“You have a treasure hidden inside you. If you take it for granted, you will lose it.”
—Troika
Killian
My connection with Ten ends abruptly, my mind going blank. I fight to reestablish the link to no avail.
Curses tumble from my lips. She was punched, kicked and shot. She’s in pain. I know, because searing pain throbs in my jaw and hand. She’s losing Lifeblood fast.
I shouldn’t care about her sorry condition. The bond is responsible for my concern, nothing more. Plus, with a little manna she’ll be as good as new. But I do care, and it has nothing to do with saving my own hide. The girl genuinely likes me. She might be the only one in the realms who does. I’m not yet ready to lose her.
Going to lose her, anyway. One day. Why not now?
Because…just because!
Be at peace. She is strong. Capable. She will return to you.
My voice, courtesy of my Troikan side. And that’s exactly what it is. Troikan Light, a gift from Ten. Strangely enough, I’m beginning to like him. Or rather, me. Like myself. Whatever.
My eyes flutter open. I’m crouched in the corner of my cage, my nose pressed into the wall. Must have given myself a time-out, to better block out the rush of activity that’s taking place around me.
What if someone attacks Ten before she finds manna? Biscuit will guard her to the best of his ability, but what if his abilities aren’t enough? How are they going to sneak past the armies to reach the house?
Forget peace. I worry.
As I try, again, to reach Ten through the bond, my fingers rub at the numbers tattooed atop the horse brand. 143, 10. Earlier I noticed Ten has 143, 11.9.12.12.9.1.14 tattooed on her wrist, and to my surprise, it doesn’t take me long to decipher the meanings.
I love you, Ten
I love you, Killian
The knowledge steals the air from my lungs. I did. I loved her. That is why I bonded with her.
Numbers always tell a story, and they never lie.
Is this how I felt after meeting her for the very first time, all twisted up, like a vine wrapped around barbed wire?
Why remember the tattoo, though? Why now?
She thinks I need to learn to trust her without emotion.
The answer slams into me, stealing the air from my lungs a second time. I do trust her. Just a little, but enough. I trust her not to harm me. A little trust, a little memory.
If I want to remember everything else, I need to trust her fully, with the fate of my realm? No, sorry. Asking too much.
My ears twitch as the sounds of battle register. The growl of the dogs. The roar of the cats. The chorus of sounds from the other animals. Snorts, screeches, caws, bleats and brays. Marching footsteps—then racing footsteps. Shouts. Not a single gun goes off, however. The TLs must not want to shoot the animals.
“Fall back, fall back!” Deacon’s bellow echoes from beyond the house. “They’re using some sort of sleeping gas.”
I stand, and scan my surroundings. Only a few feet away, a side table is overturned, an unconscious Archer splayed in front of it, his body twitching. Seizing? He must have been standing at the bars of my cage, trying to get my attention, when he passed out.
Bea is licking his face.
Dawn is crouched beside him, pale and trembling, staring at an empty syringe as if it has let her down in the worst possible way. Her deer waits beside her. “Whatever they did to him, he’s not responding.”
They? Troikan soldiers?
“What happened?” I demand.
“He went outside,” she says. “When he came back in, there was a dart in his neck. I pulled it out and he collapsed.”
Some type of drug then. “Give him more manna.” The more severe the trauma, the more medicine—strength—a spirit needs. Every word agonizes my jaw. “Give me some, too.” Maybe I’ll heal. Maybe I’ll strengthen Ten through the bond.
“I’m out of manna,” Dawn says, her gaze tormented. “And I don’t know if I’d give him more, anyway. The first dose made him worse, I think.”
Some people thrive under pressure, like Ten. Some people fall apart, like Dawn. “The soldiers wouldn’t do anything that would lead to the death of one of their own. They had to know we’d give him manna. Maybe they want you to think he’s worse after with manna, so you won’t give him any more. Do it, and see what happens. This is a soldier’s quarters. Soldiers get injured. There’s more manna, guaranteed.” Ignore the pain. “Check everywhere.”
