by Sara Ella
Yes. Mom. Joshua. Makai. All of them have put my needs before their own.
“Everyone has an agenda. Everyone. You may think those close to you love you unconditionally, but take it from me, there’s always another reason behind their actions. Always.”
Oh my word. Ky was right. Gage’s behavior tonight proves it. Why did I let my stupid pride get in the way?
Hoot. Hoot. I search for the owl. Are its calls meant for me? No. I’m delusional. If the nocturnal bird is a disguised human, what’s it waiting for?
Stormy plunges to her knees, still clutching the gate’s bars. “I’m sorry, Eliyana. Please forgive me. I have to do this. For Kuna.” Her grief is a black hole.
“I understand.” And I do. Because I’d do the same for Mom. Gage is wrong. If Stormy’s willing to risk everything to save Kuna, there has to be a vessel of the Verity.
“See what love gets you?” Gage leers. Is he taking pleasure in Stormy’s sorrow? “If you weren’t so desperate to keep your dirty little secret from your oblivious husband, you wouldn’t be in this position now.”
Dirty little secret? Stormy? Now I’ve heard everything.
“You made an oath, Gage. We all did. ‘To the Crown until Death,’ remember? I didn’t think you’d actually go through with this.”
“Oh, please. Of course you did. What good is an oath when there is no crown to bind it? And don’t feign innocence for the girl’s sake. You knew exactly what I was doing when I brought that traitor along on our little excursion across the sea.” He faces me again, his superior smirk pleading to be smacked off. “It took a good beating, but Kyaphus eventually spilled about your encounter with the Troll. How she seemed to think you’d make a fine slave. Everything was falling into place. We’d take you to the Physic. Once you were healed, we’d ditch the others and trade you to Isabeau.”
“We? Are you saying Ky was . . . he was helping you?” No way. He said his brokenness was an act. A ruse to earn my trust.
“Don’t get me wrong, the little weasel was reluctant. But when I told him his precious baby sister’s life was at stake, I knew he’d do anything to protect her. Even if it meant aiding me.”
“I know exactly what it feels like to care for someone so much, the very thought of their pain cripples you.”
Oh, Ky.
“And then my entire plan went to the Void. Kyaphus saw through my lie. He figured out there was no possible way for me to get near his sister, so he double-crossed me.” Gage releases me, darts to Stormy. “And you. Did you really believe summoning the squall would slow me down? That somehow drowning me would let you off the hook?”
She swipes at her dripping nose. “It didn’t hurt to try.” The disdain in her eyes is like nothing I’ve witnessed.
“Lucky for me the Leviathan came along.” Knife in hand, he stalks to me. “All Kyaphus did by taking you to Crowe was make my job a whole lot easier. When we found you, I knew his tune had changed. He wouldn’t have released you if his sister was still alive.”
“Those reasons are no longer valid.”
Ky’s story becomes clearer by the minute. The reason he worked for Crowe. His sudden switch of sides. His refusal to use his Calling to force me into submission. Did something happen to his sister?
“I have nothing left to lose.”
I know the answer. Because I’d do anything for Mom. If I lost her, I’d feel the same way.
“Which brings us here.” He withdraws a small vial from his jacket pocket. “I swiped this Slumbrosia from Wade’s stock. A couple drops below the nose, one inhale, and you’ll sleep for hours. Joshua was more difficult. Had to sneak up behind him.”
“Some nerve you have calling Ky a traitor when you’ve been one all along.” I spit in his face.
He blinks, then closes his Hulk-strong fingers around my neck. “Stormy, is the Threshold ready?”
Threshold? Where are we going?
Without lifting her head she whispers, “Yes.”
Just when I’m about to be soaked by the now-full fountain, the owl’s hooting grows louder. It swoops down, digging its talons into Gage’s hair. He swats at it, and I scramble away. The owl pecks, unrelenting, at his skull. I can’t look away. I’m the rubbernecker I always criticized.
He stabs the air with his knife. Steel connects with the bird’s wing, and it screeches, taking flight.
Blood flows down Gage’s face as he lunges in my direction. I avoid him easily, running back through the gate and slamming it behind me.
