STAND TOGETHER OR FALL ALONE.

THE FATE OF THE EVERLIFE HANGS IN THE BALANCE.

At seventeen years old, Tenley “Ten” Lockwood had to make the ultimate choice—where to live after she died. Loyalty to her selected realm has not wavered...until now. The numbers-obsessed Conduit is out of time. Sacrifices must be made, and a terrible price must be paid. But is she too late?

As the Everlife descends into darkness, a single truth becomes clear: Troika and Myriad must unite at long last—or perish. In order to bring sworn enemies together, Ten must enter forbidden territory...and destroy the powerful Prince of Ravens. But there’s only one way inside—bonding with Killian Flynn, a deadly rival Laborer who sets her blood aflame.

When nothing goes as planned and betrayal leads to the edge of utter defeat, Ten and Killian will have to rebuild trust from the ashes of their hearts. Victory seems impossible, the odds stacked against them. In the end, how far will they be willing to go for the sake of their realms and the Everlife?

GENA SHOWALTER is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author whose teen titles have been praised as “unputdownable.” Growing up, she always had her nose buried in a book. When it came time to buckle down and get a job, she knew writing was it for her. Gena lives in Oklahoma with her family and a menagerie of dogs. Become a fan on Facebook and visit her website at genashowalter.com.

Also By Gena Showalter

The Everlife Novels

(in reading order)

Firstlife

Lifeblood

Everlife

The White Rabbit Chronicles

(in reading order)

Alice in Zombieland

Through the Zombie Glass

The Queen of Zombie Hearts

A Mad Zombie Party

The Intertwined Novels

(in reading order)

Intertwined

Unraveled

Twisted

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Gena Showalter 2018

Gena Showalter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9781474074667

Praise for the Everlife novels

“Lifeblood ramps up the action ‘Ten’fold—don’t miss this exhilarating sequel to Firstlife!”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author P.C. Cast on Lifeblood

“Tense, philosophical, and enthralling.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Lifeblood

“Showalter’s writing is stunning. Her narrative engulfs readers so deeply into her story that they’ll be in danger of forgetting the world around them.”

—RT Book Reviews on Lifeblood, 4 1/2 stars, Top Pick!

“Utterly unique and absolutely riveting—I couldn’t put it down!”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Sarah J. Maas on Firstlife

“Firstlife illuminates the depths of human resilience and the power of love, even in the darkest hours.”

—Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Arcana Chronicles, on Firstlife

“Unforgettable and powerful.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Kristin Cast on Firstlife

“Raw, edgy and dark, Firstlife will leave you craving more.”

—Wendy Higgins, New York Times bestselling author of the Sweet series, on Firstlife

“Every word grabs hold of your heart and leaves you breathless.”

—New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Roxanne St. Claire on Firstlife

“Showalter creates a vividly unique and edgy new world.”

—Katie McGarry, critically acclaimed author of Nowhere but Here and Pushing the Limits, on Firstlife

To God, my Helper, Healer, Redeemer, Defender, Shepherd, Provider...my everything.

To Natashya Wilson, whose keen insight never fails to amaze me. Thank you for your incredible feedback as I worked on the Everlife series, for asking questions that needed to be asked and helping me reach a new level.

To Vicki Tolbert, Shonna Hurt, Michelle Quine and Christy James, for the prayers I so desperately needed. Also, a special thanks to Vicki for feeding me while I was working!

To Jill Monroe, who gets a thousand emails anytime I’m writing a rough draft. Most of those questions go a little something like this: “What do you think of this? Yes, but what about this? But, but, but what about this?” I am blessed to know you!

And last but not least, to the incredible animals who inspired some of the furry characters in this book: Biscuit, Mary Ann, Ginger, Nemo, Thor, Pepper, Boots, Noel, Peanut, Athena, Boomer, Riggs, Murtaugh, Milo, Goldman, Mya, Barney, Bailey, Champ, Lucy, Roxi, Lefty, Righty, Suzi and Dixie.

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for the Everlife novels

Dedication

Map

Quote

The End of a Nation

Glossary of Terms excerpted from Myriad’s Book of Evernight

Message Directory

PART ONE

TROIKA

TROIKA

TROIKA

TROIKA

TROIKA

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

TROIKA

TROIKA

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

TROIKA

TROIKA

chapter eleven

TROIKA

TROIKA

TROIKA

PART TWO

TROIKA

chapter twelve

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

chapter thirteen

TROIKA

TROIKA

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

TROIKA

TROIKA

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

TROIKA

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

TROIKA

TROIKA

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

TROIKA

MYRIAD

PART THREE

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

TROIKA

TROIKA

TROIKA

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

MYRIAD

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

chapter thirty-one

About the Publisher

“The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you—ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn—the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you.”

—CHARLES DICKENS, A TALE OF TWO CITIES

The End of a Nation

All hope has been lost. Our armies have been defeated, our spirits crushed. We are helpless as night smothers day, choking out Light. We have nothing. We are nothing.

Or so our enemy would have us think.

If seeing is believing, they would be right. But we must trust the promise in our hearts. We are like a tree firmly planted by a riverbank, our roots so deep no storm can blow us down. We might bend, but we will never break.

Through trial and tribulation, victory will be ours.

After all, diamonds are made with pressure.

Soon a time will come, a time for every man, woman and child to make a choice. When you’ve been beaten down—physically, mentally and emotionally—when you’ve been betrayed, all hope gone, where will you find the strength to stand, and march on?

How far will we go for the sake of our realm?

Darkness may descend, but our Light can forever shine. Though we fall one by one, we can rise together. One body. One heart. One purpose.

One eternity.

Glossary of Terms excerpted from Myriad’s Book of Evernight

Abrogate—

In the darkness, greatness is born.

★The highest rank of General in Myriad.

★Once rare, their numbers are now growing exponentially.

★Those who extinguish the Light in Troikans as well as in humans.

Conduit—

In the Light, destruction awaits.

★The second-highest rank in Troika, accountable only to the Secondking.

★Currently on the verge of extinction.

★Someone with the ability to harness sunlight and share its power through the Troikan Grid.

Covenant—

The solid foundation on which we stand.

★Any blood oath agreed upon between two separate parties (i.e., a human and an Everlife realm), legally voided through court or loopholes.

★If terms are broken illegally, a human can be put to death and a spirit enslaved.

Everlife—

The end will always justify the means.

★The afterlife, where Myriad and Troika are at war.

★Also known as the Unending.

Firstking—

He that shall not be named.

★Creator of the realms, spirits, humans and the Land of the Harvest.

★Father of the Secondkings: Ambrosine, the Prince of Ravens, and Eron, the Prince of Doves.

★Let the name Eron forever be a curse.

Firstlife—

Let the countdown begin.

★A human life (i.e., a spirit encased inside a body).

★Dress rehearsal for the Everlife, when a human soul should be won by any means necessary.

Firstdeath—

What was shall no longer be.

★The demise of a human body.

★Occurs the moment a spirit cuts ties with its body.

Fused—

And two shall become one.

★When a spirit experiences Second-death, it joins to another—brand-new—spirit (or even multiple spirits) to be reborn in the Land of the Harvest.

★A fact disputed by Troikans.

General—

A dragon with ten heads cannot be defeated.

★Accountable only to the Secondking.

★One of ten individuals who oversee teams of Leaders, Headhunters, Laborers and Messengers.

★Responsible for planning battle strategies and leading armies into war.

Grid, the—

One for all, and all for one.

★A spiritual bond between every citizen of a realm and the realm’s Secondking.

Kennels, the—

Betray your realm at your own peril.

★Prison for Myriadians convicted of crimes.

Laborer—

Work hard, play harder. Always win.

★One of six main positions within a realm, overseen by a Leader.

★Responsible for returning to the Land of the Harvest to convince humans to make covenant with their realm of choice.

★ML: Myriadian Laborer.

★TL: Troikan Laborer.

Land of the Harvest, the—

They cannot run. They cannot hide.

★Earth, home to humans.

Leader—

Only the strong survive.

★An assistant to a General.

★Females are known as “Madame,” males as “Sir.”

★Responsible for delegating assignments to all other sub-positions within the realm, while also meeting specific quotas (i.e., recruiting a certain number of souls).

Many Ends—

Where happiness goes to die and nightmares come to life.

★The realm where the Unsigned are imprisoned after Firstdeath.

Messenger—

Let the worlds know the horror that is Troika.

★One of six main positions within the realms, directly under Laborer.

★Responsible for teaching humans about the realms, protecting others from the enemy and chronicling exploits inside and outside the realm.

Myriad—

Autonomy, bliss, indulgence.

★The dark realm, ruled by the Prince of Ravens.

★Magical forests whisper enchanted tales, and secrets await you in every corner; self-indulgence is revered, and the party never stops; victors are adored and failures are abhorred; emotion always trumps logic.

★Motto: Might Equals Right.

Penumbra—

In the dark, the Light is easier to extinguish.

★A sentient darkness capable of draining Troikans of Light.