“Everywhere. Right.” She climbs to her feet and rushes around the house, her deer following her every move.
I waste no time, sitting and shoving my legs through the bars. With my feet braced on either side of Archer’s neck, I pull him toward me. Bea lunges at my ankles, and bites. When I run my hands along every inch of Archer’s body, finding only a single dagger—will have to do—she bites my wrists.
Kill him…no better time…
The urge bombards and overwhelms me, rousing the new Mary Sue side of me.
Harm a defenseless man, and you harm your soul.
Maybe I don’t like the Light side of me. Troikan proverbs? No, thanks. But still I pocket the weapon and shove Archer back into place, Bea calming. Ten cut off a man’s hand for me. In return, I’ll let her best friend live.
Mistake! If I plan to raze this realm to the ground, I’ve got to start somewhere, with someone.
And I will. Maybe. Definitely. Just not with Archer Prince.
The healer and her guardian return with a first aid kit. Unaware of what’s transpired, Dawn administers a second dose of manna. Archer begins shaking more. White foam forms at the corners of his mouth.
“What do I do?” she asks, her voice hoarse.
“Give him a third dose,” I say.
“But—”
“Do it!”
The deer rams his antlers into my cage, rattling the bars. A warning, I’m sure.
Trembling, she obeys me. “You’re not going to die— again!—on my watch.” She slaps his cheek, hard. “Do you hear me? You’re not going to die.” Another slap.
Finally, a moan slips from him, and his terrible shaking stops.
As she expels a heavy sigh of relief, Bea dances atop Archer’s chest.
With a trembling hand, Dawn offers me a vial of manna. “Depending on the strength of your bond to Myriad, this will hurt you worse or help you. At least, I’m assuming. I’ve never met someone bonded to both realms.”
I accept the vial with muttered thanks and, after a slight hesitation, take a sip. Warmth. A twinge of pain. But my jaw does begin to heal.
Does Ten’s?
As I drain the rest, the door bursts open. Deacon and a Messenger I recognize as Clay Anders rush inside, animals close on their heels. A pit bull and a zebra.
The house is basically a zoo.
“Reed was captured, so the troops are backing off. They are ready to bargain.” Deacon spots Archer on the floor and rushes to his side. Bea offers no protests, turning her attention to the pit bull to lick his face. “What happened?”
Dawn chews on her bottom lip. “Archer was drugged. He—”
“What did you do?” Deacon’s emerald gaze finds me and narrows.
For once I can honestly say, “Blame someone else. He went outside, and he got plugged. Now forget him. He’ll recover. Probably. One of you needs to track down Ten. Now. Shamus injured her. As you can see.” I motion to my body. My jaw is out of place, and there are cuts all over my torso and limbs.
As Clay pets his zebra, he looks me over and pales. “You could have hurt yourself just to hurt her.”
Ignore the pain. And the accusation. “She has no manna, and no way to get manna without being spotted by angry mobs determined to punish her for choosing to bring Archy-boy back to life.”
His stride long and strong, Clay closes the distance. Scowling, he shakes the bars of my cage. “If she’s hurt because of you…”
“You’ll what?” I ask. “Tell me I’ve been a bad boy?”
Deacon stands and places a hand on his shoulder, quieting him. “Don’t listen to him. We can’t trust a single word from his mouth. So, if he wants us to leave, we’ll stay put.”
No, they can’t. I can’t even trust myself anymore. And yet, still anger burns inside me. Their inaction hurts Ten.
Fools! If they won’t go after her, I will. Even if I have to break every bone in my body in order to slip through the bars. Or, maybe I can claw through the metal. Either way, nothing will stop me.
This is my fault, not theirs. I’ve sown dissention. Now I reap it.
Argh! I’m 100 percent certain now. I loathe my Troikan side.
Deacon crouches to pat Archer’s cheek once, twice, a gentle wake-up call. My former best friend moans as his eyelids flutter open.
“Hey, man.” Smiling with relief, Deacon helps Archer ease to a sitting position. “You okay?”