He removes his shirt and mops the blood away, smearing it so his skin looks stained. And his torso . . . his arms . . . every vein is visible. Blackened as if burned. Winding and twisting, reaching straight for his heart. “You think a little iron’s going to stop me?”
Before I can answer, a voice behind me bellows, “No. I am.”
I spin as Ky flings his mirrorglass dagger past me. A flawless throw, spiraling straight through two bars and into Gage’s stomach.
He staggers back.
Ky sprints past me, bursts through the gate, seizes Gage by his biceps. And looks him directly . . . in . . . the . . . eyes. “Come near her again and you’ll wish this blade was made of steel.” He yanks the knife out, wipes the bloody blade on his pants, sheathes it. “Leave. Now.”
Gage’s face turns white. He tumbles over the fountain’s edge and lands in the water with a deafening splash.
He’s gone. Stormy falls backward, bawling. Whether from relief or terror, I can’t tell.
Ky could’ve paralyzed Gage and let him drown. But he didn’t. He showed mercy. Maybe I was wrong to jump to conclusions. There’s more to Ky than meets the eye.
He releases heavy breaths as he comes to me and unties my wrists with care. “This would make the third time I’ve saved you, Ember.”
I don’t argue. Instead, my current level of flip-out causes me to do something against all previous resolve. I slam into him, crushing my face against his shoulder and clutching him so tightly I can hardly breathe. My entire frame trembles, but not for long. His warmth permeates my shakes, dispels them. He smells like fresh-cut grass and earth. If I close my eyes I can almost imagine I’m standing in Mom’s sketch, breathing in the scent surrounding the life she always wanted.
Arms stiff and body rigid, Ky just stands there for a moment. But then his muscles relax. As if in slow motion, he drops the rope and enfolds me, softening the ache inside. Ever so gently, he strokes my back, his pulse thunderous.
Somehow I don’t mind.
TWENTY
Reality
What now?
Is this wrong?
Doesn’t feel wrong. Doesn’t feel right either.
He’s not Joshua. No one will ever be Joshua.
Except . . .
Joshua’s touch is otherworldly, like a fairy tale. Perfect, but forever unattainable.
But this . . .
This is real. Ky’s holding me, and he’s not changing his mind or pushing me away.
Maybe a little too real. I clear my throat. Slip from his hold. “Ky, how did you . . . ? Gage said she gave everyone some sort of sleeping potion.” Did that really happen? If Gage was a traitor, who else might be?
Ky links his thumbs through his belt loops, jerks his head to get the hair out of his eyes. “Apparently Commander Cretin forgot to pack his brain. Everyone knows Shields are immune to medicines of any kind.”
Before I can ask what a Shield is, the owl dives, circles our heads, and then lands with grace at our feet. Two black-and-yellow marble eyes blink up at me as the owl cocks its head in a very humanlike gesture. Then it morphs, growing, stretching. Brown-and-white feathers smooth into sun-kissed skin. The eyes and beak shrink inward, and a woman’s face takes shape. Just like Wren, Owl Woman is naked.
Ky, as usual, doesn’t react. At this point he’s probably used to seeing animals transform into naked girls.
The woman’s lips camber into a mischievous grin. “I do apologize for not swooping in sooner, but I tho
ught it might be useful to hear what the Guardian’s plans were. May I borrow this?” She tugs on my jacket sleeve. Her voice is lovely, clear and deep.
“Lark?” I balk, shrugging out of Wren’s jacket and handing it to her. Blood seeps from a cut on her arm. She’s tall, with soft, bell-shaped curves and waist-length, coffee-colored hair. I’d peg her at age forty, much younger than the woman who welcomed us earlier. But what astonishes me most is the confidence she exudes, not a trace of embarrassment in her almond eyes.
“Yes.” Lark slips her arms through the sleeves and pinches the front flaps closed. It cinches, barely covering her. “I take it you’ve never met a Mask with three states of being?” Her dark eyebrows arch, a prideful air resting on her squared shoulders.