★Must be a Myriadian General to access more information.

Realms—

The only home that matters.

★Kingdoms in the Everlife: Myriad and Troika.

★Sub-realms: Many Ends and Troika’s widely disputed “Rest.”

Rest, the—

Deception cloaked in hope.

★Troikans believe a spirit enters into a state of absolute tranquility after Second-death, forever separated from the realms...with one exception.

Resurrection, the—

A promise without merit.

★Once every year, the people of Troika hold a vote, allowing one spirit to leave the Rest.

★A trick—there is no Rest.

Second-death—

Another end, another new beginning.

★When a spirit is drained of Lifeblood.

★The moment a spirit is Fused to another spirit(s) in order to return to the Land of the Harvest.

★Troikans foolishly believe a spirit enters into “the Rest.”

Secondking—

Bow or break.

★One of two sons of He Who Shall Not Be Named.

★Ambrosine, Prince of Ravens, rules Myriad.

★The Other Who Shall Not Be Named rules Troika.

★Ruler of a realm.

Troika—

Self-proclaimed leaders of justice, equality and freedom

of choice.

★The realm of Light, ruled by the Other Who Shall Not Be Named.

★Supposedly untouched by gloom, where hard work isn’t an expectation but a way of life, equality isn’t an ideal but a standard and fear isn’t a treasured friend but a hated foe; “logic” always trumps emotion; people are governed by a strict set of rules, never allowed to play, and violators are punished.

★Motto: Light Brings Sight.

Unsigned—

Punishment rides the wings of the damned.

★A human who fails to make covenant with a realm before Firstdeath.

★Cursed to spend the Everlife inside Many Ends.

Veil, the—

Choose us and enter in.

★A doorway leading into one of the realms.

★The Veil of Midnight protects Myriad.

★The Veil of Wings protects Troika.

Message Directory

MYRIAD:

Laborer Sloan Aubuchon: S_A_5/46.15.33

Sir Zhi Chen: Z_C_4/23.43.2

Abrogate Javier Diez: J_D_2/43.3.19

Laborer Killian Flynn: K_F_5/23.53.6

General Hans Schmidt: H_S_3/51.3.6

Laborer Leonard Lockwood: L_L_5/19.36.2

Laborer Dior Nichols: D_N_5/62.4.1

Laborer Victor Prince: V_P_5/20.16.18

* * *

TROIKA:

Laborer Raanan Aarons: R_A_5/40.5.16

General Jane Adamson: J_A_3/19.37.30

Messenger Clayton Anders: C_A_6/53.1.4

General John Blake: J_B_3/19.23.4

General Tasanee Bunyasarn: T_B_3/19.30.2

General Shamus Campbell: S_C_3/50.4.13

General Spike Jones: S_J_3/62.5.5

Conduit Ten Lockwood: T_L_2/23.43.2

General Chanel Moreau: C_M_3/5.20.1

General Marcos Pereira: M_P_3/45.10.9

Laborer Archer Prince: A_P_5/23.43.2

General Luciana Rossi: L_R_3/51.3.15

General Bahari Sekibo: B_S_3/51.3.13

General Agape Stavros: A_S_3/42.6.31

General Alejandro Torres: A_T_3/23.40.29

General Mykhail Vasiliev: M_V_3/54.5.8

General Ying Wo Li: Y_L_3/59.1.2

PART ONE

Troika

TROIKA

From: A_T_3/23.40.29

To: L_R_3/51.3.15, J_A_3/19.37.30, S_C_3/50.4.13, C_M_3/5.20.1, Y_L_3/59.1.2, A_S_3/42.6.31, T_B_3/19.30.2, B_S_3/51.3.13, M_V_3/54.5.8, J_B_3/19.23.4, S_J_3/62.5.5, M_P_3/45.10.9

Subject: Tenley Lockwood

Fellow Generals,

We have two orders of business to discuss. The first: animals. Because of the recent bombings inside our realm, our Secondking has issued a decree. Every citizen will be appointed a guardian, whether four-legged or winged. However, we all have the right to decline. I suggest you do so, and encourage your people to do the same. We haven’t trained with these animals. There’s a good chance they’ll be more of a hindrance than a help.

The second order of business is the most important. For the first time in our realm’s history, the Prince of Doves has decided NOT to hold a vote for the Resurrection. I don’t know why, only that protests will not change his mind. Instead, Tenley Lockwood is tasked with selecting which of our fallen soldiers will leave the Rest.

No doubt she plans to choose one of the following (in order of rank):

General Levi Nanne, her trainer

Leader Meredith Cordell, her grandmother

Laborer Archer Prince, her friend

Laborer Elizabeth Winchester, her teammate

We have twenty-four hours to plead the case of our revered brother, General Orion Giovante. While I love and respect the others, Orion is the one we need. The war with Myriad is heating. We are outnumbered and outgunned, and Orion is a warrior among warriors, our greatest hope for victory. He has what Levi doesn’t: a killer instinct. Toward the end, Levi softened. He worked with Killian Flynn, known by our Laborers as the Butcher. Mr. Flynn is also Miss Lockwood’s biggest weakness. Their romantic relationship puts us all at terrible risk.

Orion will deliver Mr. Flynn’s Second-death without pause or concern for Miss Lockwood’s feelings. He will help us focus on the only thing that matters: Myriad’s annihilation.

First, we must find Miss Lockwood. Second, we must convince her to do what will help us but hurt her. For some reason, I’m unable to find her in the Grid.

Jane, do you see her in the Eye?

Light Brings Sight!

General Alejandro Torres

TROIKA

From: J_A_3/19.37.30

To: A_T_3/23.40.29, L_R_3/51.3.15, S_C_3/50.4.13, C_M_3/5.20.1, Y_L_3/59.1.2, A_S_3/42.6.31, T_B_3/19.30.2, B_S_3/51.3.13, M_V_3/54.5.8, J_B_3/19.23.4, S_J_3/62.5.5, M_P_3/45.10.9

Subject: Foolish girl!

Miss Lockwood has disabled her comm. Does she want Myriad to kill her?

Worry not. I’ll find her. I just need time.

General Shamus, gather your army and await further word at the Veil of Wings. The moment I’ve located Miss Lockwood, I’ll transport you to her side.

Light Brings Sight!

General Jane Adamson

PS: I have rejected my guardian.

TROIKA

From: S_C_3/50.4.13

To: J_A_3/19.37.30, A_T_3/23.40.29, L_R_3/51.3.15, C_M_3/5.20.1, Y_L_3/59.1.2, A_S_3/42.6.31, T_B_3/19.30.2, B_S_3/51.3.13, M_V_3/54.5.8, J_B_3/19.23.4, S_J_3/62.5.5, M_P_3/45.10.9

Subject: I’ll be ready

However, I doubt I’ll be gentle. But then, I have a feeling “gentle” isn’t necessary or even desired. Why else would you assign the Brute to retrieve her? You’d like someone to teach her the error of her ways, perhaps even scare her into doing what we desire.

Consider it done.

Light Brings Sight!

General Shamus Campbell

PS: I was appointed a guardian poodle. You did not misread. I said POODLE. If you want to be insulted on my behalf, feel free. I turned her down—of course.

TROIKA

From: L_R_3/51.3.15

To: S_C_3/50.4.13, J_A_3/19.37.30, A_T_3/23.40.29, C_M_3/5.20.1, Y_L_3/59.1.2, A_S_3/42.6.31, T_B_3/19.30.2, B_S_3/51.3.13, M_V_3/54.5.8, J_B_3/19.23.4, S_J_3/62.5.5, M_P_3/45.10.9

Subject: I’ll go with you, Shame-us

And I’ll hear no protests on the matter. Anger has clouded your judgment; it is Myriad, not Troika, that deals in fear. Also, if we punish the girl, we risk alienating her. We cannot make her feel as though she has no allies, otherwise she’ll vote for someone other than the General she’s never had the privilege of meeting.

Do us all a favor and think before you speak, General Campbell.

Light Brings Sight!

General Luciana Rossi

PS: I was assigned a grizzly bear. Suck it.

TROIKA

From: S_C_3/50.4.13

To: L_R_3/51.3.15

Subject: Admit it

Your concern isn’t for the girl or even our great realm. You’ve always lusted for Orion, and you’ll do anything to bring him back—even pander to a Conduit too ignorant to pick a good decision in a lineup.

I’m sure Orion’s wife will thank you for your efforts, eh. Or not. Yeah, probably not.

If ever YOU stop acting like a Myriadian and want to tup an unattached male, all you have to do is beg me. I’ll do the dishonors, you have my word.

Light Brings Sight!

General Shame-on-you

PS: I guess Eron thinks you need a stronger guardian...because you are weaker.

MYRIAD

From: S_A_5/46.15.33

To: K_F_5/23.53.6

Subject: Penumbra

I know you’re in hiding, Killian. I know you’re in trouble. But you have to come back to Myriad. After Dior’s court appearance, I overheard something I shouldn’t have. We knew the Penumbra had begun to spread but we didn’t know our realm had found a way to mass-produce the infection. Thousands of humans are going to be affected—and soon.