Before he can respond, the house shakes, the foundation rattling. I tense. Another bomb blast? No, couldn’t be. There wasn’t an initial blast or ensuing boom.
“The soldiers managed to override our Buckler with one of their own,” Clay says. “I bet they just lowered it.”
Yes. Makes sense. Now that General John has his bargaining chip, he doesn’t need to force his opposition to remain inside the house. They’ll stay of their own accord in hopes of saving Reed.
This. This is why having friends…or a bonded mate… makes you vulnerable. When you stand alone, no one can be used against you.
“Take posts at each of the windows,” Deacon instructs the animals. They rush to obey.
In the center of the room, a flash of Light arcs from the ceiling to the floor. I tense all over again, expecting John to appear, ready to deliver his terms: Reed’s life in exchange for everyone’s cooperation. But it is Ten and Biscuit who appear.
My heart slams against my ribs; I’m hit by shock, delight and fear all at once. She’s pale and trembling, but her jaw isn’t out of place. Her clothes are soaked in Lifeblood. In her hand is Shamus’s hand.
I jump to my feet, propelled by a surge of adrenaline; it’s like rocket fuel has been poured into my veins. “Ten.”
Her wild, mismatched gaze finds me. We share a stolen moment of relief: she’s here, we’re together again, and all will be well. Then she collapses, hitting the ground with a thud.
My own knees begin to quake. The manna I consumed did, in fact, aid her, but not enough. “Help her,” I shout. “Or my new mission in life will be killin’ every single one of you.”
“She needs manna,” Biscuit barks. “Get some, like, now, or get bit.”
“I have more,” Dawn says, her voice hoarse once again.
I curse my helplessness as the Healer removes the last syringe from the first aid kit. The rest of the group swarms her, crouching and blocking Ten from my view. Even Archer. With a moan, he lumbers to his knees and crawls to her.
My hands fist, and my teeth grind, but I say nothing. Must keep my cool. Perception is reality. To protest is to reveal my thoughts and emotions to my enemies, and that I will not do. Knowledge is power.
That phrase. It’s familiar to me. I think… I think Ten has said it to me.
Are more of my memories returning?
I back away from the action and sit down, leaning against the wall, keeping my expression blank. No one who glances my way will suspect my heart is galloping as if I’m in the middle of a race. Who cares about my memories right now? I need to know if Ten will pull through.
She must. What’s the worst that can happen? She dies, causing me to die? So what? I’ll be reborn.
Doubt immediately flickers. What if Ten is right? What if I’m not reborn, but a prisoner of Many Ends?
Why do Myriadians go to Many Ends and Troikans enter into the Rest?
The shadows sink their claws deeper into my mind… hiding the answer from me? With a snarl, I slam my fists into my temples, attempting to dislodge the block—failing. The throbbing pain in my hands eases, at least, and my jaw aligns.
“She’s responding,” Dawn says, her tone now as bubbly as champagne. “She’s going to be okay.”
Cheers ring out. Everyone hugs everyone else.
I’m Ten’s husband, but I’m not her family. Nor am I a part of this celebration. As always, I’m an outsider looking in. And that’s the way I like it. Can’t forget—I’m better off on my own.
So why do I feel like a fire poker is being shoved through my rib cage?
Easy answer: The manna must not have healed the bulk of Ten’s wounds.
“Where’s Reed?” she asks as she sits up.
Silence. The others look at themselves, clearly trying to decide what to tell her.
I strain my eyes to look past other people’s limbs…think I see her profile. She appears strong, steady.
“Where is Reed?” she asks again. “Tell me.”
“General John took him,” I say. She deserves the truth.
Deacon slants me a death glare.
What? Rip the bandage, TL, before she rips you apart. “John hasn’t listed his demands yet, but we can guess what he wants. Control over me, and therefore you.”
Her shoulders droop. “You guys aren’t the only ones with bad news. Nico is… Well, there’s no easy way to tell you. He’s dead. He attacked me, desperate to violate his covenant so he could defect to Myriad without the hassle of a trial. He wanted to be with Victor and I… I just… I’m sorry.”
