“Make others fear your anger now, and save yourself heartache later.”
—Myriad
Ten
Anger and frustration mount as Lina’s message plays through my mind. Neither of which will do me any good right now. Lashing out will make a bad situation worse.
My emotions cannot dictate my actions. Right. I block the message and all its implications—for now—and focus on the matters at hand.
Bea growls at Killian, the cutest little bundle of ferocity I’ve ever seen.
Killian growls right back, though there’s no heat to the action.
Unable to trust my husband at my back, I step away from him and toward Archer. Bea goes quiet, but turns her focus to me, as if daring me to make a move against her charge.
“How many soldiers?” I ask him. “How many Generals?” A sense of urgency kicks my heart into a gallop that would put our zebras to shame. “Where are they?”
“Two hundred soldiers, led by Luciana and John,” he replies. He’s pale, little tremors shaking him on his feet. “They—”
“Hey. Are you all right?” I ask, fighting concern. Leaving the Rest couldn’t have been easy for him. There, he’d had peace. Here, I’ve tossed him straight into war.
He continues as if I never interrupted. “—just exited the nearest Gate. I’m guessing they want to capture you and lock you up until they can find a way to break your bond with Killian without killing you.”
John Blake. I don’t know much about him. Considering the current location of his army, I have roughly five minutes to learn everything I can. “What do I need to know about John? And was there any sign of Shamus?”
“No sign of Shamus.” He thinks for a moment, frowns. “There’s a back entrance to every city, one only Generals are supposed to use. Shamus could be sneaking in from the other side.”
Or he’s staying as far away from me as possible, because he fears what I’ll do to him the next time I see him.
“As for John,” Archer continues, “you should know he’s—”
“The one who’s called upon when capture rather than death is the desired result,” Killian interjects. “That’s why your boyfriend thinks the army plans to capture you.”
I scrub a hand down my face and mutter, “Archer isn’t my boyfriend. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” Killian glares daggers at me, as if I landed a powerful blow. “What does that mean?”
A romantic relationship with Archer would have been easy, even effortless. Too bad I feel only sisterly toward him.
Archer’s gaze is unreadable as he glances between Killian and me. “John’s soldiers will do their best to split us up. They’ll want to capture one of us, at least. Once they succeed, they’ll torture the captive in an effort to control the rest of us.”
“If they fail, will they try and use Jeremy against me?”
“No. Never. Not for any reason.” Archer shakes his head, adamant. “He’s a child, an innocent, and he’s off-limits.”
Inhale…exhale…
Will I sacrifice my friends to save Killian?
Will I sacrifice Killian to save my friends?
Yes and yes. Sacrifice anything and anyone. Save yourself.
No and no. Sacrifice yourself to save the others.
Ugh! There are two sides of me. Troikan and Myriadian. Those sides will never agree. Not exactly a news flash, I know, but come on! The constant tug-of-war leaves me floundering.
I’d go with what I know, but any sacrifice I make will be in vain. Archer is right. The Generals hope to sever my bond with Killian. I can’t let them. I must get into Many Ends.
One of the reasons I choose to live in Troika? The people (supposedly) support each other in the best and worst of times. The people (supposedly) love each other. Didn’t take me long to learn that people are people, and no matter their realm, they are flawed. They make mistakes. Even Troikans sometimes let their emotions get the better of them.
Sow and reap. A harvest will come in. Sow support, receive support. Sow dissent, receive dissent. Today, I will sow support—for the innocents who need me. I will not let the shadows win.
“Here.” Archer tosses me two short swords, his aim off. “You don’t want to hurt our people. I know. I get it. But you can’t remain weaponless while armed soldiers approach.”
I have to jump to the left to catch both swords by their hilts. “You just came back from the dead, and I’ve thrust you into the middle of a war with people you love, respect and admire. If you want to ride the pine for this battle, I will—”
“Ride the pine while you risk your life?” If looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Never!”
“—knee your testicles into your throat,” I finish.
A moment passes while he absorbs my words. Then he snorts, and the reaction is pure Archer. He’s always appreciated my snarkier quirks.
