“You cannot free a fool from the chains he reveres.”
—Troika
Killian
Pain. Heat. I’m consumed! Flames engulf me from head to toe. If my skin melts from my bones, I’ll scream and I’ll curse and I’ll probably beg for mercy, but I won’t be surprised.
Might not even resist.
Part of me is ready to die. Death will be a relief. I’ll wake up Fused to someone else. Two will become one. But the other part of me fights to live now. The enemy is here. Two Troikan Generals want me dead. I’ll do them no favors. I won’t just survive; I’ll thrive.
As I fight for every labored breath, the Generals talk amongst themselves.
The female: “From what I’ve observed in the past, he’ll revert to the worst version of himself. The more he fights his dark impulses, the better he’ll become…but she’ll begin to deteriorate.”
The male: “Basically, they’re screwed either way. And so are we.”
I focus inward, searching for answers. Where am I? How did I get here, in this condition? I’m a blank slate, and the answers elude me. Emotions do not. A tide of misery, sorrow and grief rises, as if they’ve seethed for months, held back by a dam that no longer exists.
Anger joins the deluge, sparking a fall of acid rain inside my chest. Who can I trust, if not myself? I need my memories.
What did the General say earlier? Myriadians always have a harder time adjusting to the bond. Our Light forcibly attacks their shadows while their shadows gently seduce our Light. However, Troikans have a difficult battle in the end.
Bond?
Truth or lie?
Rays of Light burrow through my skull, shining, shining so brightly. In contrast, shadows wind and twine through my thoughts, memories and even the Grid to…protect me? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, those shadows are quite literally keeping me in the dark.
Bar me from what’s mine? Die bloody.
Kill. Kill! A demand from the shadows. Kill the Light, kill the girl.
Some part of me protests. Embrace the Light, trust the girl.
There are only three people I trust right now. Me, myself and I.
Usually I avoid any hint of illumination. In the Light, destruction awaits. In the dark, indulgence is the name of the game. Today, I rush toward the brightest beams, determined to chase the shadows from my memories. Desperate times, desperate measures. To get something different, you must do something different.
Shadows disintegrate. Not all of them, not even close, but enough. Information unfurls. I have a name—Killian Flynn. An occupation—Laborer. A goal—to please my king. A purpose—save my mother, whatever the cost.
The anger heats, quickly turning to rage. That rage races through my veins, my muscles seeming to plump and tighten on my bones. My skin pulls taut, threatening to rip at the seams. How can I not know more about myself? Why does the information seem…wrong?
On my wrist are the numbers 143, 10 and I have no idea why they’re there. What else has been wiped away with mental Windex?
I need to know more. All. Ignorance isn’t blissful, but dangerous.
Embrace the Light.
The words drift along the Grid, spoken by…me? A softer, gentler version of me, anyway. Confusion plagues me, and my brows furrow. Only a Troikan would suggest I embrace Light rather than fight to extinguish it, but I’m no Troikan. However, my affiliation doesn’t matter right now. I obey.
The risk pays off, new facts crystalizing.
Once an orphan, I became the best ML ever born—it’s not bragging if it’s true. I have won souls no one else could reach. Ice queens, narcissists, the damaged.
For some reason, females like being seduced by me. I like seducing. Give me a challenge, watch me excel.
One of my last assignments was Tenley Lockwood, one of the damaged ones. Used for her station, rejected by her parents. Locked inside an asylum and abused.
I must have failed to win her. I—
Tense up. I remember. I did fail. Miss Lockwood made covenant with Troika, forsaking me, and choosing to be with Archer Prince.
Misery, sorrow, grief—now I know where they come from.
Never good enough…
Kill her!
Be at ease. Resist the darkness.
The chorus inside my head is maddening. A constant tug-of-war. Now, at least, Miss Lockwood is trapped in the circle of my arms. Wait. Miss Lockwood is trapped in the circle of my arms? The real girl, not her Shell. We’re touching, skin to skin, and there’s no pain.
How is there no pain? She’s Troikan. The enemy. I’m Myriadian.
Perhaps we are bonded…
Her back is pressed against my chest, her head twisted to the side, her eyes staring up at me. Are shadows dancing in her irises?
If we were truly bonded, I wouldn’t be resting my blade against her throat. Part of me wouldn’t want to kill her.
Part of me really wants to kill her.
The other part of me…just plain wants her. She’s soft where I’m hard, perfect where I’m flawed, and her beauty takes my breath away. Azure hair cascades around an exquisite and deceptively delicate face. She has a pert nose, angelic cheekbones and a stubborn chin. Her lips are lush, like a ripened apple, and kissable—lickable. What does she taste like?
I force my attention to return to her eyes. The shadows are gone. Perhaps vanquished. Unless I imagined them?
Right now? Anything is possible.
Losing track of my thoughts… Don’t exactly care… One of her eyes is blue and one is green, but both are luminous with love. An emotion never directed at me. It is exquisite.
A pang of…something sears my chest, branding me. Affecting me deeply. Anger, perhaps. Or irritation. Not a deeper attraction and a sharper awareness. We mean nothing to each other, and I won’t have her or anyone thinking otherwise. But anger and irritation fail to explain the intensity of the burn…or the accompanying ache of yearning.
Can’t be yearning. I live by a code: Want nothing, need nothing.
I look away from the girl, and finally, blessedly begin to breathe with more ease.
Must maintain emotional distance. Only moments ago, she said, You cannot trust me. I love you not.