Killian, please! You have to come back. I can’t fight this alone.

Might Equals Right!

ML-in-training,

Sloan Aubuchon

MYRIAD

From: Mailer-Erratum

To: S_A_5/46.15.33, K_F_5/23.53.6

Subject: THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN DEEMED UNDELIVERABLE

Report to Zhi Chen for debriefing.

MYRIAD

From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

To: S_A_5/46.15.33

Subject: Your loyalty is rivaled only by your stupidity

Your devotion to Killian Flynn would be admirable, if he hadn’t made the grave mistake of siding with a Troikan and disgracing his realm. The moment he’s found, he’ll be placed in the Kennels or killed. There are no other options.

Get your priorities straight, Miss Aubuchon, or you’ll join him, whatever his fate.

Now, on to more pleasant news. I’m assigning you a mentor to help steer you in the right direction. His name is Victor Prince, and he’s an exalted son of our Secondking.

Years ago, Victor made covenant with Troika in order to spy for us. Just last night, he managed the impossible. He defected and returned to our midst without having to go to court. Unfortunately, he lost both hands in the process.

Side note: As new as you are, you might not know spirits regenerate limbs. In time.

Until Mr. Prince is whole again, he’ll remain inside a Shell. You’ll remain inside one, as well, since he is now responsible for your training. Yours, and your new partner’s, who is rising through our ranks. His name is Leonard Lockwood, and he is Tenley Lockwood’s father.

I know you’ll treat him with respect, because you know what will happen if you don’t.

Might Equals Right!

Sir Zhi Chen

MYRIAD

From: H_S_3/51.3.6

To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

Subject: Javier Diez and Dior Nichols, among other things

Yo! I heard from one of our queens, who heard directly from our Secondking. Ambrosine wants the spirits of Javier Diez and Dior Nichols in Myriad, el pronto. No more waiting. Find someone to do the honors. I’m busy managing a warehouse full of ticking time bombs.

Speaking of, I flagged all messages about this particular topic, and came across one sent by a Laborer under your command. Sloan...something. Abadabado? Whoever she is, send her my way. I’m ensuring Troikans find the warehouse later today. Considering she’s a sympathizer, she’ll make excellent bait.

You might be willing to pardon her for her loyalty to Killian, but I am not. She can no longer be trusted, but she can be used.

Get ready. The war is about to take a drastic turn—for our better!

Might Equals Right!

General Hans Schmidt

chapter one

“Life isn’t about what you gain; it’s about what you give.”

—Troika

Ten

Present day

I peer up at the indomitable Killian Flynn, my heart thudding against my ribs. Every breath I take fills me with hope, wonder...and dismay.

Our relationship is about to change. Everything is about to change.

Earlier, we snuck out of our realms to meet in the Land of the Harvest. A secret cave in Russia’s Ural Mountains, to be exact. Now we stand face-to-face, hand in hand. Jagged rocks create the perfect frame for Killian’s wild, ravaging beauty and the unwavering strength he wields. Strength forged on the bloodiest of battlefields.

There’s no other warrior I’d rather have at my side.

Our people might be at war, but we are going to usher in peace. One step at a time.

I drink him in, this boy I’m trusting with my present—and my future. His skin is a magnificent shade between bronze and gold while his hair is jet black. His eyebrows are thick, masculine, and his nose sharp as a blade. His mouth is soft and lush. Pure temptation...

A shadow of a beard dusts his triangular jaw. Under his T-shirt and jeans, his deliciously muscled body is covered in tattoos. Skulls, stars, roses and other images, all connected by lines, creating some sort of map. That map appears on both his spirit and his Shell—an outer casing made to resemble a spirit—but he’s never told me where it leads.

One day, he’ll share all. We both will.

But it is his eyes that draw me in and hold me captive. His eyes are a soulful gold with flecks of electric blue. Always those flecks strike a chord inside me, different songs piercing my soul. Some are fast and erratic, eliciting passion, while others are slow and dreamy; always they are haunting.

Today I hear a seductive melody that sets my blood aflame and chills me to the bone. Makes sense. I am fire, he is ice, yet we fit. After all, the warmth of a fire is best enjoyed on a frigid winter’s day.

So many differences. Too many, most would say.

Just enough to rock the entire world.

I am day. He is night.

I strengthen in Light. He is unrivaled in darkness.

I like rules, structure. He thrives in chaos.

I believe our worst emotions should never dictate our actions; we should help, forgive and care for others. Emotions are fleeting, after all, and subject to change. Why let one ruin your life? He believes emotion should drive us every moment of every day, and caring for others is foolish. Those you help now will stab you in the back later.

To me, today’s choices dictate tomorrow’s reality. To him, Fate decides for us.

I’m a Troikan Conduit. He’s a Myriadian Laborer. We are Lifeblood-born enemies, and yet he is the love of my Everlife.

As different as we are, we are also the same. Painful pasts shaped us, made us stronger. We hold on tight whenever something—or someone—threatens the people and things we love. We fight for what we believe is right, no matter the obstacles in our way.

I’m one of only two Conduits responsible for lighting Troika, and I’m supposed to kill Killian, our enemy. I’m going to marry him, instead.

Chemistry doesn’t care about expectations. I love and adore this boy, and I hold on tight, remember?

Even if I despised him, I would say “I do.” There’s more at stake than our hearts.

Once we unite our spirits, we will have the opportunity to unite our realms and facilitate the peace we so desperately crave. Together, we will enter Myriad and slay Ambrosine, Prince of Ravens. The realm’s corrupt Secondking.

A corrupt leader corrupts his people absolutely.

Then Killian will take the crown, and command, and order his armies to stand down. He will accept the truce Troika once offered. A truce Eron, Prince of Doves and the Secondking of Troika, has wanted for centuries.

Finally the war will end.

Once that is accomplished—or maybe before, we haven’t decided on an order yet—we will save the poor souls trapped inside Many Ends, the hellish sub-realm connected to Myriad.

Many Ends is home to the Unsigned who experience Firstdeath, as well as monstrous beings with a single goal: kill everyone. Spirits are hunted and killed in the most horrific ways. Again...and again. Because, once a spirit “dies” in Many Ends, it comes back to life, ready for round two...three...four...

Four, the number for stability, order and justice. A strong foundation, considering there are four sides in a square. Four cardinal directions—north, south, east, west. Four seasons to complete a year—winter, spring, summer, fall. Four winds, and four phases of the moon.

Four is the only numeral spelled with the same amount of letters as its numerical value.

Focus. I believe the spirits trapped inside Many Ends come back to life, but my theory hasn’t yet been proven.

Another uncertainty? Killian’s mother, Caroline, and my friend Marlowe could be there. But here’s the thing. Neither Caroline nor Marlowe were Unsigned. Caroline made covenant with Myriad years before, only to experience Second-death within days of reaching the realm. Marlowe made covenant with Troika, only to void it when she committed suicide. Different people, different policies.

Myriad claimed Caroline’s spirit Fused with the spirit of a newborn infant the day of her death, but I think they lied. I think all Myriadians wind up in Many Ends, like all Troikans wind up in the Rest.

If people knew, they might not sign with Myriad. Falsehoods and propagandas keep business booming.

I need to save the damned, and I can. I know I can. Not because I’m special. Please. I’m just a girl who can navigate Many Ends’ treacherous labyrinth better than most, because I’ve been there.

A shudder of dismay rocks me.

“I hope you weren’t thinkin’ of me just then, lass.” Killian lifts my hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles, sending tingles down my spine.

“Are you kidding? The great Killian Flynn only ever makes girls shiver with desire.”

“Or vibrate with anger.”

I’m smiling as I nod. “That’s fair.”

The ring on his thumb glints in the firelight, warming my heart. After my grandmother Meredith experienced Second-death, I was presented with a token of remembrance. A gun-ring with six-round cylinders, 2mm pinfire. A gorgeous piece of weaponry and a fashion statement. My most prized possession.

I could think of no better gift to give to Killian when he gave me a hand-carved pendant in the shape of pi. Infinite possibilities rest within the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter; every possibility for every life. A number without end. Convert letters to numbers, and they, too, can be found within pi. Meaning, every number with any meaning—from our birthdays to the date we die—and every word ever spoken, every word that will be spoken, exist within pi.

“I love you” becomes 9 + 12 + 15 + 22 + 5 + 25 + 15 + 21 = 619.

Or as Killian says:

I = one letter.

Love = four letters.

You = three letters.

143, 10.

Even now, the pendant hangs from a string of leather around my neck, both beautiful and useful. Whenever I’m in trouble, I can press the center, and my location will be sent to Killian’s comm. He can find me in an instant and help.

Now, we’re going to help each other and intertwine our futures with an unbreakable covenant.

What if, despite this, I’m unable to enter Myriad?