“A little obsessed with balls, wouldna you say?” Killian asks me.
His accent has emerged a couple of times, thrilling me. Even better, his words are classic Killian, his snarling tone suggesting he’s upset that I dared to threaten another male’s genitalia. Like I’m supposed to threaten his, and his alone.
I turn, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. However, he isn’t focused on me but Archer, and it’s safe to say he’s forgotten the truce he and his former bestie once shared. Killian’s expression is cold and dark, and his hands are twitching, as if he wishes he clutched his own pair of blades.
Boys!
His life matters more than his feelings.
The house begins to shake, only to stop…shake again. Stop. Shake. Stop. My heart thuds in time. “Bombs?”
Archer smiles with genuine amusement. “Nah. I think the elephants have arrived.”
Elephants? Seriously? Well, why not?
Killian looks at me, one brow arched. “Perhaps you’re Fused with Tarzan. Or some kind of Disney princess.”
Fusion again. Before this day ends, I’m going to slap him. As a favor to us both. Maybe I’ll knock some sense into him.
Ignoring him, Archer says, “I placed inter-realm Bucklers around the house. No one but us will be able to transport inside. On the other hand, none of us will be able to transport out, either. We’ll have to walk.”
A small price to pay for a safe haven. “Where are the others?”
“Here.” Raanan’s voice blasts through the house.
He appears, with Clay and Reed at his sides. Clementine and a blonde Healer named Dawn are quick on their heels. Dawn has patched me up on numerous occasions.
Different animals trot in behind the group, and introductions are made.
Raanan’s guardian is a donkey named Pop Tart. Spot, one of the zebras, is working with Clay. Paco the parrot stakes his claim on Reed by perching on his shoulder. A black Lab named Frank remains glued to Clementine’s side. Gloria, a deer, is paired with Dawn.
I wish Kayla were here. Forget any trust issues. She would understand me better than most. And she’s part of our crew. She’s valued. Where is she? Last time I saw her, she was inside a makeshift hospital, recovering.
Dawn looks me over, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. “What have you done to yourself?” When she’s standing directly in front of me, she checks my vitals and pulls a small syringe from her pocket.
“Whoa,” I say. “Hold up.” A sedative? What if she’s here to knock me out and make me easy prey for the Generals?
“So suspicious.” Again she clicks her tongue against her teeth. “This is concentrated manna. You have my word, Conduit. I’m a Healer. I’ve never hurt anyone, never will.”
Deciding to trust her—because she’s never lied to me before—I relax, allowing her to inject my bicep annnnd yes. Warmth seeps inside me, trailed by strength. Definitely concentrated manna.
The shadows kick up a fuss, malevolence spewing from them. They crave death and destruction—not just mine, but everyone’s.
These shadows…
Ambrosine and his people revere them. But…but…why? I don’t understand. Why is Ambrosine like he is? He has the same father as Eron. The two had the same upbringing. How can one brother be so good and the other so evil?
Choice.
The single word whispers across the Grid, and I suck in a breath. New Light floods me, the Grid suddenly glowing like a tree at Christmas, sending the shadows fleeing, desperate for cover.
Relief nearly buckles my knees, and yet, my mind remains on the quandary. Ambrosine versus Eron. Always everything comes back to choice.
Something I know firsthand: Every downward slide begins with a single thought.
Troikan history claims Ambrosine envied—envies—his brother. When the first vine of envy grew in his heart, he must have fed and watered it, rather than yanking it up by the root and destroying it. Eventually he would have reached a point of no return, his mind completely overshadowed by a garden of jealousy, resentment and rage.
Now he is obsessed with the idea of besting his brother.
And Killian is currently his staunchest ally.
My husband has devolved into the person I first met at Prynne, doing everything in his power to intimidate me. Or seduce me. With him, there’s no middle ground.
How am I supposed to deal with him?
When he touched me moments ago, the shadows inside my head quieted, but only for a few seconds as pleasure assailed me. I’d begun to hope. Surely we can make this work. Then he backed away as if I’m the equivalent of toxic waste, and the shadows erupted all over again.