Archer scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I should have seen my brother’s evil heart. I know him better than most. Or thought I did. I should have stopped him before I died.”
I’ve lost track of Ten, the others’ movements keeping her well hidden, until she reaches out to twine her fingers with Archer’s, offering comfort. Hell, no.
If realm covenants can be broken without court, marriage covenants can be broken without court.
Has she decided Archer is the better man for her?
—Look at me.— My heart projects the command directly at Ten, without permission from my mind. My Troikan side needs her within sight now.
To my relief, she stands and pushes through the crowd, leaving the severed hand on the floor—out of my reach. Her gaze seeks mine. Everyone’s gaze seeks mine. The color has returned to her cheeks, her skin luminous. My hands itch to hold her, almost as if they remember her softness even though I do not.
My Myriadian side says, Reveal nothing. I force a yawn.
She takes a step toward me, stops. Head high, she asks, “Have I starred in any new memories?”
In an effort to drag a reaction from her, I pucker my lips as if I just tasted a lemon. She’s taken a page from my book, her tone neutral, disguising her emotions. Tables, turned. It sucks.
The pulse in her neck pounds—with nervousness at what I might have recalled? Success! “Only our tattoos,” I reply. “One. Four. Three. Ten.” I love you, Ten. “The tattoos, and the reason for them, change nothing.”
Hurt sizzles the bond, and my guilt flares.
Biscuit trots to her and shoves his nose where the sun doesn’t shine, probably hoping to lighten the mood. Yelping, she jumps away. The dog grins and licks her hand.
All right. Fine. I admit it. I like him.
“Got you a present.” Tenley tosses my ring through the cage bars. The one Shamus stole. I catch it, the sight and feel of it comforting me on a level I don’t quite understand. “Try to take better care of it this time.”
What I think she means: Take better care of my heart.
My guilt magnifies. “I willna thank you.”
Shrug. She removes the wrist cuffs and tosses those through the bars, as well.
I reel. She’s not just releasing me, she’s arming me.
“Go,” she tells the others, her gaze never straying from me. “Work with the Generals. Save Reed.”
Protests erupt as I strap the cuffs in place. Only Biscuit remains silent.
“You guys have to turn your backs on me,” she says. “There’s no other way. Tell the Generals absolutely everything they want to know. The princess will help Raanan cleanse the Abrogates and save Sloan. He’s going to need more Light than I can give him.”
New protests ring out.
“I’ll go with Raanan,” Deacon says. “I’ll watch over Sloan.”
Ten nods. “I’ll free Killian, and we’ll be long gone before they can stop us. Mostly, I’d rather you were as far away from us as possible. If Killian were to hurt one of you—”
“All of you,” I correct.
Her eyes narrow, the first sign of trouble. “I’d have to hurt him, which would in turn hurt me.”
“There’s no way I’ll betray you,” Archer says, lifting his chin. “Not now, not ever.”
“You’re not betraying me,” she replies. “You’re helping me.”
“And now you’re irritating me.”
Their easy camaraderie irritates me. As my wife, she should banter with me, and only me.
Archer rubs the back of his neck. “Killian could evade you and turn his sights to the destruction of the realm.”
“Yes. He’s told me.” She smiles at me slowly, coldly. “But he’s as bound to Troika as he is to me. He might fight the connection, but it’s there. Hurting our realm will weaken him, and he will never purposely weaken himself.”
She isn’t wrong.
Frustration mounts. All right. New plan. Escape without harming Troika. Return to Myriad with Ten. Find a way to break our bond. Give her to Ambrosine. Receive a promotion.
Different pangs raze my chest. First guilt. Then remorse. Finally loss.
Ignore. Focus on the prize. Maybe, when all of this is over, I’ll enjoy my life for once.
Or hate myself more than ever.
“Don’t go,” Deacon says. “You’ll be on your own in Myriad, surrounded by the enemy. I doubt you’ll escape. What are we supposed to tell your brother then, huh?”
