“The greatest expression of love is giving.”
—Troika
Killian
A woman’s scream rips through the City of Carnal Delights. Ten. I know it’s her.
Frantic and panicked, I pick up speed, rushing through a crowd, holding a bound Victor by the neck and dragging him behind me. As long as I keep my gaze downcast, no one will know we’ve switched places.
—Ten. Lass.— I shout her name, even though I no longer sense her along the Grid. If something has happened to her…
No. She isn’t hurt. If she were, I would know. Right?
Protests erupt as I continue to push through the masses. As soon as my identity registers, protests become mutters of awe. Apparently Victor Prince is a national hero.
Finally I reach the dais in the town square. I scan the cages for Ten…where is…there. She’s on the other side. I’d recognize that fall of azure hair anywhere.
Still dragging my cargo, I round the dais, then stop abruptly.
Ten’s father stands in front of her, Javier and Dior at his side. Dior struggles for freedom. At their feet, Ten’s mother. Lifeblood pools around the woman, her body motionless. A body that is disintegrating before my eyes, as slain spirits do. Before Ten’s eyes.
Ten is still as a statue, her gaze remaining on the pool of Lifeblood. Her arms are wrapped around her middle, as if she’s attempting to protect her vital organs.
My heart shudders and aches as I drop Victor. Rage returns, boiling inside me.
Calm. Steady. I can’t ask questions about what transpired. Victor might already know the answers.
Frustration joins the deluge inside me, only fueling the rage. Whatever the reasons, the cruelty of Grace Lockwood’s death leaves me floundering. How can a man do this to his wife? How can a father do this to his child?
Once, I would have justified the act, thinking Grace would be Fused to a human spirit and reborn. Why mourn her loss? But life is precious. Every stage of life should be cherished, savored.
If Ten is right and Myriadians appear in Many Ends after Second-death, Grace is now faced with an eternity of torture. Unless we save her.
Leonard points a Lifeblood-soaked dagger at Ten. “You won’t have to mourn your mother’s death long. You’ll join her soon enough, little girl.”
My hands fist, my biceps flexing; I’m ready to lash out. What would I do if Ten were killed?
I. Would. Unleash. Hell.
A bitter laugh congeals in my throat, but I swallow it. Actually, I’d do nothing. She would go to the Rest, maybe, probably, and I would go to Many Ends, maybe, probably, and be tortured just like every other Myriadian. Either way, our time would be cut short, and I’m not okay with that. I’m not okay with any of this.
But…isn’t a life without her better than the alternative? What if Ten winds up in Many Ends with me? She wants to go, plans to go, and she knows the way out, but I hate the thought of her in more danger. Worse danger.
I flip up my gaze, hoping to meet her eyes, to reassure her—I’m here, I’ll help—but she’s staring down at the spot her mother died, tears pouring down her cheeks, leaving track marks. My chest constricts.
This isn’t the first time she’s had to watch her mother fade away.
Bits and pieces of memory are coming more frequently now, the shadows losing their hold on me. At the end of her Firstlife, Grace was poisoned by Pearl Bennett, my former boss. The woman who adopted me only to return me when her daughter died. Ten had just escaped the Prynne Asylum and rushed home in time for her mother’s final breath. Only seconds later, Jeremy, Ten’s brother, took his final breath.
Ten cried that day, too.
I offered to take her brother’s spirit to Myriad, so that he could be with their mother, but Ten rejected me, giving the boy to Archer instead. At the time, the rejection had cut like a knife, reminding me of all the times I had been passed over at the Learning Center, never good enough, unwanted.
Then. That moment. A part of me had begun to resent her. The rest of me—the smarter part—never stopped loving her. Now, I understand her reasoning. See so clearly. Loving someone doesn’t mean agreeing with their bad ideas—and my idea was very, very bad. Absolutely terrible. Here, Jeremy would be used against Ten. In Troika, harming the infant brother in order to bring the sister into line isn’t an option, no matter the desperation of the need.
Without looking away from Ten, I toss “Killian” in Javier’s direction. Careful of my speech patterns, I say, “Put him in a cage.”
“Why?” Javier releases Dior and grabs hold of the prisoner. “I thought you were going to—”
“I don’t recall asking for your commentary. I gave you an order. Obey it.”
Dior steps up to Ten’s cage and wraps her fingers over Ten’s hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Ten remains silent.
Javier stiffens, and so do I. Is he going to challenge my authority?
After a slight hesitation, he obeys.
“Leave the traitor bound and blindfolded,” I tell him, and don’t bother offering an explanation. I’m Victor Prince, right? I do what I want, when I want, and the rest of the world can deal.
Leonard Lockwood bows in my direction. “Good to see you again, Mr. Prince.”
How easy it would be for me to rip the blade from his hand and slay him. But I cannot say all life is precious one moment and kill the next. If my actions do not align with my words, I am a liar, and I refuse to be a liar. Ten hates lies, and for the first time in my life, so do I.
“Everyone leave,” I shout. “Now.”
“I’ll stay,” Dior tells Ten. “I’ll stay and—”
“Go,” she croaks, finally speaking up. “Just go.”
Greater tension steals over Dior, but finally she nods and stalks off.
“You, too,” I tell Javier and Leonard. “Go.”