I’m floundering. I want to hug and kiss him, then shake and slap him.
Actually, there’s no need to deal with him right now. Lives are at stake. I’ve got to take my relationship out of the equation. And really, no relationship is going to be a fifty-fifty give-and-take every day. Some days—some weeks and even months—someone is going to need their partner to pick them up and carry them.
Dawn uses a second syringe on me. Warmth…a river of new Light…a new tide of information from the Grid…
When the first human spirits arrived in Myriad and bonded to Ambrosine, their Secondking, his shadows had new hosts. Mere playthings. New darkness was conceived, and the vilest emotions quickly spread.
Ambrosine can’t just be dethroned; he must be killed. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Although, the notion goes against everything I’ve come to believe. All life is precious.
How can I justify murder?
In war—on the battlefield—I protect the weak, the innocent, even the not so innocent, those who can’t or won’t defend themselves. An enemy who attacks us must be dealt with, plain and simple. Otherwise we’ll be enslaved or slaughtered.
When Ambrosine dies, his shadows will die with him. At least in theory. Myriadians could be freed from his evil influence, able to live life on their own terms.
Yes! This! This is what I want.
Since no one else seems willing to do the deed, the burden falls on me. But how am I to accomplish it? Ambrosine isn’t human or spirit; he’s something else entirely. Like must fight like. Flesh to flesh. Spirit to spirit.
And what about my shadows? How did they come to be? At first, I thought they came from my bond with Killian. Then I suspected they’d been with me for years. Now I’m certain. We all have a garden in need of tending. I failed to uproot hatred for my father and fury directed at my mother. I fed and watered both in the bowels of Prynne Asylum.
Upon my escape, I buried my emotions, but I didn’t eradicate them. They’ve been with me for years.
I shudder. I need a complete overhaul, but oh, wow, there’s so much to do.
One mission at a time. Right now, I choose to focus on the emancipation of Myriadians. They can be saved. And, no matter who they are or where they come from, they are worth saving.
A warm hand settles on my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts. “Check your messages,” Archer says, his voice taut with grief.
Acid churns in my stomach. “What happened?”
“Check,” he commands. “Tell me he’s wrong.”
Churning faster. I type into my comm and find a message from General Alejandro.
We need you, Miss Lockwood, more than ever before. Word has just come in. Our soldiers discovered a warehouse in the Land of the Harvest, with an army of potential Abrogates inside. These humans are infected just as Dior Nichols was. They are strapped to gurneys, asleep, and hooked to machines. We need your Light to cleanse them before these people awaken and escape. I don’t have to tell you the devastation they could cause to us— to the world.
My blood chills in my veins. I haven’t fully digested the ramifications of this development before another message catches my attention. Drawing in a deep breath…hold, hold… I read it. Alejandro again.
The bad news keeps coming. Dior Nichols and Javier Diez were killed in a car accident. Myriad’s doing, I’m sure. They must be planning another strike against us, and building their forces. We have to act fast, before it’s too late. Please, Miss Lockwood. Let me help you so that you can help our realm. Shamus told me what he did to Mr. Flynn. I will take over the boy’s care. I will guard him with my life. You have my word. All you must do is sever your bond to him. If you are plagued by shadows, how can you aid those who need your Light?
All the air leaves my lungs in a single burst. My gaze flips up, landing on Archer. “I’m so sorry. He’s right. Dior experienced Firstdeath. She’s now in Myriad.”
His nostrils flare as his attention whips to Killian. “Did you know what they planned?”
Merciless, Killian spreads his arms, all what do you think?
“Don’t pretend ignorance.” Archer points at him, the action spurring Bea into another round of snarling. “Dior is no longer human, able to right the wrongs committed against other humans. Yesterday’s actions led us to today’s destination. She is stuck on the wrong path!”
Guilt darkens Killian’s features only to vanish a second later. “Just think. If you’d stayed in Myriad, where you belonged, you’d be with her.”
How cold and callous he sounds.