I bite my cheek to stifle a snarl. He’s trying to manipulate her. I know, because I’ve often done the same thing to others.
“Someone has to stand in the gap,” she says. “For those who won’t, or can’t. So you’ll tell Jeremy I love him.” Tears fill her eyes, but she blinks them away. “That I died fighting for what I believe in. Peace, and salvation for the damned. You’ll tell him I regret nothing.”
Her words shut down any other protests.
She hugs Clay, Raanan, Dawn and Deacon, then Archer. His hug lasts seconds longer.
I’m grinding my molars all over again. Jealousy has never been part of my playbook, and I’m not sure how to deal. Well, besides killing Archer.
The idea has merit. Should have struck while I had the chance. Ten would never forgive me, of course, so even if I continued to want her, I’d never be able to have her. Two birds, one stone. Or dagger.
Finally, everyone but Ten and Biscuit takes off. The dog hangs back, determined to stick to her side. “Protect my friends while I’m gone.”
“Nope. Sorry. Where you go, I go.” His tone is petulant.
How quickly the dog has bonded to her. I bite my cheek until I taste blood. How quickly I bonded to her.
Frowning, Ten presses a hand against her cheek. “Please,” she says to Biscuit. “I’m begging you.”
I jerk with astonishment. Begging. She’s begging. Has no concept of the damage she’s doing to her pride. I want to close my eyes, cover my ears. For a moment, my chest feels as if acid has been poured inside.
“You’re so strong, Biscuit,” she adds. “You can protect my friends while I’m away. Please. I need them protected.”
A pause. Then a sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you had better return—or I’ll go digging for bones inside your friends.” He presses a paw against her before running out the door.
With a sigh of her own, Ten picks up the General’s severed hand. Steps slow; a bit unsure, she approaches my cage.
“Shall we bargain for my freedom?” I ask before she can speak. She has conditions for my release, no doubt. If I seem eager to participate, she’ll be more likely to believe I’ll keep my word.
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “I can’t trust you to keep your word.”
Ouch.
She’s not the first to say so, but she’s the first I’m unwilling to charm out of her pique. An action that has always proven necessary in order to win spirits for Myriad. Necessary, and annoying.
Being free to act like myself is, well, freeing.
“You’re right,” I say. “You can’t trust me.”
“Right now, the only things you need to know about me are…I always tell the truth, and I never threaten. I promise.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“I know, but with your memory problems, a girl can’t be too careful. So. Here’s how this is gonna go.”
“Do tell.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, a royal prince demanding more information. I like this side of her, bossy and prickly but also vulnerable.
“I’ll let you out. As we travel through Troika, you’ll stick to my side like glue, or I’ll shoot you and drag you to Myriad. There, I’ll prove Many Ends is connected. We’ll kill your Secondking and save…everyone. We’ll find your mother, and my friend Marlowe. We’ll free your friend Erica. Not too long ago, you told me she had been locked in the Kennels.”
Erica Morales. One of my Flankers. She aided me when I asked, putting her eternal future at risk. I owe her.
I gulp as anticipation goes head-to-head with dread. If Ten is right, and Many Ends is connected to Myriad, my mother has been tortured every year of my life. Rescuing her will be priority one. I’ll need Ten’s help.
But helping Ten means betraying my king, a man I greatly admire.
Ambrosine is the epitome of power. Beyond ruthless. Savage when necessary. And yet, he took a chance on me when no others were willing. Every time I’ve won a new soul for our realm, he’s praised me, given me boons. Once I asked for the head of the Myriadian General who tortured me as a child, and made me beg for every scrap of food— even beg for beatings I didn’t want.
My body shudders. It amused him to break my spirit, I suppose.
While the Secondking refused to grant that particular wish, he did grant me time with the General. Time to mete vengeance. He begged me for mercy I refused to show.
I can’t betray my king. Not even to save my mother.
Not even to save Ten.
“What happens if I betray you the moment we’re inside Myriad?” Heed my warning, beautiful girl. It’s the only one I’ll give.
Her shoulders wilt a little. “Let’s deal with one problem at a time.”