“Our Light loses nothing when it is shared. Quite the opposite. New Lights shine. The world grows brighter.”
—Troika
Ten
I stand before the infamous Veil of Midnight, amazed.
I’m used to the Veil of Wings, a mountain of a wall with a very small doorway. This one has no wall, or doorway. The endless expanse offers a shower of ebony…water? No, it can’t be. As citizens come and go, no one gets wet. Whatever the substance, it glitters with starlight as it flows from a sky of black velvet.
My mother and father are inside. So are Dior and Javier. Erica. My friend Marlowe. Perhaps my Aunt Lina. Many Ends is inside. Which means Caroline—Killian’s mother— is inside as well, ever since her Second-death.
“Nervous?” Killian asks.
I hate fear with the heat of a thousand suns, but… “Yes.”
“Don’t be. I’ll protect you the way you protected me.”
I take no comfort from his words. Ever since our shower, he’s been distant. I’ve begun to wonder if he messaged his boss while he was in the closet. Guilt has appeared in our bond more than once.
But, let’s say he’s telling the truth right now. Did I protect him? On my watch, he was Dazed and locked away. So. I kind of expect an army to be waiting for me the moment I exit this Veil.
A group of giggling girls races past us, vanishing under the Veil, paying us no heed. No one acts as if Myriad’s enemy #1 is nearby.
Another comforting thought: Eron is on my side, helping me, even though I can’t see him…or feel him…
Feelings mean nothing right now.
What’s more, if Killian plans to betray me, Aunt Lina would have warned me. Right? She’s warned me about almost every other disaster in my life.
Aunt Lina. My heart rate increases. She plans to kill Killian. Maybe. Probably. One of her past visions might just support her claim. The song she taught me as a child…
Ten’s tears fall, and I call. Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me. Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don’t stay dry. Seven ladies dancing, ignore their sweet romancing. Six seconds to hide, up, up, and you’ll survive. Five times four times three, and that is where he’ll be. Two I’ll save, I’ll be brave, brave, brave. The one I adore, I’ll come back for.
My mind locks on the last line: The one I adore, I’ll come back for. I haven’t yet come back for Killian—until today. My shoulders stoop. I’m back in Myriad. For him. For us. For everyone.
What if Lina does manage to kill him? If I’m right, and slain Myriadian spirits go to Many Ends…Killian could maybe possibly probably wind up in Many Ends. Does his final destination depend on which realm he most identifies with? His location?
Cold sweat beads on the back of my neck, but I pay it no heed. I used the song to navigate the sub-realm once, and I can do it again. Whatever happens, I can save him.
“Ready?” Killian asks.
Am I? “Wait!” I close my eyes to search the Grid. Shadows still writhe, stronger now, and Light still glows, but it’s duller by the second. I’m tempted to use the Light I’ve stored. I’m dangerously low, weakened, and Light is my strength. But I resist. Before the bond, I could draw more Light to me whenever I wanted. Now, surrounded by darkness, I’ll have nothing and no one to draw from.
Right now, I’m going to keep my reserves on reserve… and trust that Killian has our best interests at heart, if not at mind.
“All right. Yes,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
He takes my hand in his, the “bones” in his Shell smaller than I’m used to, while mine are larger. But his eyes…those eyes…they are the same as always. Eight flecks. A song. Oxygen. The reason I breathe.
Loyalty to Killian. Passion for Killian. Liberty for us all.
How much stronger will we be when we are genuinely united?
He marches forward, determination in every step. I square my shoulders and follow on his heels, drawing closer and closer to the Veil of Midnight…
My heart is a drum, and the beat is pure rock and roll. Soon there will be no turning back.
For over a year and a half, I fought to avoid Myriad, enduring torture at the hands of Dr. Vans. Now I’m willingly walking inside.
Liberty for us all.
Finally we reach the fall of darkness, and I inhale a sharp breath between my teeth. Icy cold encompasses me, making me feel as if I’ve jumped headfirst into a bank of snow. Next, different sensations invade. An increase of fear. Certainty I will fail, and everyone I love will die. I’ll die. The exact opposite of what I used to feel under the Veil of Wings.
Then I’m stepping out of the darkness and into…deeper darkness. But it doesn’t matter. Suddenly I can see in the dark. I have freaking night-vision, and it’s kind of awesome. As Myriad greets me, my mind goes quiet. Eerily quiet. The Grid no longer hums with approval—or anything. Too many shadows cover it. More shadows than before. I’m comforted only by the knowledge that several of my rooms still brim with Light.
I’m sweating now, panting. But okay, all right. At least I’m alive.