“She has,” Ky says. When did his tone become so soft? Can this be the same boy who pressed his knife into my side four days ago? “She just didn’t know it at the time.” He turns to me. “Isabeau has three forms like Lark here. Woman, Troll, and animal.”
If the wench changed into a bug I’d squash her. “What animal?”
“No one knows.” Lark’s shoulders rise, the jacket opening slightly.
I can’t help but notice Ky’s gaze doesn’t fall to her abundant cleavage.
“I do believe Isabeau prefers it that way.”
Could the Troll’s secret have something to do with Haman’s fear of her?
Lark abandons our huddle and approaches Stormy, who’s clutching her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth in silent agony. Is she grieving Gage or her betrayal?
“Come on, dear. Let’s get you inside.” Lark helps Stormy to her feet, wraps an arm around her. As they pass, she offers me a weak smile while Stormy stares with vacant eyes at the ground.
Now that Ky and I are alone, what am I supposed to say? I shift from foot to foot, my shoulders elevating to my ears. What did the hug mean to him?
What did it mean to me?
I push my frigid fingers into my shallow jean pockets and bounce on the balls of my feet, shivering. The crickets’ song dwindles to a gentle hum, reminiscent of a skipping CD player.
Ky widens his eyes as he takes in my shuddering. He removes his leather jacket. Hands it to me. “Here. What kind of Guardian would I be if I let you freeze to death?”
I survey Ky’s form. His black, long-sleeved T-shirt clings to him, outlining the curve of his biceps, the width of his chest. He’s not football-player beefy or bodybuilder buff. He’s simply solid. Strong. I can’t believe I called him skinny before. Even so, this isn’t what captures all the air from my lungs. There’s a sadness in his eyes that stills me, forces me to fix my gaze. How did I fail to notice it before?
Because this is the first time I’ve trusted him enough not to look away. Because I know he won’t hurt me.
“Because you’re beginning to see with more than your eyes. You’re seeing with your heart.”
Will I ever see you again, Mom?
Silence.
The thick leather wards off the cold when I slip into it. It’s baggy like my favorite sweatshirt, the sleeves reaching past my fingertips. The slippery material, still warm from hugging Ky’s body, carries the distinct after-scent of boy. I suppress the urge to inhale the alluring smell more deeply. When I look up at him to express my gratitude, he’s staring at me.
Warning. Danger ahead. Maybe he won’t paralyze me, but a new threat presents itself in his focused stare. I break eye contact. “So . . . that fountain’s a Threshold?”
His gaze bores into me. Impossible not to feel something so intense. “An old one. Hasn’t run in years. Stormy must have used her Calling to summon the water. Did Gage let on where he was taking you?”
“To Isabeau. He said she possesses something he wants. He was planning to trade me for it.”
Ky growls. “This is my fault. I never should have told him what happened at the bridge. The water”—he gestures toward the fountain—“was probably from the Threshold in Lynbrook Province. It would’ve taken you right to her door.”
“Ky.” My fingers twiddle, itching to touch him, to show I understand. Instead I curl them into my palms. “Why didn’t you tell me about your sister?”
“Would it have mattered?” He inhales a rickety breath. Steps closer. His chest rises and falls. He’s so close, the heat emanating from his body warms me. How is he not cold?
“I’m sorry. I’ve been so awful to you.” My own breathing quickens. I inch backward, looking at the gate, the trees, anything but Ky’s purposeful gaze.
“Don’t be.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t exactly give you the best first impression.”
“What happened to her?”
He breathes one word. “Crowe.”
Hatred bubbles for the man who rips families apart without a second thought.
“Come on.” Ky jerks his head toward the inn. “We don’t have to worry about Gage anymore tonight. The fountain is already draining. Even Magnets have their limits. Unless Stormy stands there, focusing only on the water, it can’t remain.”
“Could you explain this whole Calling thing to me? I’m getting a little confused.”
“We’ve got hours until the others wake. Might as well. What do you know?”
I relay what I’ve learned from Joshua, Robyn, and Wade. I stride beside Ky, keeping a respectful distance, our pace unhurried. The cottages are dark. It’s a ghost town, minus the gunslingers and saloons. Even before night fell, the Village was dead. Is this how these people live? In constant fear? The Haven is large, but it’s still a prison. No matter the breadth between, walls are still walls.