With a curse, Archer bangs a fist into one of the bars. “If I find out you were involved in her murder…”
“You’ll forgive me,” Killian snaps. “Because you’re a Troikan. Isn’t that right? Or can you take the boy out of Myriad but not take Myriad out of the boy? Would you like to let your dark side out to play and wreak havoc against me? Would you like vengeance? Go ahead. Feel your rage, Archer. Act on it. I dare you.”
Tremors rock Archer. He’s like a powder keg about to blow.
Zero! What should I do?
By slaying Dior and Javier, Myriad has upped their game. They have an Abrogate in their realm rather than the Land of the Harvest, and that Abrogate is a major threat to my friends. He must be fought by a Conduit at the top of her— or his—game. More than that, the potential Abrogates must be stopped. Alejandro is right about that. Where he messed up? Suggesting I sever my bond to Killian and give him to the Generals.
Can the bond between an inter-realm couple be severed? Surely. A bond between a spirit and a realm can be dissolved in court. Perhaps we simply need to disavow each other.
My mind whirls as my gaze meets Killian’s.
He frowns. “Your thoughts,” he says, frown deepening. “I can hear them.”
What?! No way. Sweat beads my brow. “I’m not pushing my words into your head.” Am I?
“Oh, really? You’re thinking about severing our bond. We simply need to disavow each other.” He smiles coldly as I struggle to breath. He had heard my thoughts. “How about this? If you don’t meet my list of demands, I’ll disavow you here and now.”
Okay, I had unconsciously pushed my thoughts into his head. I’d been thinking about him, and must have activated the link. I summon beams of Light around my mind, just in case, sending the shadows into a tailspin. Pain shoots through my temples, but I continue to let the Light shine. Killian winces, as if burned.
I think: If you tell me what I’m thinking now, I’ll strip naked.
His expression never changes, and I nearly drop with relief. Okay, then. My thoughts are now shielded. No way a hedonist like Killian could resist such bait. Not because he wants to see me naked—maybe he wants to see me naked— but because the act will embarrass me.
I’ll have to be more careful in the future.
“What are your demands?” I grate.
“For starters, Archer Prince will leave the house. On his hands and knees.”
Anger sparks. Around me, my friends sputter. I hold up my hand in a bid for silence, and return to my musings. If I’m right, and Killian lost his memories because he must choose to love me, the enemy, without the aid of emotion— effectively embracing his Troikan side—his Myriadian side would make him inclined to disavow me as soon as possible. But. By willingly sticking with me, he’s going against the urge to drop me like a hot potato, unwittingly embracing Light.
Maybe I’m off base. Shall I force the issue, as he has done, and find out?
You want to be rid of me? Fine. Disavow me.
I will be taking a big risk. Huge. He could respond without hesitation: Boom. You’re disavowed.
Beads of sweat pop up across my brow. I can’t lose my way into Myriad, and Many Ends.
But no risk, no reward, right? And I can’t let him hold our bond over my head, continuing to use it as leverage every time he wants something.
“I’m not meeting any of your demands,” I tell Killian. “Neither are my friends. If you want to disavow me, do it.”
His eyes narrow to tiny slits, his breathing a bit more labored.
“Do it,” I shout. My hands fist. “Say goodbye to your ticket into Troika and disavow me.”
Though anger glitters in his eyes, a slow smile blooms. A wicked one. “How could I ever let you go, baby? I have plans for you…”
I run my tongue over my teeth. I’m sure he does. But three cheers for me! I’d defused a tough situation. The risk had paid off.
“Just as I have plans for you,” I tell him. I won’t lose focus on my endgame. Peace between the realms. Freedom for the spirits in Many Ends.
One mission at a time.
The smile fades in a hurry. He didn’t like hearing that I might be using him. Good!
“I’ll help Dior,” I promise Archer, getting us back on track. I’ll enter Myriad with Killian, as planned, find and hide her so that she can’t be used against us, then go full steam ahead toward my endgame.
I face the others. “You never asked to be part of my personal war, and I don’t expect your support.” Amid twitters of confusion, I add, “I intend to find Shamus, free Killian and enter Myriad…and Many Ends. The two are connected. Ask Reed. I intend to—no, I will save the spirits trapped inside. It can be done. Reed and Kayla are proof of that. But. While I’m there, I need your help in the Land of the Harvest. There’s a warehouse full of humans who are infected with Penumbra.”