But…why would she warn me of her disloyalty? She strikes me as foolhardy, but not foolish.
“Even I know blackmail isn’t the answer, Luciana,” the big redheaded male says, cutting into my thoughts. His volume is no longer tempered.
“Do you have a better idea?” the brunette demands.
A pause. A sigh. “No, but what happens after Miss Lockwood renders her vote?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll figure it out.”
No longer caught up in the girl, I look over the Generals. Their identities click, for all MLs learn to recognize all Troikan Generals. Shamus leads the strongest, most bloodthirsty army of TLs in Troika’s history. Luciana and her crew are tasked with keeping the peace inside the realm.
Not so good at your job, eh, Luce?
There’s a price on each General’s head. Kill one, and you will earn more credits than you can spend. Credits—Myriadian money. Kill both Generals, and you’ll earn the eternal respect of Ambrosine, Prince of Ravens. My Secondking, and hero. His power is legendary. His strength, unparalleled. He doesn’t wield darkness; he is darkness.
I should have attacked the Troikans while I had the chance. Instead, I acted the fool and focused on Tenley.
I love you, too.
Her voice echoes in my head, as if a memory has slipped free from the shadows. The words aren’t just a declaration, but also a response—to my declaration? A kernel of unease ghosts through me.
Did I once tell her I loved her, even though I believe love is an illusion?
Always be the first to walk away.
Perhaps I lied to her. I’m rotten to the core and not above such trickery. But why can’t I remember? And why bother to go to so much trouble? The enemy you allow to live today is the one who stabs you in the back tomorrow. I have the scars to prove it.
Kill!
Trust.
A growl vibrates in my chest. The tug-of-war inside my head needs to end. Now!
I close my eyes, searching the Grid for— I go cold. In the back of my mind is a small tendril of Light that is radiating from her… This girl is more dangerous than most.
The Light connects us, forming a bridge between us. Once, a bridge stretched between Myriad and Troika.
We are truly bonded, then. I willingly pledged my Everlife to her, giving her power over me. Why? This makes no sense. And why would one of my targets willingly wed me? Why pretend to love me?
Unless she thought to control me, staying my hand from delivering a killing blow? As the General stated, I can’t hurt her without hurting myself.
The rage returns, redoubles. I will not be controlled!
Killkillkill.
The shadows writhe with new purpose, sharp pains shooting through me…then seeping out of me and trickling onto the bridge that binds me to the girl. Agony contorts her features, the color fading from her skin. If I have damaged her irreparably, I’ll—
Nothing. She’s fine. She must be. Her Light hasn’t damaged me.
Is it possible the bond has made us both Troikan and Myriadian?
—Killian! Remember me. Please.—
A new voice whispers inside my mind. Her voice. Miss Lockwood. Tenley. This isn’t a memory. I know it with every fiber of my being. Somehow she’s speaking inside my head, and every word ignites a new spark of Light.
The shadows writhe faster, lashing at my Grid. Sharp pains stab at my temples.
I attempt to push the question that plagues me most along the Grid, speaking to her as I would a fellow Myriadian. —Did you wed me in order to protect yourself from my wrath?—
Her eyes widen with surprise. —Are you kidding? Protect myself from your wrath? I hate to break it to you, soldier, but I’m more powerful than you are. I wedded you because I love you.—
It worked! She heard me, and responded. The fact that she thinks she’s more powerful than me… I snort. As for her supposed love… I gulp.
Must stop harping on her supposed feelings for me. They do not matter. She does not matter.
Shamus peers at Luciana, clearly trying to mask his feelings for the other General and failing. “All right. We’ll do this your way, Ana.”
She hisses with displeasure. “Call me Ana again. See what happens.”
Mental note: Luciana Rossi has a temper.
Tempers can be exploited.
“What, you’ll start ripping off my clothes? Thanks for the warning.” Shamus vanishes, only to reappear behind me.
I can sense him, though I’m unable to resist as he forces my arms behind my back, then binds my wrists with a band of…fire? Though I strain every muscle in my body, the effects of the Dazer hold strong.
“No,” Luciana says, “I’ll start ripping out your guts.”
Shamus snorts and rips a small vial of ambrosia from my neck and pockets it. “Mr. Flynn’s comm is disabled, and he has no way to heal.” He plants a hard hand on my shoulder, and despite my link to Tenley, a waft of cold seeps past my shirt, not as potent as usual but still noticeable.
Tension emanates from Tenley as she struggles for mobility. Like me, she gets nowhere fast.
Part of me wants to shove her behind me—will protect her with my life.
Fool! The other part of me still wants to kill her. She’s the reason I’m in this sorry state.
Yessssss. Kill her. Kill. Finally!
Trust.
Shut up, both of you. Or me. Whatever! Let me think.
No time. One second we’re in the cave, the next we’re standing on a crystal bridge, a crimson waterfall in front of us. Cool mist billows, rising above walls of layered sediment interspersed with ruby geodes, topaz, jasper and beryl; together the stones create the illusion of multicolored wings.
The infamous Veil of Wings. The only entrance to Troika.
Beads of sweat pop up on my brow. Myriadians have tried to enter the waters before only to burn to death. No one has ever survived.
Unless the Generals lied, my bond to Tenley will protect me.
All of Troika should pray the Generals are wrong. You don’t escort a wolf into a herd of unsuspecting sheep without suffering the consequences.
As Luciana said, I can destroy the realm from the inside out. And I will.