Javier stares at me, hard. “What are you going to do to her?”
“Whatever I want.” I step closer to him, my chest bumping up against his. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Now he bristles. “What’s wrong with you, man? Why are you acting this way?”
Had Victor treated Javier as a friend? I’ll have to tread carefully here. “Did you or did you not fail to invade Lockwood’s Grid?” A question is not a lie. And casting blame, well, I figure Victor is very good at that.
He huffs and puffs, probably scouring his mind for an excuse, a way to cast blame to someone else. Then he says, “I’m new to this. There’s no one here to teach me, so I’m forced to learn as I go.”
“When I succeed with her, you can ask me how I did it, and I might explain.” I make a shooing motion with my hand. “Now go.”
Leonard pulls him back, and the two spin on booted heels to stomp off.
As soon as I’m certain we’re alone, I attempt to speak into Ten’s head, afraid she won’t believe me otherwise. The words never leave my head. How I despise the wall between us.
“Ten. Lass. I’m Killian, and I’m goin’ tae free you.” I crouch so that we’re eye level and press my thumb into the lock. A second passes, then another, but nothing happens. I curse. I’m in Victor’s Shell. He is the king’s beloved son; his print should open every cage.
“I know who you are.” Finally her gaze lifts to meet mine. Those mismatched eyes are windows to endless pools of anguish. “A change of eye color isn’t the only tell. You and Victor smell nothing alike. He’s tart. You’re sweet.”
Thank the Firstking for—
“But I trust you as much as I trust Victor,” she adds, her tone flat. “Meaning, not at all. I thought I’d found a well of love, one big enough for everyone. I was wrong.”
A knife seems to twist in my chest. “I’m so incredibly sorry for betrayin’ yer trust. I’m sorry for gettin’ you into this mess. I’m sorry about yer mother. More sorry than I can ever articulate. I’m sorry…for everythin’. If I could go back—”
“But you can’t. None of us can.”
Twist. “You’re right. But I will never stop trying tae make up for my actions.” Without hesitation, I settle on my knees. I expect my mind to scream in denial, to demand I rise, something. Instead, I remain shockingly calm. Here I am, the Butcher, the boy who once refused to beg for scraps, now begging for forgiveness, and happy for the chance.
Her eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”
“I’m so incredibly sorry,” I repeat. “You deserved—deserve—better, and I will give you better. I know I do no’ deserve absolution, but I’m beggin’ for it anyway.” Some things are worth any sacrifice. “No one and nothin’ means more tae me than you.”
She gulps.
“I’ll do more beggin’ soon, have no doubt. As for now… let’s take care of yer needs.” I stand and yank off my T-shirt and toss the garment through the bars.
“Thank you,” she mutters.
I remember the time I told her I wouldn’t thank her for her aid, and I want to kick my own ass.
After pulling the material over her head, she draws in a deep breath and squares her shoulders. The sadness and sorrow seem to leave her, quickly replaced by determination.
I’ve seen this same transformation come over her many times, as she shucked off emotion in order to turn her attention to her endgame. I’m staggered, and impressed.
I’m also proud. This is my wife.
“Did your memory return?” she asks.
I will not disrespect her with anything less than the truth, because I would rather die than give her another reason to doubt me. “Not fully, but I’m rememberin’ more every minute.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
Twist, twist. I wish so badly she would look at me the way she used to, with admiration and adoration. But even if she doesn’t? I’ll never stop fighting for her.
“Do you have a key to my cage?” she asks.
“No, but I’ll acquire one.”
“Sow and reap, huh? I acquired one for you, now you acquire one for me.”
“Not just sow and reap. You are the best person I know, and I want you free. But, since Victor’s print didn’t work, the cages will open only with the fingerprint of a Magister.” The men and women in charge of the Kennels. “I’ll be payin’ one a visit and returnin’ within the hour.”
Her head cants to the side. “Do you think saving me will make me trust you?”
TWIST. “I know my word means nothin’ tae you right now, but I’m not goin’ tae rest until we’ve saved our mothers from Many Ends. At the same time, I’ll be doin’ everythin’ in my power tae win you back.” I have to win her back. I might not know the full breadth of my past, but I know beyond a doubt I need her in my future. Without her, I have nothing, no one. “Even if it takes me forever, I’ll consider my life well lived.”
She is my life.
“You’re right.” She stretches out her legs in a deceptively causal pose, as cold to me as I was to her. “Your word means nothing to me.”
I flinch, rubbing away the sting in my chest. What I don’t do? React to the rejection in typical Killian Flynn fashion. I refuse to lash out at her or try to protect myself from further hurt by distancing myself emotionally.
For the first time in my life, I have something worth fighting for. Screw my old memories. I don’t need them. I’m making new ones.
I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but one day soon, I will be.
“I hate tae leave you, lass, but I’m gettin’ you that key.”
“Just…be careful out there,” she says, and plucks at the frayed edge of the shirt. “There’s a chance my aunt is lying in wait somewhere. According to the message she sent me, she plans to kill you.”
I long to reach through the bars and touch her beautiful face, but I don’t, because I don’t want my girl uncomfortable. “I’ll be careful. And I will be back for you. I will prove myself tae you. Nothin’ will stop me.”