“So, David explained about Evers?”
I nod, my conversation with Joshua seeming Reflections away.
“How about Shields?”
I shake my head.
“We’ll start there then. As you know, there are seven Callings, all unique to each person. I’m a Shield, but so are Makai and Haman. I can paralyze my enemies with a look, yet I can’t inflict internal wounds or render myself invisible.”
Makai seemed to disappear the night I followed him. And when Ky attacked him—he definitely vanished then. What did Gage call my uncle? An invisible babysitter?
“Shields are defenders, making them ideal Guardians. Their ability can be offensive, defensive, or both, but all stem from the mind. A Shield cannot harm a human in an alternate form, such as Lark’s owl. And most importantly, they are unaffected by others of their kind. I can see Makai, even when no one else can, and Haman can’t injure me without the use of physical contact.”
Ky’s using a knife on my uncle makes sense now, but, “If you could see Makai, why would he turn invisible in the subway?”
“Who knows? He was probably trying to spare you from seeing him struggle.” He kicks a rock and it click, clack, clicks across the cobblestone, lands in someone’s lawn.
Wow. My uncle really does care for me. “So you’ve always been a Shield?”
“It’s different for everyone.” His shoulders slump. “Children are given Threshold water as infants, but it’s not known if they have a Calling until several years later. If one doesn’t manifest by the time they turn eighteen, it never will. I was seven when mine revealed itself. I’d really hoped to be a Physic, like my mother. Though the Callings aren’t genetic, they usually reflect an ability of a parent or close relative. Probably because we share similar attributes with those near to us. I just hoped I was more like my mother than my father.” His fists clench. “Apparently not.” Halting, he tugs his shirt collar down to reveal his shoulder blade.
My breath ceases. I can’t help but run my fingers along the crimson-inked tattoo no larger than a tennis ball, a banner fashioned of foliage and vine. And at the banner’s center, a rose blossom framed in thorns.
No words form. The tattoo is . . . beautiful. I draw my hand away, touch my right cheek. The image almost reminds me of—
No. I lower my hand, concealing it in the jacket’s sleeve. That’s crazy. My birthmark isn�
��t beautiful.
Ky adjusts his shirt, and we resume our lackadaisical pace. A weather vane on one cottage sways, squeaking as the breeze kisses its ends. In a yard, two lawn gnomes smile merrily, their painted rosy cheeks puffing out, chipped in places. Some things here are so familiarly American, I can almost imagine I’m on vacation upstate. Then Kuna turns into a merman or Joshua comes back from the dead, reminding me I’m nowhere near home. If only I could click my heels three times and be back in my own bed. Then again, without Mom, New York isn’t home at all.
“The rose represents power and protection,” Ky says, drawing my attention back. “A sight to behold, but get too close to its thorns . . .” An exhale clouds the night air. “When the mark surfaced during my seventh year, my father was thrilled. I would be a Shield, just like him.” His last words exit through clenched teeth.
I say nothing. Whatever transpired between Ky and his father, the wound is still fresh.
“The day after the rose appeared, my training began. I hated it. Father took me away from my mother. He said if I was going to be a soldier in Crowe’s army, I had better start young. I tried to be everything he wanted, but I was never good enough. When I didn’t meet his expectations, he’d punish me.”
Ky doesn’t elaborate, leaving me to imagine the cruelties his father inflicted. How could someone be so horrible to a child? No wonder this Reflection is becoming a Shadow World.
“When I was ten, my sister was born, and Mother feared for her life. To my father, having a daughter was the epitome of failures. He wanted a son.”
“But he already had you.” Just hearing about the guy makes me want to pummel him.
“Not good enough.” He kicks another pebble, and it pings a lawn gnome’s pointed hat. “I was adopted. My father wanted a son of his own flesh and blood. Just another of the many ways I was a disappointment to him.”
Sheesh. And the Worst Dad of the Year Award goes to . . .
“The Void had its claws in him,” Ky says. “At that point he was unrecognizable, veins blacker than night from skull to toe, eyes masked in fog.”