I’m standing on a cliff that overlooks… Wow, just wow. The bustling city looks like a king’s treasure chest. Buildings are made from precious gems. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires. Moonstone, morganite. Opal, garnet, topaz. Crystal of every color. Amethyst, aquamarine, citrine. Pearls and peridot. Maybe even coral.
Absolutely breathtaking. In the distance, there’s a towering fortress surrounded by a wall made entirely of skulls. Giant spiders climb those walls. Dragons fly overhead. I count one…five…ten…twenty…thirty. They spew fire, burning the clouds and lighting up the sky.
This is every gothic lover’s wet dream, or sweetest nightmare.
I breathe deeply, taking in the scents of night rain, mysteries and carnal fantasies—if those things had scents. Heady, almost drugging. Definitely drugging. My head swims.
Close by, a cobblestone path winds around a wealth of buildings. Some are sleek and sophisticated. Others are lavish and ornate. Some stretch so high that they knife through the sky—or rather the Veil. The Veil of Midnight circles the entire realm.
In Troika, flower petals fall. Here it’s…stardust? I stretch out my hand to capture a few grains, but they absorb into my Shell and brush against my spirit. A sudden burst of cold leaves me shivering, and the sensation is not pleasant.
To distract myself, I study the flashing neon signs that adorn many of the buildings.
Party! Party! Party!
Companions R Us
Brew for You
Men and women congregate on balconies, catcalling everyone who walks by. Or flies by. A few spirits have metal wings strapped to their backs. Shirts and skirts are raised, body parts flashed. Laughter is plentiful. Everyone is smiling, not a frown in sight. Drinks are passed around. In dark—darker—corners, men and women kiss and touch… and more.
There’s a little something-something for everyone, no vice left untapped.
The sheer number of people overwhelms me. There are too many to count.
“What do you think?” Killian ask. “Ever seen anything like this?”
“Reminds me of the Red Light District in Amsterdam, only on a much, much, much grander scale.”
“You’ve been to Amsterdam?”
“I have. I used to travel with my dad.” He is—was—a Senator for the House of Myriad, tasked with ensuring Myriad’s rights are never violated by Troikans or humans. Once upon a time, he loved me, and took me with him. Now he hates my guts.
Will I see him? Do I want to see him?
“Let me show you more of my world,” Killian says. “Tell me your wildest fantasy and greatest wish. I can make it happen.”
Play now, work later? “I’m not here for pleasure.”
Frustration floods the Grid. “We have time for business and pleasure.”
“Every minute counts,” I say. “I promised Archer I’d check on Dior.” In the process, I’d like to avoid Javier. He’s an Abrogate, and he has a home court advantage. “Then we need to head to the Kennels, free Erica, and proceed to Many Ends.” That’s why we’re here, after all. Get in, get out.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “You hate the realm and I—”
“I don’t hate it.” Not at all. “I hate what the darkness does. It’s evil. Once it’s gone, this realm—”
“And,” he continues, as if I’m not speaking, “I want you to see a side Troika doesn’t talk about. I want you to know what you’re fighting for, when you’re fighting for peace.”
No, he wants me to fall in love with his home. The realization shimmers inside me, and I gulp. “You’re giving me the hard sell, but it’s not going to work. I will never embrace darkness.” I lift my chin. “If you can’t leave it…”
Eyes narrowed, he angles his body toward me. “What did you think would happen when the war ended? I would defect?”
“Yes. Before our bond, you already planned to defect. We were—are—going to help both realms.” Deciding to take a calculated risk, I add, “But if you’d rather sever our bond, as the Generals said, go ahead. It will break my heart, but broken hearts mend.”
I’m not going to let him hold our bond, and our plans, over my head, as if they need to be ransomed. He needs to understand, and fast, that he has as much at stake as I do.
“Sever our bond.” He scowls, as I’d hoped. “You’ll let me go, just like that?” He snaps his fingers.
“Don’t you see?” I grab and shake him. “I’m fighting to stay with you. Why don’t you help me?”
A roar cuts through the night, and my gaze zooms skyward, just in time to watch a dragon the size of a Mack truck fly overhead. His black-and-green scales are resplendent, his wings magnificent. A spiked tail wags behind him.
“Only guards and prisoners are allowed in the Kennels,” Killian says, picking up our conversation as if the argument never began. His grumbling tone tells a different story, however. “We’ll be noticed the second we enter. But I have a plan.”
“If you tell me we need to get ourselves arrested, I’ll punch you again.”
He rolls his eyes. “As you can see, no one can resist a good party. We’ll spend the day spreading word about the one we’re going to throw. Once that party kicks off, we’ll convince everyone to walk through the Gate with us. As they’re kicked out, we’ll sneak past the guards.”