Penumbra is a big, bad boogyman, and only a select few citizens know about Dior’s and Javier’s infection. We’ve held our silence, hoping to avoid widespread panic.
My friends are part of the few.
“I’m proof spirits can be saved from Many Ends,” Reed says, “but you forget. I never experienced Second-death while there. Others were not so fortunate. I witnessed countless murders. There, spirits vanish.” He snaps. “Just like that. What if they are dead for good?”
“They could be, but I doubt it. You remember the screams as well as I do, I’m sure.” From the moment I awoke in Many Ends till the very second I left, a chorus of pain and agony rang out. “There are survivors, and whether those people died once, twice or a thousand times, they are suffering unimaginable horrors.”
Eyes closed, he shuffles from one booted foot to the other, huffs out a breath. When he faces me once again, he’s pale, as if a soundtrack of those screams is now playing inside his head. “You’re right. I’m in. Whatever you need me to do.”
One down. Five to go. The majority.
“What about the people infected with Penumbra?” Raanan asks.
“I doubt I can cleanse anyone. The bond to Killian…it’s changed me. Shadows fill my head. What if I share shadows instead of Light? I won’t weaken Penumbra but strengthen it.” Time to drop a few truth bombs. “Raanan, you are a Conduit, and I did change you. Apparently, I’m a Conduit and an Architect.”
Murmurs of confusion arise.
“Before the vote,” I say, “Eron told me I have the power to make Conduits. Well, my Light has the power. It decides who’s ready and who isn’t. Raanan, you were ready. You can go to the warehouse. You can cleanse the infected.” I’ve had trust issues for as long as I can remember, but I’m not letting them dictate my actions anymore. I’m letting others help.
I can’t do everything on my own, and neither can they. We need each other. One body. One heart. Working together.
“Not on your own, though,” I add. “Okay? All right? Without help, you could drain yourself to death. Through the Grid, I can be with you.” The way the princess was there for me. “I will help you every step of the way. All you have to do is contact me when the time comes.”
Silence greets me, thick and oppressive.
Finally Raanan draws in a deep breath. Bright, bright Light glows from his pores. “Yes, I’ll go to the warehouse. I’ll cleanse the infected.”
Thank the Firstking.
Wait. Back up a sec. I see his Light?
I do, I really do. Three cheers.
One is lonely. Two are necessary for war. Three is the minimum number of examples needed to explain a concept efficiently.
The shadows must be losing their hold on me.
“I’m with you,” Archer announces with a nod.
“I’m insulted you don’t already know my answer,” Clay says. “You’re my Number Girl, and I’m on your side. Always.”
I’m grateful beyond measure. Absolutely overcome. “Why are you guys so loyal to me? So far, I’ve given you nothing but trouble.”
“You’re honest, brutally so,” Archer says. “I’d rather help an enemy who tells me truth than a friend who tells me lies.”
During my Firstlife, I read an amazing series of books by Kresley Cole. The Arcana Chronicles. In it, a character says lies are curses we place on ourselves, and I wholeheartedly agree.
“You always do what you believe is right.” Raanan crosses his arms over his chest. “You inspire me to do the same.”
Clay smiles at me. “You never back down. No matter the obstacles in your way, you forge ahead.”
“You consider peace, not the destruction of an enemy, a worthy goal.” Dawn withdraws another syringe and fills the vial hanging around my neck. “As do I.”
Clementine nudges my shoulder. “I firmly believe you could hit eleven out of ten targets, with only nine bullets.”
I snort-laugh.
“What?” she says. “It’s true. I also believe you could cut a knife with butter.”
This time, everyone snort-laughs.
A pulse of annoyance flows along the bridge that connects me to Killian, and I frown. What’s his problem now?