Zero! The doubt devil surfaces, and swarms of others follow. Will my Light hurt him? Will his darkness harm me? Will we weaken or strengthen each other? Will our covenants to the realms be voided? What if, after this, neither of us can return home?

Firstlife was a dress rehearsal. Now the curtain is up, and we’re performing in front of a live studio audience. Every word, action and decision comes with a consequence. There are no second chances to right our wrongs. No do-overs.

I’ve been told I’ll turn the tide of the war, somehow, some way. What if my bond to Killian turns the tide in Myriad’s favor?

Maybe I should back out. Except...every fiber of my being suddenly screams in denial. Both realms have reached a boiling point. Every day innocents are slaughtered. Something has to change, and fast. This is our best shot at peace. Our only shot. And really, I want to save Myriad just as much as I want to save Troika. I shouldn’t put one realm above the other.

Face it. If I back out now, fear wins and everyone loses.

I will not make decisions based on “what if.” I will do what’s right, always. Because, in the end, I’m the only one who has to live with my regrets.

Doubt devils can suck it.

Killian squeezes my hands. “Yer paler by the second, lass. There’s still time tae back out.” His accent—a mix of Irish, Scottish, and I have no idea what else—is thicker than usual, his voice low and husky, and irresistibly sexy. “I doona want you feelin’ pressured.”

“I just... I wish we could speak with other inter-realm couples. We aren’t the first Troikan and Myriadian to fall in love. We can’t be.” Though we’ve searched high and low, we’ve found no one else. Either the others are in hiding...or dead.

He stiffens, as if he’s expecting a devastating blow. “We can put this ceremony on hold and continue searchin’.”

And end up right where we are, perhaps far too late. “We’re doing this. I’ll share my Light with you, and you’ll share your darkness with me. I’ll pass through the Veil of Midnight.” The doorway that leads into Myriad freezes Troikans to Second-death. But I’m about to become half-Myriadian. Maybe. Probably. Fingers crossed.

He is far from comforted. “If yer only doin’ this for your mother...”

Mom is locked in the Kennels, a prison in Myriad. I’m going to find and free her, so she can defect to Troika to raise my little brother, Jeremy. “She’s one of many reasons,” I say.

He relaxes, but only slightly. “Yer only seventeen years old. We can revisit the bond in a few decades, yeah?”

Decades? I inhale deeply, drawing in the familiar and beloved scent of peat smoke and heather. His scent. A new wave of calm flows over me, as warm and sweet as honey. “I’m almost eighteen, and you’re only nineteen. So what? We’ve lived, died and lived again. I’m not going to wait to fight for what’s right, and I’m certainly not going to wait to claim you.”

“I doona want ye doin’ something you’ll regret.”

His accent has reached maximum thickness. Aka sweet, mouthwatering molasses. Meaning his emotions are engaged and running rampant, and I’m melting as my blood heats. “How could I regret a miracle?” I ask.

One dark brow arches as his incredible eyes glitter. “Explain.”

“There are over one hundred billion galaxies. And counting! There are incalculable universes, two realms in the Unending, two sub-realms, nine planets in our solar system, one hundred and ninety-six countries, seven seas and over seven hundred islands. The fact that we found each other—miracle.”

He laughs. “You tryin’ tae seduce me, lass? ’Cause it’s workin’.”

This boy. Oh, this boy. He’s the one seducing me. Heart, mind, body. I love him.

But go ahead. Remove love from the equation. It doesn’t matter. Still I trust him. Time and time again, he’s defied the orders of his Secondking in an effort to protect my family. He’s helped me when he should have harmed me.

“It’s working, but it hasn’t carried you to the finish line yet?” I mock-growl. “I can’t believe you’re making me talk you into this. It was your idea. Maybe I should wait until you get down on one knee to beg for the honor of becoming my husband.”

His good humor fades in an instant, his features tight with tension. “I willna beg. I had tae beg for scraps as a child, simply tae survive. Now I’d rather die than beg for anythin’.”

“Hey, hey.” Amusement gone, I gently cup his face. Tenderness wells inside me. There’s so much I don’t know about him. So much I’m eager to learn. “I was only teasing, I promise.”

He releases a shuddering breath. A second later, his lips curve in a slow smile full of promise, and tendrils of heat unfurl inside me. He is beautiful beyond imagining, though every chiseled line is cut by cruelty, as if pain lives and breathes inside him. I look at him, and I want to kiss him, hug him and shake him all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You get I’ll be cherishin’ you every day of my Everlife, aye?”

Just like that. I’m undone. One smile—and I fall deeper in love with him. One moment of time—and I can’t imagine a single day without him. One sentence—and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

I rise on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Will you be cherishin’ me? I mean, yer wearing Troikan armor. Think yer marriage is goin’ to be a battlefield?” His irises glitter with a teasing light, but his tone is serious.

I give the collar of my black catsuit a self-conscious tug.

“I kid, I kid.” Killian brushes his knuckles across my jawline. “You look good in anythin’. And I canna imagine a more beautiful bride.” His voice takes on a husky timbre. “Later, you’ll look even better in nothin’.”

Heat blooms over my cheeks.

His smile returns, and it’s full of mischief, wonder and adoration. He brushes his thumbs over the rise of my cheekbones. “Yer eyes are like mini-TV screens. They broadcast yer emotions.”

Others have told me I’m impossible to read. But then, Killian knows me better than most, and he wants me anyway. Not because I’m a rare Conduit, but because I’m me. Tenley Lockwood. A girl who’s messed up, time and time again, but continues to get up and keep fighting the good fight.

“Today, a new future will be forged,” I say. “Enemies become family.”

“The first step toward concord between our realms.”

Wind whistles outside our cave, snow billowing, while a fire crackles inside. My gaze snags on the far wall, where the numerical equivalent of our names is carved. 68 + 39.

Killian: 11 + 9 + 12 + 12 + 9 + 1 + 14 = 68

Ten: 20 + 5 + 14 = 39

68 + 39 = 107

“Sonnet 107” by William Shakespeare.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,

Can yet the lease of my true love control,

Suppos’d as forfeit to a confin’d doom.

The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur’d

And the sad augurs mock their own presage;

Incertainties now crown themselves assur’d

And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Now with the drops of this most balmy time

My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,

Since, spite of him, I’ll live in this poor rhyme,

While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes;

And thou in this shalt find thy monument,

When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent.

In other words, love is not subject to time, or even death.

In the back of my mind, the Grid ripples with approval and delivers a new surge of confidence. I am doing the right thing. We will succeed in our endeavors.

Once, I lamented my invisible link to other Troikans. Now, I rejoice. Support can mean the difference between victory and defeat. But who would approve of this union? No one but me knows about it.

“Whatever happens next,” Killian says, “doona forget I love you.” The brawler capable of any dark deed leans down to rub his nose against mine. “All right?”

“All right.” I’ll never forget, and I’ll never tire of hearing those words. “I love you, too.”

His smile reignites, and oh, wow, it’s like Cupid’s arrow through my heart. Killian is more than beautiful. He is life. The crystalline flecks in his eyes...there are eight. Eight is the atomic number for oxygen. Killian is my oxygen, the reason I breathe.

“Ready?” He lifts my hands to his mouth once more and traces his tongue between my knuckles.

My stomach flips over. If not for Shells, Myriadians and Troikans would be unable to touch without agonizing pain. Usually Shells mute sensation. Today I feel everything.

“Tell me what to do,” I rasp.

“Our word is our bond. Speak, and it’s done. We’ll pledge our lives tae each other. Simple, easy.”

As simple and easy as pledging our Everlife to one of the realms. Okay, I can do that. The simplicity doesn’t negate the difficulty, however. I’m giving my life—my future—to another person.

He raises his chin. “I’ll go first.”

My heart thuds against my ribs as I nod.

When he releases my hands, panic invades. I’ve lost my anchor. Then he cups my face, holding me as if I’m more delicate than glass. “Tenley Nicole Lockwood, you’ve given me life beyond the grave. Until you, I never knew the power of bein’ connected tae another person. You saw the best in me even when I showed you my worst. You trusted me when all evidence pointed tae my guilt. For that, I give ye my Everlife. Everythin’ I am, everythin’ I have, is yers.”

Be still, my heart. How am I supposed to match such a glorious pledge? Well, I have to try.

Nope. Troikans do not try. Troikans do. “Killian—” Zero! “I don’t know your middle name.”

“Niall.”

Killian Niall Flynn. Five Ls. Four Ns.

5 + 4 = 9

Killian Niall Flynn + Ten = 5 Ls and 5 Ns.

5 + 5 = 10

10 = existence. 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 10. (1) the FirstKing (2) the Secondkings (3) human life (4) the four elements: earth, air, fire and water.

Ten is completion: the end of one cycle, the beginning of another.

Concentrate!

Oops. My bad. I tend to lose myself in number trivia when I’m nervous. But there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? This is Killian. My Killian. Together, we can handle whatever comes next.

