelts me.
I’m too horrified by Archer’s message to lament my treatment. No one bothered to disable my comm after his beam of Light healed me; either they didn’t notice or they don’t care, because no Troikans are able to enter Myriad to help me.
I need to send a reply, and I will, as soon as I’m alone.
Javier reaches through the bars of my cage to rip away my clothing, leaving me in my undergarments. Cool air slaps my skin, but my mind remains unresponsive to my current circumstances. Penumbra is spreading. Sloan is dead, her spirit most likely in Many Ends. One Troikan General is dead, too. Another is missing.
Perhaps Alejandro has been imprisoned in the Land of the Harvest. Perhaps he’s being tortured for information that can be used against his realm.
Maybe I should have followed Alejandro’s orders before this started. Maybe I should have gone to the warehouse and done everything in my power to save Sloan and cleanse the infected humans. Would Ying Wo Ling still live? Would Alejandro be with his people?
Would I be dead?
Instead, I insisted on accompanying Killian to Myriad, buoyed by thoughts of peace and the belief that we would rescue every spirit trapped in Many Ends.
Killian warned me not to trust him, but once again, I insisted on doing things my way.
I’m Ten Lockwood, after all. I know everything.
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
Where is Killian now? What’s being done to him?
Everlife (An Everlife Novel) Page 24