“While Raanan visits the warehouse and I hunt Shamus,” I say, “I’d like the rest of you to stay here and defend the house—and Killian.” I bat my lashes, all pretty please with a cherry on top. “I know he’s your enemy, but we Troikans embody love, and it’s time we acted like it. It’s time we loved everyone, rather than those it’s easy for us to love.”
Agreement doesn’t come quickly, but it does come.
Relief pours through me. “For the coming battle, there’s only one rule. We do not kill or irrevocably harm a Troikan.”
“In that case,” Killian says, “you will fail. Free me, and I’ll win the battle for you.”
“You mean you’ll slaughter everyone,” I mutter, and again I feel the pulse of his emotion along our bond. Frustration this time. The need to act—to destroy. “Look past the shadows. You’ll be surprised by what you find.”
Biscuit barrels inside the house before Killian can respond, knocking down Ranaan, Clay and their guardians. “Who’s ready to do this? Me, me, me! Don’t worry, you don’t have to catch me up on the latest developments. I gots me some super hearing! And looks who’s with me. Deacon!”
“A talking dog.” Killian moves his gaze over the other animals, and I realize the pack has remained quiet during our conversation. “In Myriad, dragons fly at all hours, but to my knowledge they’ve never deigned to speak with lowly citizens.”
Head high, Deacon strides inside the house, claiming center stage. My first reaction: dismay. He’s a by-the-rule-book kind of guy, and I’m about to go rogue. My second reaction: surprise. How did he get past our Buckler? Unless the Buckler Archer erected includes Deacon as “one of us.” Yes. That. My third reaction: joy. This is Deacon. We’ve had our differences, but my love for him has never faltered. He’s here, and he’s safe.
He nods at me before focusing on Archer, his best friend. The two close the distance to meet in the middle. Any lingering dismay that Deacon might blow up my endgame fades. He will never go against Archer. As the two embrace, a beautiful contrast of light and dark—unity—my eyes mist again.
No time for a break. “How many friends have you recruited to our side?” I ask Biscuit.
“Counting…counting. One sec, still counting. Okay done. Only all of them.”
The exact answer I hoped to hear. “Can you escort me to General Shamus?”
His furry chest puffs with pride. “I can do anything. I’m amazing.”
And mega humble.
“Anyone going to introduce me?” Killian asks. “To the dog, not the Laborer. He and I have met. Although, if I’m being honest—for once—I consider him a dog, as well.”
Nice. My husband remembers everyone but me.
I’m not bitter—much.
The dog bounds over to press his face through the bars of the cage. “Hiya. I’m Biscuit. The best! You’re Killian. You smell like you’ve been rubbing all over Ten.” Sniff, sniff. “I like it.”
My cheeks heat as I hug Deacon, then Archer. “By the way, I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I know.” He tweaks my nose. “Because I’m invaluable to your cause.”
“And as humble as Biscuit,” I reply, my tone dry. “Though I’d love to stay and chat, there’s a little business I must attend.” I turn, intending to leave.
“Hold up,” Archer calls, stopping me. “If you think you’re leaving without weaving me a poem, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Ha! “Little Bow Peep, there’s no time.”
“If you’re breathing,” he counters, “there’s time.”
Very well. Knowing he prefers poems that rhyme—all others are crap in his mind—I sigh and say, “The worst happened and you were dead. I couldn’t get your loss out of my head. I cried, I mourned, I longed to see you. It sucked, I tell you true. But here you are, back in my arms. Ready to battle—though you might be harmed. But listen well, you adorable piece of poo. If you die again, I’ll forever haunt you.”
He barks out a laugh, and I go soft as butter. With this boy, I’m basically mush.
Smiling, I reach out and pat his head. “You are the sister I always wanted.”
Mock growl. “The poem sucked balls, sis. Work on it.”
My smile widens. I soften further, but also warm. He is a bright Light in my life, our relationship as necessary as air. “I missed you, too, Ten,” I say, mimicking him. I focus on Biscuit. “All right. Let’s go, guardian.”
I motor forward, the dog at my side. Just before I clear the door, I’m driven by a crazy impulse to look back at Killian. In the same way Archer is like a sibling to me, Killian is like an addiction. Resistance is futile.