“Killian Niall Flynn.” I wrap my fingers around his wrists as I peer into his eyes. “You found me before the grave and taught me how to live. Until you, I’d known only disappointment and betrayal, but you picked me up every time I fell. You carried me when I was too weak to walk, and you put me first, even when it meant torture and possibly Second-death. For that, I give you my Everlife. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours.”

His expression softens, and I wish, so badly I wish, that my family and friends could witness our union. While my mother is in the Kennel, my father is training to be an ML. He hates me, anyway. My aunt Lina, his twin sister, is missing. No one knows where she is.

Lina can see into the future. As a child, she taught me a rhyme that aided my escape from Many Ends. Only a few weeks ago, she taught me a second rhyme, saving my life when a supposed friend—Victor Prince—attempted to kill me.

My life has taken so many wrong turns and hits, but things are finally on the right track. Except... I frown. “I don’t feel any different.”

“We are no’ done.” Killian steps back, his arms falling to his sides. “Out of yer Shell, lass.”

I’m confused by the command, but still I obey. He steps from his Shell, as well, gifting me with the sight of two potential husbands. The inanimate Shell, and the spirit man—the real Killian. Usually darkness surrounds him, his own personal veil of smoke. Now the darkness is muted, but there’s no Light emanating from him, either.

He’s so much taller than me, I’m forced to look up, up, up. Scars circle his neck, proof of the pain he’s suffered throughout his Secondlife.

I reach out, intending to trace a fingertip along the raised flesh, but stop myself just before contact. “You’ve been a spirit all your life. Why didn’t you regenerate after you were injured?”

“A spirit is unable to regenerate fully until reachin’ the Age of Perfection. What you receive as a child, you carry with you always.” He crooks his finger at me. “C’mere. I’m goin’ tae kiss you now.”

A kiss. Of course! A wedding always ends with a kiss.

I move toward him, eager, and he enfolds me in his muscular arms. His lips descend, claiming mine in our first spirit-kiss, no barriers between us, and he isn’t gentle about it. He’s demanding and possessive, pure masculine aggression, and I love every second.

Everything about him makes me think of forbidden nights and carnal indulgence.

I’m burning up rather than freezing as usual, pleasure consuming me, the pain I’m used to feeling nothing but a distant memory.

Realization: We can touch without consequence!

I melt into him, the rest of the world is forgotten as I luxuriate in the sweetness of his flavor.

Now the deal is sealed. This boy is now my husband. And this, our first kiss as a bonded pair, is everything I’ve ever dreamed and more. It’s—

A bolt of ice slams into me, tossing me across the cavern. I collide with the wall and slide to the ground, fighting for breath. Agony sears my right arm. Panting, I look down. Double take. An image appears in my flesh, as dark as ink and in the shape of...a horse?

The animal rests under the words Loyalty, Passion, Liberty.

Loyalty to my realm. Passion for the truth. Liberty for all.

The words appeared immediately after my Firstdeath. Actually, numbers appeared. The moment I figured out what those numbers represented, the words took their place.

Why a horse? There has to be a reason. There’s always a reason.

I rack my brain, but all I can come up with—Killian once likened me to a warhorse.

The warhorse paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength, and charges into the fray. He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground; he cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds. At the blast of the trumpet it snorts, “Aha!” He catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.

He...or she. But I’m not here to fight. I’m here to make peace. Unless...

The moisture in my mouth dries. Ready or not, a new battle is headed our way.

My vision goes hazy, and I moan. I am Light, and I’ve never needed to see more! Blinking rapidly helps, allowing me to search for Killian. The same terrible phenomena must have bombarded him, because he’s slouched against the opposite wall. When our gazes meet, he reaches in my direction, the numbers tattooed on his wrist visible.

143, 10. I love you, Ten.

Beneath the numbers I spy a new image. A horse. A match to mine, though his is white and mine is black.

His eyes are alight with... No, impossible! The flecks I so adore cannot be doused in literal flames, flickering with both light and shadow.

I need to get to him, now, but my muscles are like frozen blocks of ice. And the Grid—

The Grid! My connection to Troika, and a reminder that there is so much more to the world—to my world—than what I can see and feel at any given time.

Shadows dance along the Grid, where multiple doorways loom. Those doorways lead to rooms. In some, I’ve stored extra Light. Others provide a link to the conscious minds of different citizens. One in particular opens up to the Rest, where our dead spend eternity at peace.

A pang of homesickness strikes me. Meredith, Archer and Levi are there. I miss them desperately.

Radiating hatred, the shadows try to sneak into one room after another. I fight to keep the doorways closed as information bombards me. Darkness is measured by the absence of Light. These shadows, whatever they are, must have come from Killian, and our bond, and yet they are so familiar to me...as if they are old friends. How is that possible?

Doesn’t matter. Must...do...something. Now!

Left with no other choice, I change tactics and open a door to one of my storage rooms. In a vivid, dazzling rush, bright Light escapes. Shadows hiss, some dying the second they come into contact with a beam, others slithering away, and, oh, zero, sharp pains explode through my head, and I scream.

Can’t give up. Strengthen in the Light, die in the darkness.

Between one breath and the next, the pain leaves me, and a scene opens in my mind. A memory that is not my own.

I’m standing in a doorway, watching a young couple walk down the center of a hallway. There are thirteen children lined up beside me, all under the age of ten. The couple stops to question a little girl before dismissing her and moving on to a little boy. He, too, is dismissed. The next three children are ignored, but the couple pauses to inspect the teeth of the fourth.

Closer to me by the second...

I’m nervous. I would kill to have a family of my own—literally—but no one will look at me twice. What’s wrong with me? What do I lack?

Easy: Absolutely everything.

Once, my superiors thought I was destined to become a General. Everyone wanted me, then. When I failed to develop the necessary skills, the want turned to disdain.

I try so hard, and I train harder than everyone else combined. I learned how to use a sword and every type of gun. Even the Stag and the Oxi, the most dangerous weapons in a Laborer’s arsenal. One day I’ll kill more Troikans than any General in our history. I vow it.

Just give me a chance. Please!

The couple is on the move again...so, so close to me...the woman looks me over and gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head before passing me, silent. My heart sinks, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

Me? Cry? Never! I keep my head high. If this family doesn’t want me, fine, I don’t want them, either. They aren’t good enough. I’m better off at the Learning Center, anyway.

The scene goes blank, and I—Ten—blink open my eyes. I’m back in the present, back in the cave, panting and drenched in sweat yet shivering with bone-deep chill. I was wrong. The pain didn’t subside; it ramped up.

The memory...it came from Killian. I know in my heart. Having died soon after his mother gave birth to him, he spent his childhood inside the Learning Center, a Myriadian orphanage.

Humans—both in flesh and spirit form—could be ugly in so many ways. Rotten inside. Vile and cruel. But they were also layered. Pull back the ugliness, and you might see a hurt. Pull back another layer, and you might see a child who used to crave approval, affection and acceptance.

A child like Killian had been. My husband has seen the worst the world(s) have to offer. I want so badly to hold him in my arms and comfort the boy he’d been, and praise the man he’d become.

My gaze seeks him. He’s on his back, pulling at his hair. Like me, he’s panting and drenched in sweat. But he’s muttering, “Kill. Kill. Kill.”

Kill...who? Is he seeing into my memories?

“I’m here,” I tell him. “I’m—”

My heart stops, stealing my words as a man and woman storm into the cave.

chapter two

“Life is about what you gain. What you don’t have, you

can’t enjoy.”

—Myriad

Ten

The identity of our intruders clicks. Two Troikan Generals: Shamus Campbell and Luciana Rossi. Behind them, four Laborers I’ve never met. A total of six invaders.

6: symbolizes beauty and high ideals. The sixth sense: ESP. The sixth astrological sign in the Zodiac: Virgo.

Focus! A soft pitter-patter of footfalls echoes outside the cave. More TLs?

Killian isn’t safe.

Panic claws its way up the ridges of my spine, and my blood flash-freezes. I strain with all my might, desperate to move, but my body refuses to cooperate. Every attempt to raise my arms threatens to pop my shoulders out of joint. I don’t care. Nothing will halt my efforts.

“Kill, kill.” Between each command—desire?—Killian snarls like a wounded animal. “Kill!”

Shamus, a big, barrel-chested redhead with pale skin and countless freckles, slams a fist against his armor-clad chest to gain my attention. His dark eyes are narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “What did you do, Miss Lockwood? And do no’ tell me nothin’.” His accent is similar to Killian’s.

Luciana, a slender brunette with lovely brown skin and startling gray irises, backs away from me, horror contorting her expression. “I’ll tell you what she did. She doomed us all.”

Doomed...

Is she right? She can’t be. She just can’t.

I look down at Killian. My new husband is pulling at hanks of his hair.

Hopes, falling from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows.

“Out,” Shamus snarls at the TLs. “Now.”

All four soldiers rush from the cave without protest.

I stiffen. The General has evened the odds. Two against two. A foolish move for a war-seasoned veteran. Unless he got rid of any witnesses...