It’s…not a bad plan. “Will your friends help us?” The more people we have on our side, the better our chance for success.
“I have no friends,” he admits. “None outside the Kennels, anyway.”
How sad. A good support system matters. Everyone needs someone who will pick him up when he’s down. Someone to laugh and cry with—someone willing to tell the truth when lies abound.
I squeeze his hand, offering comfort, but he quickly pulls from my grip. Hope fizzles. If he remembered me, I could ask what’s wrong and how I can help. This stranger isn’t interested in revealing his vulnerabilities to me.
Deep breath in, out. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“We’ll walk around, telling everyone we meet about the party. Since this is our honeymoon,” he adds, “I won’t even charge you for my escort duties or party planning.” Eyes glittering with amusement, he nudges my shoulder with his own.
“What’s your normal fee?” I ask.
“You misunderstand. I’ve never given a tour to anyone else. But here, nothing is free. Everything costs.” He leads me forward, and I gasp. Every time we take a step, a stone lifts from the ground to meet us, allowing a smooth descent to the land below. “We work hard for our money, and our time is valuable. We don’t part with a coin or a single second lightly.”
“The people of Troika work hard, too, but gifting is a way of life.” In fact, the giver often looks more joyous than the receiver.
“Ridiculous. The more you give away, the less you have.” We pass a group of teenage boys, and Killian nods in greeting. “Dudes. Party at the beach tonight. Clothing optional. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this. Tell your friends.”
The boys whoop, holler and high-five each other.
The next group we pass is made up of older women dressed in elaborate Victorian gowns. Killian bows and says, “I bid you good morrow, ladies. There’s a gathering at the beach tonight. I hear Victor Prince is hoping to meet a bride.”
Feminine twitters erupt as the ladies hurry on.
Unease pokes at me. He’s telling everyone what he thinks they want to hear. How many times has he done the same to me?
“Give me the lowdown on Myriad.” Facts are facts, and there’s no reason to lie. The more I know about enemy territory, the better chance I’ll have of escaping when the time comes. Or hiding, if it proves necessary.
He nods, saying, “The realm is divided into ten territories. The City of Carnal Delights, or CCD, where we are now. This is also where most businesses are located. They’re open 24/7. Then there’s the Museum of True Wisdom, where dossiers are kept on every citizen, human and even Troikans. There’s the Temple of Unholies, where the Prince of Ravens lives. Although he has a home in every territory.”
“The fortress I saw when we entered…”
“Yes,” he says. “Then there’s the Tower of Absolution, where we train. The Garden of Zen, where speaking is forbidden. The Capital of Bliss, where I live. The Mountain of Vengeance, where the dragons reside, and also where the Kennels are located. The House of Indulgence, where official ceremonies are held. The Center of Learning, where orphans are raised. And finally, the Fountain of Tears, where people go to indulge every emotion to the fullest.”
The differences between Myriad and Troika shouldn’t surprise me. Not even a little. They are night versus day. Logic versus emotion. Ten versus Killian. But I’m surprised, I admit it. The self-indulgence…the carnality… How does anyone get anything done?
We reach a small beach with onyx sand and water the color of a sky at sunset. The scents of salt and coconut, so familiar to me, fill my nose.
Killian calls out another party invitation to the people in the water—they’re the ones with the metal wings. They fly in and out of the surf.
“Compared to Troika, you must have triple the population,” I say.
“More than triple,” he replies. “With every new arrival, the realm expands.”
The name Myriad makes sense. Myriad = countless multitudes.
Having more soldiers doesn’t necessarily equate to having a stronger army, clearly, or Troika would have been conquered long ago.
We walk along the cobbled path for over an hour. Killian continues to tell everyone he sees about the party, or gala, or cheese tasting—whatever seems the most desirable to the people involved—and no one says no.
In Troika, citizens wear either catsuits (armor) or robes, nothing in between. Here, citizens wear whatever they want. Or so I’m guessing. Besides the Victorian ball gowns, I spot scanty togas and punk rock leather. Some men wear kilts, some wear loincloths. Others wear slacks or jeans. A mix of cultures, traditions and fashions.
The party vibe never fades, however. The throng that meanders along the streets, or in the buildings, never thins. Voices rise and blend together; though the volume of all those conversations ebbs and flows, it’s never less than a dull roar.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles. A warning. Something is wrong. Stiff as a board, I search the faces around me. No one seems overly fixated on me, but…my suspicions aren’t laid to rest.
“Still nervous?” Killian asks. Something about his tone… And the flush is back on his cheeks.
“Yes and no.” I check our bond, and find a mixture of guilt, shame, remorse and determination.