Our gazes meet, and lightning arcs across our bond, startling me. It’s bright, hot and unmistakable. A palpable hum of energy.
“Be careful.” His body is drawn as tight as a bow, ready to snap. “Your death will cause mine.”
Disappointment slaps me, but I say nothing as I head outside with Biscuit.
One mission at a time.
Different species of animal now surround the house. Six elephants at the helm, four giraffes directly behind them, then ten gorillas and two rhinos at the rear.
6 + 4 + 10 + 2 = 22.
Twenty-two, the atomic number for titanium.
I must be as strong as titanium right now.
On the sidelines of the neighborhood are countless dogs and cats, deer, alligators, bears, lions and tigers. I’m awed. The city has become a veritable zoo.
In the distance, hundreds of Laborers crest a hill. They are dressed in catsuits. Troikan armor. No more robes. They are ready for battle, even if destruction isn’t the desired result. Swords glint in the Light that shines through the Veil of Wings. Red, red rose petals tumble from the sky, dancing and twirling toward the ground.
Leading the way are Luciana and John.
John is dark-skinned and muscled to the max. A warrior without equal.
Animals stand beside their soldiers. A blast of fear almost sends me rushing back into the house. What if someone gets hurt? What if—No! Stop.
I rub the brand on my wrist. I must be the warhorse. Fearless. Determined. Nothing will stop me from my goal: victory.
The Grid hums with approval, causing the shadows to writhe. Here, now, it doesn’t feel like they’ve lost their hold on me. Not that I rely on my feelings. But either way, I know I’m going to have to battle those shadows. Soon.
One mission at a time. Focus. Right. My brows knit as the Grid guides me to push a ray out, Light from my eyes. Um, okay. But why?
Does it really matter? The Grid has never steered me wrong.
I close my eyes and concentrate on a ray of Light. Deep breath in, out. Then I shove the Light, and open my eyes. A ray shoots from me, zooming through the air like an arrow. My gaze follows it and—I gasp. I can see a great distance perfectly! Can see little details I might have missed otherwise.
Might have? Ha! Definitely.
Luciana is wearing a metal and mesh dress, a regal look, but also a deceptive one. I’ve worn something similar, and I know the design allows easier weapons storage, as well as more fluid range of motion.
I’ve met John once. We shook hands at my Welcome to Troika party. Though he is six-four, he appears tiny standing next to a massive steed. His shoulders are wide, his chest shaped like a barrel. John’s, not the horse’s. A thick golden beard covers the lower half of his face.
“I don’t recall you looking so awed when you met me.” Biscuit bumps into my leg. “The General isn’t as cool as me.”
“Oh, I was awed. Trust me.” When John glances in my direction, I duck. Silly. The Grid informs me I’m hidden. The ray of Light I blasted has blinded others from seeing me. So cool!
Biscuit bounds off in the opposite direction, and I give chase.
We slip past the Buckler Archer erected with zero problems. Not that I expected any. We can come and go as we please.
We trek through row after row of the tiny homes. The deeper into the city we go, the cleaner it becomes, until we reach an area without any damage at all. A forest stretches for miles, only it’s a forest like no other I’ve seen. A veritable rainbow. The trees have green trunks and blue leaves. Some of the bushes are pink, some red, some orange. Lush yellow grass carpets the ground.
Colorful birds fly from branch to branch, singing about love, love is always the answer.
According to Aunt Lina, Light is always the answer. Perhaps they are one and the same?
“By the way,” Biscuit says. “I wasn’t lying about your scent. Your butt is—”
“Hey!” I swipe up a rock and lob it at him.
He laughs as he ducks, then picks up the pace. A Stairwell looms ahead. I wonder where it leads, where we’ll—
A twig snaps behind me. Whirling, I reach for a dagger. But a whip of Light lashes out, snags around the blade and yanks. Shock. Dread. Both consume me. A shadowed figure about fifty yards away. In one hand, he holds the whip. In the other, a rock. A rock he hurls—
No. Not a rock. A grenade.
“Bomb,” I scream, diving for Biscuit to cover him with my body.
Boom!