Willing to use my body as a shield, I push through the pain—snap. My shoulder does pop out of joint. Or maybe back into joint. Air wheezes from my lungs. Worth it! Finally, I can move. I crawl toward Killian, every inch I gain only adding fuel to an already blazing fire of agony.

Can’t stop. No, won’t stop. Determination drives me. I only wish it gave me wings.

“Kill. Must kill.” Killian is lost in a world of his own.

“You won’t be killing anyone, you son of a Myriad troll.” With a hand curled around the hilt of a sword, Shamus stalks toward him.

“Stop! He doesn’t know what he’s saying right now.” My voice is barely audible, my gaze locked on my love. So close, yet so far away. Desperation slams a spike straight through my heart.

Any other day, I would have used the comm built into the forearm of spirit and Shell. With the press of a few buttons, it could transport me to Killian’s side and, as long as some part of me is touching some part of him, whisk us both somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Like a fool, I disabled the device to hide from fellow Troikans while meeting with Killian.

I should have known they’d find me one way or another.

“Stop,” I repeat, even as I gain another inch. “That’s an order.” As a Conduit, I outrank the Generals. As a newbie to the Everlife, however, my exalted rank doesn’t really mean squat.

“We can’t hurt him,” Luciana grates. She extends her arm, stopping Shamus in his tracks. “You’ve effectively tied our hands, Miss Lockwood.”

Though the shadows are no longer slithering through my mind, I’m not exactly thinking straight. I struggle to make sense of her words, finally throw in the towel. “I don’t understand.”

“You bonded to him, did you not?” She spits the words, as if they taste foul in her mouth. “That bond forces us to spare Myriad’s favorite butcher and watch as you, one of only two Conduits, slowly descends into madness.”

Madness? No. Absolutely not. But...

Maybe? Those shadows... They might not be threatening the Grid right now, but I can still feel them. A cold, dank presence I can’t shake, hiding in the back of my mind.

With acceptance comes whole-body tremors.

“Do you think the Butcher is the first Myriadian to wed a Troikan?” She rests a hand on the Dazer strapped to her waist. One shot, and the weapon can stun a target into hours of immobility. “I’ve lived a long time. Every so often, a Troikan and Myriadian decide to risk everything and bond. The union puts our entire realm at great risk, so both parties are eliminated as quickly as possible, their names scrubbed from our databases.”

My eyes go wide. I’ll deal with everything she said—I hope. “Don’t you dare shoot me. You’ll stop my Light from reaching the citizens of Troika.” If I can’t move, I can’t project.

“I won’t shoot you, you have my word.” She lifts her chin. “Though you aren’t projecting much, are you, Miss Lockwood. The Butcher’s shadows have dulled you and have the power to damage our Grid, harming all of us.”

No. Absolutely not. Yes, there are shadows. But I won’t let them hurt others. I’ll keep fighting.

Not every fight can be won, a new doubt devil whispers.

“Stop calling him the Butcher,” I say. Searching for calm, I begin to count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. There are five rings in the Olympic symbol. Five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot. Take five means take a break. Deep breath in, out.

“But you...” Luciana’s eyelids slit. “We can’t eliminate you or the B—Mr. Flynn. What happens to one happens to the other.”

Jolt. The information hits me like a punch to the chest, sending me stumbling back.

In my current state, I struggle to make sense of what I’m learning. So I’ll be wounded if Killian is stabbed or shot, and vice versa? It’s not an ideal development, but it’s manageable. What I cannot tolerate is the danger to my realm. I would rather die a thousand deaths than cause innocents to suffer.

“Why wasn’t I warned about the bond’s effect on others?” I demand.

“You were told consorting with Myriadians is dangerous,” Shamus snaps. “You should have needed no other warning. Only a fool would pledge her life to an enemy.”

Ouch. His words are the equivalent of a shame bell, trailing me everywhere I go.

“Did you forget how many Troikans Mr. Flynn has murdered?” Luciana anchors her fists on her hips. “Or did you simply not care?”

How dare she go there. “He fought and killed during battle, while at war, not in cold blood. There’s a difference. And let’s be honest. You have no right to cast stones. I bet you’ve murdered just as many Myriadians, yes?”

Thanks to the Grid, I know she’s considered a peacekeeper in Troika. After a year and a half of torture inside Prynne Asylum—where my parents sent me to live when I refused to sign with Myriad—I know a sword is sometimes the only way to facilitate that peace.

Luciana flushes. With anger...or shame? Perhaps even a smidge of pride?

Shamus notches his chin. “I don’t want to believe our Conduit is so stupid that she bonded with a Myriadian determined to ruin us from the inside out. I would rather eat glass.”

Double ouch. Telling him, You had better believe it, doesn’t really strike me as the proper response. “It’s done. It can’t be undone.” I don’t want it undone. “Trust me to have our best interests at heart. Let me move forward, full steam ahead.”

“I don’t trust you with your life, much less mine.” Luciana drags me to my feet, then winds an arm around my waist to hold me up.

Anger blisters my insides, and I scowl. I despise weakness in any form, which is probably why I was drawn to Killian from moment one. He is a torrent of energy and ambition. Nothing stops him.

The General’s grip on me tightens. “Centuries ago, a friend of mine fell for a Myriadian.”

“By friend she means mother,” Shamus interjects.

Luciana flicks him a narrowed glance. “Ultimately she bonded to him. He used their bond to navigate the Troikan Grid. And guess what? He let his friends in. Their shadows spilled into our Grid. To stop them, I had to kill my mother—and everyone she’d tainted. Everyone they tainted. Don’t you see? We’re all connected. What affects one has the power to affect us all.”

My stomach twists, only to quickly settle. If—when—I share the shadows, individuals have the option to resist, like the General, and remain unaffected. There’s hope, even if I fail.

“A bond forged in love cannot be a mistake,” I tell her, my tone steady with conviction.

“You know nothing about love,” she says, her tone hollow. “Love isn’t a feeling but a choice. Feelings can change in a blink, as today has proven. You chose to turn your back on Troika, all for a pretty face.”

In some ways, she’s right. Love is a choice. “He’s more than a pretty face.” Far more. “In the end, we’re helping Troika. You’ll see. There are good Myriadians just like there are bad Troikans. We deserve a chance to live in peace.”

“They deserve death,” Shamus snaps.

“If you think you’re better than someone, guaranteed you’re better than no one,” I snap back.

“You think this is about simple prejudice, little girl?” He sneers at me. “You haven’t lived in the realm long. Haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Haven’t endured betrayal after betrayal at the hands of liars and thieves.”

“Kill.” Killian pulls at his own hair. “Kill, kill.”

Breathing is suddenly a little more difficult. Forget the war. Right now, my husband matters most. Voice breaking at the edges, I ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Only everything.” Luciana gives me a little shake. “Of all the inter-realm couples I’ve hunted, observed and killed, the Myriadian half always has a harder time adjusting to the bond at first. Our Light forcibly attacks their shadows while their shadows gently seduce our Light. However, Troikans have a difficult battle in the end.”

The heat drains from my face, then my torso, before evaporating from my feet. What fresh horrors await me in the future?

“You shouldna be surprised.” Shamus glares at me. “Since the beginning of time, shadows have crept, and Light has exploded.”

Whatever happens, we will overcome this. We’ll do more than survive; we’ll thrive. To believe less is to accept defeat.

“Kill, kill.”

“Enough of that.” With a scowl, Shamus closes in on Killian once again.

Though I fight Luciana’s hold, I get nowhere fast. “I told you to stop, General.” The boy who was rejected by family after family—even the one that eventually adopted him—is mine to protect. I’m his family now. “Killian is one of ours now. He’s going to defect.”

“Good intentions aren’t guaranteed action.” Rather than grabbing hold of Killian, Shamus circles him and plucks a dagger from the sheathe anchored to his waist. “But I’m neither a liar nor a fool. I merely plan to collect the boy. He’ll be comin’ with us to Troika.”

I go still, inside and out. “Killian can pass through the Veil of Wings without harm?”

“Yes,” Luciana hisses. “Congratulations. You’ve ensured the Butcher can walk among us without hindrance.”

“Are you certain?” I won’t take any chances with Killian’s life. And I won’t respond to Lucian’s the Butcher comment. Not again. One, she won’t believe my protests. Two, I comprehend the reason for her distrust. Killian has killed our people and recruited hundreds of humans to his side, if not thousands. But the past is the past. Like feelings, people change. Only time will prove her wrong.

She nods and says, “I am. Unfortunately.”

Relief crashes over me, cool and sweet. At some point, one of those bonded Myriadians must have entered Troika, not just the Grid.

“We’ll keep Mr. Flynn safe,” Shamus says, “and you’ll vote to Resurrect General Orion.”

That is a thinly veiled threat, I’m sure of it. I’m supposed to pick which of this year’s fallen soldiers rises from the dead. “Why Orion, and not Levi?”