Zero! What did he do?
Anger sparks to vibrant life, burning my chest.
Betrayed, the shadows whisper, throwing fuel on the fire.
Stop, just stop. I don’t know what he’s done. Whatever it is—however big or small—there’s still time to reverse it.
I must continue my course: Seduction. Maybe, if I make my husband want me, desire will prompt trust and trust will prompt his memory. I need him to remember me, need him on my side. Before it’s too late.
Another dragon flies past us, casting a massive shadow. The shadows inside me moan with delight, loving it.
Ignore. Stay focused. “You’re a wonderful escort. Totally worth the cost.” I lean my head on Killian’s shoulder and say, “Speaking of cost, how do you guys pay for things?”
He jolts, as if surprised, but he doesn’t dart away.
One step at a time. I must take joy in small victories.
“Credits.” He holds out his arm, and points to his wrist. “We have a chip implanted. Every time I convince a human to sign with Myriad, a certain number of credits are added to my account.” His tone hardens. “When I fail to convince a human to sign with Myriad, I lose a certain number of credits.”
A barbed lump grows in my throat. “How many credits did you lose when I made covenant with Troika?”
“Doesn’t matter. Come on.” He leads me to a small chrome and glass building. Near the closed—and locked— door, he holds his wrist under what I assume is a scanner.
Bingo! The scanner thanks him for paying a credit, and the door unlocks.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We can’t be traced.” Now he leads me inside the building.
Well. He wasn’t kidding when he said everything costs something.
I find myself in— A white-hot blush heats my cheeks. A small bedroom. There are mirrors on the walls and the floor. There’s a vanity-slash-wet bar, complete with mirror and stool, a bed without sheets, and a cabinet filled with individual packets of sheets that are for sale. A desk occupies the far corner, a screen hanging on the wall in front of it. Beyond another door is a bathroom with a shower—and a scanner in order to turn on the water—plus a bin with a sign overhead that reads, Dirty sheets go here.
The door locks behind us.
“This is a love shack,” I blurt out. “A place for a quickie on the go.”
“Also a place to make inquiries. You want to see Dior, don’t you?” He scans his wrist at the wet bar, and a shot glass slides from a cubby in the wall. A spout extends from a different cubby to fill the glass. He downs the shot before sitting at the desk, scans his wrist on a different scanner, and begins to type on the desktop, despite not having any kind of keyboard. Images appear on the screen. “I need to log on to the data system under an alias.”
Interested in the exchange of money, I hold my wrist under the sink’s scanner, but nothing happens.
“Chips are placed inside Myriadian comms,” he says. “Scanners scan a spirit, even when a Shell is involved. But there are ways around it. There’s a chip in my Shell that overrides the one in my comm.”
“Are you using stolen credits, then?” I ask, realizing he can’t use the ones he earned while using a Shell that isn’t linked to him.
“Only from the dead.” Noticing my confusion, he adds, “When a spirit experiences Second-death, their remaining credits are wiped from the system. But not right away. Not until the bodies are collected and identified. See, when we go to battle, we lose soldiers. It’s inevitable. I take note of who bites the dust. As soon as I return to Myriad, I break into the accounts of the fallen soldiers, take a small amount of credits, and assign them to a new owner.”
“So credits aren’t passed to family members?”
“Nothing is passed on to family members or loved ones. If you don’t do something to help the realm—”
“You don’t get,” I finish.
He nods.
“What will happen if you’re caught?”
“Depends. The number of credits you steal is the number of days you spend in the Kennels. But how will I get caught? The dead won’t come back to tattle.”
I detect a note of bitterness in his tone, that the system is so broken, and part of me wants to exploit it. Think of all the times Myriad has punished you, let you down, or hurt you. You don’t want to help the realm, do you? Instead, I move to the doorway that separates bathroom from bedroom and lean against the frame, watching as he works.
He curses. “Dior’s location has been blocked. I can’t track her.”
Disappointment flares, and I quickly tamp it down. “We’ll find another way.” We always do.
My thoughts travel another road, returning to the problem with his memory. Maybe seduction isn’t the answer. Not on its own, anyway. People only ever take from Killian. By his own admission, everything he’s gotten, he’s had to pay for. I can give him access to my mind—my heart— free of charge.
“How long are we allowed to stay in here?” I ask. The longer we’re here, the less time I can be watched by whoever is following us. And someone is following us, guaranteed.
He pauses, meets my gaze. Curiosity and interest glitter in his eyes. “One hour. Well, fifty-six minutes now. Why?”
A slow smile blooms. I walk toward him, stepping out of my Shell and saying, “Because I have plans for you.”