“Our reasons do not matter.” Luciana flexes her grip. “A bargain is a bargain.”

Exactly. “I never enter into a bargain lightly. Any bargain. I never agree to terms until I know all the ins and outs.”

Still in the process of disarming Killian, Shamus crouches and snags a gun holstered at his ankle. A quick snatch and grab. In and out. “Orion will put Troika first. Nothing else matters.”

Wrong. Something else matters greatly. We need someone who will put all people first. But I make no mention of this fact right now. “I’ll vote for the person who shares my vision for a better tomorrow.” So far I think I’ve narrowed my choices down to Archer, Meredith and Levi. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.

But no pressure, right?

Killian’s eyes blink open. He stumbles to his feet and backs away from us, shaking his head before banging a fist into his temple. Then, moving with lightning fast speed, he palms a hidden dagger, one Shamus missed, and points it—at me.

“You live,” he snarls, and his accent is gone.

I almost despair. Every word he utters now comes with an edge sharp enough to cut through steel.

The problem is, my heart isn’t made of steel but something akin to silk. If this keeps up, the organ will be shredded, leaving me raw, vulnerable.

“What happened to your accent?” I ask. I know him. He hides it only when he wants to keep someone at a distance.

“Why do you live?” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “You were supposed to die.”

Supposed to die? As in, he planned to kill me with the bond all along?

Yep. Shredded.

I must be mistaken about his meaning. My Killian would never do such a thing. Never! His love for me was—is—genuine. Something is very wrong here.

The madness...

I tremble as Shamus gives me a look: Told you.

He expects me to crumble, doesn’t he? Determined, I lift my chin and focus fully on Killian. We’ll get through this. We must. “What you’re feeling right now is—”

“Shut up. Just shut up. You are... I can’t...” He gives a violent shake of his head, then bangs the dagger’s hilt into his temple once, twice; pain lances through my temple, and I wince. “I’m going to kill you.”

Five minutes ago, he kissed me as if he couldn’t breathe without me. Now he hates me and wants me dead?

Still mistaken, Lockwood?

Surely. Life cannot be this cruel.

Who am I kidding? Life can be far crueler.

“He doesn’t remember you,” Luciana says, and sighs. “They never do.”

No, no. Killian would never forget me. But okay, say she’s right. Knowledge is power. I need to learn more. “Will he ever remember me?” I swallow the barbed lump growing in my throat. “Will I later forget him?”

“I don’t know.” Now she shrugs, and it’s obvious she doesn’t care. “We had to ensure no couples survived more than a few weeks together.”

Meaning, what? She murdered the couples?

Oh, zero. That’s exactly what she did.

I suck in a mouthful of air, but my lungs constrict, refusing to accept the breath. If I wasn’t a Conduit, she would murder me, too. That much, she’d already made clear.

Stomach churning, I meet Killian’s narrowed gaze. “Remember me. Please.” Help me. I’m not sure I can do this on my own.

“I’ll kill you,” he says, and frowns. “But I don’t want to kill you.”

Well, thank the Firstking for that. My Killian is still in there. “Fight this,” I tell him, relief giving me strength. “Fight for me. For us.” For our cause. There’s so much left to do.

“Fight for a target?” He sneers at me, as if I’m not just an enemy but a foolish enemy.

Wait. He considered me a target? He truly doesn’t remember me.

I struggle to maintain my composure, every nerve ending frazzled. The bond was supposed to bring us closer together, not rip us apart.

Shamus uses Killian’s distraction to his advantage and tries to kick the weapon from his hand. But Killian kicks back. Unprepared, Shamus hunches over even as he stumbles.

Killian is a skilled fighter. The best I’ve ever seen. Whatever weapon he holds at any given time becomes a part of him. But he’s in no condition to fight, a fact made clear when Shamus gains his bearings, leaps at him and whales. Jab, jab, jab. Meaty fists hammer at Killian’s face.

I gasp with shock, horror and pain, feeling as if I’m the one being pummeled. Stars wink before my eyes, though they fail to obscure the glittering Lifeblood pouring from Killian’s nose. A warm gush of Lifeblood pours down my chin.

Huffing and puffing as if I just ran a marathon, I wipe my face with a shaky hand. In the crackling firelight, the liquid on my fingers is as breathtaking as it is priceless. Every drop ensures my survival. The more I lose, the weaker I become. At least Luciana’s warning has been verified. Whatever injury Killian sustains, I will experience, too.

As Killian stumbles backward, Shamus finishes disarming him. But I know Killian, and I know what he’s capable of—does he let the General do this?

I manage to wrench free of Luciana’s hold and rush between the combatants with my arms extended.

Shadows cackle with glee, and I cringe. Does close proximity to Killian strengthen the darkness?

Flames still glitter in his eyes—eyes wild and crazed. Does close proximity to me strengthen his Light?

“Please, stop this,” I say. “You’re hurt.” He needs to eat ambrosia, Myriad’s version of manna. He’ll heal in seconds. “Do you have—”

He lashes out his arm and wraps his hand around my bicep. If I’d been human, the force of his grip would have broken my humerus.

Shamus and Luciana rush toward us, but Killian spins me, putting my back to his chest as he places the dagger at my throat. But what is worse? He does it without pause. Cold metal meets warm flesh, and both Generals freeze.

My heart pounds with erratic fervor as I circle my fingers around his wrist. “You don’t want to hurt me, Killian. We’re bonded. We plan to—” I zip my lips. Every word I speak will be relayed to other Generals and even my Secondking. No matter what happens here, I’ll have to attend a debriefing at some point to explain my words and actions. I’ll be judged by a jury of my peers.

Judged, convicted of a crime—and punished?

“You love me,” I say.

“You’re wrong. I know better than to fall for a Troikan.”

But I don’t know better than to fall for a Myriadian. “Fine. If you won’t trust your love for me, at least trust our determination to—” Argh! Again, I have to proceed with caution. If others learn about our plan to invade Myriad and Many Ends, they might erect obstacles.

There are too many obstacles already.

Praying he understands, I recite,

You cannot trust me.

I’m lying when I say

“Today, tomorrow, forever, I will put you first.”

And

“You are my everything.”

I admit

Without hesitation

I will let you go.

You must know sweet lies flow from my lips when I say

“We will get through this.”

Listen. Hear me now.

I love you not.

Never, ever believe that

I love you.

During tough times, I play with numbers, yes. I also craft poems. This one can be reversed, proving there are two sides to every story. Good versus evil. Light versus dark. Blessing versus cursing. Let the Generals and everyone else assume I hate Killian and I’m working some sort of Troikan agenda, but please, please, please let Killian understand the truth.

He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t when the tip of his dagger pricks my skin, and a bead of Lifeblood trickles down my throat. At the same time, he hisses, forced to endure a similar injury.

Our bond remains intact, at least, despite his memory loss.

“Inter-realm couples always turn on each other.” Shamus sighs. “I expected you two to last longer than immediately.”

I would rather die than betray Killian. Too bad my hubby doesn’t currently feel the same.

“I’m going to walk out of this cave with the girl,” Killian says, “and you’re both going to—”

Whoosh!

A flash of azure lances him, and he grunts. He’s been Dazed, no longer able to move. I try to step from his hold—and fail. Zero! I’ve been Dazed, too.

I glare fire at Luciana.

“I kept my word,” she says, unrepentant. “I didn’t shoot you. I shot the Butcher.”

Semantics.

My stomach begins to churn with broken dreams and promises. Killian and I, we’re anchors to each other now. If Troika decides I’m no longer worth the hassle, they can take both of us out with a single blow. Same with Myriad. Kill one, kill the other.

I don’t want to die, but I’m not afraid of my end. What terrifies me? The thought of Killian’s end. I want him to have a chance to live the life he’s always been denied.

“Take the boy to a safe house inside Troika,” Luciana tells Shamus. “Tell no one where he is, least of all Miss Lockwood.”

What? No. I won’t be separated from Killian while he’s inside Troika, and definitely not while he hates me. If we’re apart, that hatred could fester and grow. Together, I can remind him of all the reasons he loves me.

“What happened to your desire to finesse the situation, eh?” Shamus asks her. “What about the vote?”

Her gray eyes narrow on me. “If she wants to learn the location of her beloved, she’ll vote for Orion.”

Are you freaking kidding me? I’m being blackmailed by Generals? Love and honor are supposed to be prized; revenge and deceit are not supposed to be a viable option, ever.

There’s another way, a voice whispers along the Grid. A voice I’ve never heard before, and yet I recognize it as my own. Temptation wrapped in desire, too good to be true, yet too dark to be good.

The voice comes from deep, deep inside me. A place now mired in shadows. A place I didn’t know existed...the worst part of me. There I find rage, hate and a thousand other things I thought I’d dealt with.

The shadows didn’t come from Killian, I realize. They came from me. For years, they’ve been hiding, waiting to strike. Ready.

Despite this, I find myself replying. Tell me.

Make her pay. Make them all pay.

chapter three

“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.

chapter four

“Rules made by others are chains. Govern yourself.”

—Myriad

Ten

I’m unable to protest, fight, something, anything, as Shamus carries Killian through the Veil of Wings. A desperate need to rush after him—my husband—bombards me, but my Dazer-frozen legs refuse to cooperate.

Can’t let him out of my sight. Inside Troika, he’ll be a target. I will be his only shield.

“Unless you assist us,” General Luciana says, “you won’t see your Myriadian again.”

No. Unacceptable. And yet, her words have the desired effect. Panic sets in, seeming to turn my spine into a block of ice, and my limbs into icicles.

Emotions are fleeting, remember? They are changeable; Luciana was right about that. Just because my mind and body feel a certain way, well, that doesn’t mean I have to let the emotion into my heart, as well.

I focus on the one thing I can control: my will. I won’t give up. I might have failed to stop this from happening, but I’ll keep fighting.

Fail: First Attempt In Learning. Always try again.

If you can’t save a world, save a city. If you can’t save a city, save a block. If you can’t save a block, save a family. If you can’t save a family, save a person. One person and problem at a time.

Forget Luciana, and her scheme. Forget the vote. Today, I’ll do whatever I can to protect Killian, even if I have to do it from afar.

Levi, my mentor, once told me the key to overcoming every problem is tattooed on my wrist. Loyalty to my realm, passion for the truth, liberty for all.

The horse... I still don’t know what it means. Horses can be ridden, raced. They can pull cargo. They are strong, sometimes stubborn.

How does that help me now?

Liberty: the effects of the Dazer will wear off in time, or when someone feeds me manna.

Truth: I can find Killian through our bond. No one, not even a General, can keep me from him.

Loyalty: true loyalty stems from love, and love empowers.

Loving a loved one is easy. Loving an enemy is where the true battle lies. If I can bring myself to act in love with Luciana, perhaps I’ll be unstoppable.

Even still, rage crackles inside me as I glare at her. Part of me feels like I’m back at Prynne, under the thumb of a cruel dictator. Too many things have gone wrong. I’ve been forgotten by my boyfriend/husband/whatever. I’ve been blackmailed by two Generals, and goaded by a voice in my head.

At least the voice—my voice—has gone quiet. As I’d peered up at Killian, a bolt of strength hit me. I managed to lock the worst part of myself inside a room in the Grid.

See? Love empowers.

“Our turn.” Luciana wraps an arm around my waist and drags me forward, as if I’m a mannequin.

Crackle, crackle.

Usually my troubles melt away under the crimson spray of water. Today I experience...nothing. No change whatsoever. Why?

Ahead, sparkling mist dusts a massive archway carved from a single pearl. A Troikan symbol is etched on top and on each side, making three in total.

Three is considered the number of perfection. Spirit, soul and body. Father, mother, child. Omniscience, omnipresence, and omnipotence. Loyalty, passion, liberty.

One can be a fluke, two can be a coincidence, but three is evidence.

Yesterday, no guards patrolled the wall. Today, different animals prowl from one end to the other. More than I can count. Dogs, cats, wolves, even lions, tigers and bears, oh, my.

Miracle of miracles, no one is fighting.

My gaze snags on a dog—pit bull?—and energy arcs between us. I gasp, startled. He must feel the energy, too. He blinks at me, shakes his head, as if disbelieving, then smiles.

Smiles? But why?

He must weigh over a hundred pounds. His fur is white and brown, matted and clumped with dirt. He has a serious under-bite that saves him from looking over-the-top ferocious. In fact, it makes him downright adorable. One of his ears is missing—bitten off?

My chest constricts with compassion. Spirits regenerate. Do dogs?

In the Everlife, animals can talk. Maybe I’ll ask him. Later.

“Earlier, Eron decreed every citizen of Troika will be paired with a four-legged guardian,” Luciana says. “You may choose to dismiss your guardian, as the majority of us have. These are the rejects, I believe.”

My eyes glare my response: What makes you think I’ll ever take your advice?

Her attitude shreds against my nerves. These “rejects” are living creatures, with thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams. I will cherish my guardian, thank you very much. If I’m still allowed to have one, after bonding with Killian, that is.

I hope so. I didn’t have a pet as a child, but I wanted one. A dog, cat, bird, fish. I had no preference, only longed for a companion.

My gaze returns to the big brown-and-white dog. Maybe he’s my—

Nope, he’s gone.

Disappointment sets in. As I force my attention past the animals to the heart of the city, sadness joins the deluge. This. This is the price of war. Armies of MLs invaded our outer borders. At the same time, Myriadian spies—people who had made covenant with Troika while remaining loyal to Myriad—set off bombs inside our cities. We have yet to recover. Our once-bustling metropolis is now a pile of rubble.

Only a handful of crystal castles remain, once the envy of any Disney princess. Woodland cottages extend from the base of trees. The ones that haven’t collapsed, that is. Though there were once countless chrome and glass buildings, only three remain standing; they look ready to fly to another planet at...any...second. A copper structure rises from the center of the debris, beautiful and tragic all at once.

I search for Killian and Shamus, but they are nowhere to be found.

Crackle.

Lightning spears the crimson sky, and colorful flower petals rain. The waterfall surrounds the entire realm, allowing a garden to grow overhead.

“Don’t worry,” Luciana says. “Shamus messaged me. Your butcher is alive.”

Alive, but not well?

CRACKLE.

Where is Killian being kept? The realm is divided into seven cities. The Temple of Temples, the Baths of Restoration, the Museum of Wisdom, the House of Secrets, the Garden of Exchange, the Tower of Might, where I train, and the Capitol of New, where I live.

Though each city covers hundreds of thousands of square miles, Gates and Stairwells allow us to travel at the speed of Light from one to another in seconds. Gates take us from one city to another, while Stairwells take us to different areas within any given city.

“You and I, we’re going to have a chat.” Luciana shocks me by prying open my mouth and pouring a vial of manna down my throat. “You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you.”

The sweetness coats my tongue, and suddenly my muscles unlock, permitting movement.

Is Killian free, too?

Let’s hope. “Sorry,” I tell Luciana, “but I think I’ll be a bad girl today.” With no more warning than that, I strike, slamming my fist into her face.

The dark part of me I thought I’d locked away has escaped.

The General stumbles back but quickly regains her bearings. As a bead of Lifeblood trickles from the corner of her mouth, her eyes narrow. “Hurting me won’t help your cause, Miss Lockwood.”

“No, but it will make me feel better. You threatened Killian’s life. You hope to blackmail me into voting for General Orion. You deserve what you get.”

She runs her tongue over her teeth. “We do what we must for the people we love.”

“Exactly,” I say, and stalk toward her. So she’s older and has had more training, and I’m still fighting the effects of my bond. So what. I don’t care. Rage drives me.

Override it!

Nope. Don’t think I will.

When I throw my next punch, she’s ready. She blocks and nails me in the eye. My vision blurs as I topple.

“Now the Butcher’s eye is throbbing, like yours,” she says, a little smug. “What other damage would you like me to do to him?”

With a snarl, I leap to my feet.

“I’m surprised you’re so upset about this,” she says. “You told the Butcher you didn’t love him and couldn’t be trusted. Why is that, I wonder. Did you lie to him? Your actions speak louder than your words.”

I take another swing at her, then another, but she easily dodges both times.

“You don’t want to take me on, Miss Lockwood. I trained Levi, who trained you. There’s nothing you can do that I can’t do better.”

Not true. She can’t share Light. I can. Or could. I pause as comprehension slams into me. I’m absorbing Light, but no longer sending the beams to the citizens of Troika.

Don’t cave to panic. Don’t you dare.

At least I’m strengthening. And I can find a way to fix this. I can, and I will.

“Perhaps you buy into the hype that you are somehow special? So precious, so unique.” She sneers at me. “Myriad wanted you because they wrongly believed you were Fused to nine of their fallen Generals. We know better. And guess what? We tell every recruit they are special to us—that they are the chosen one—and that their actions will affect the war, because it’s true. Everyone must work together, with the same goal. We must be one body. The body.”

Mind—blown.

I knew it. I’m not any kind of chosen one. Although... “By your logic, I am special, because everyone is.” Together, we are the chosen one. Together, we can win or lose the war. “If no one is special apart from the whole, how did I become a Conduit? How did you become a General?”

“Birth doesn’t dictate our station, Miss Lockwood. Hearts do that. Yours happened to be more open and receptive to Light than most, more willing to share.”

Her answer doesn’t jibe with the things I’ve been taught. “I was an infant when my status as a Conduit was detected.” Perhaps a better word—decided. By Eron? “How could my heart be open and receptive to things I didn’t yet understand? I had no concept of anything outside hunger or—”

“Wrong,” she interjects. She adopts a cool mask, hiding her emotions. “Humans understand less than they think, but spirits are far wiser than anyone realizes.” Her head tilts to the side, her eyes like lasers. “I’ve watched you with your brother. I’d venture to guess he’s able to speak into your mind.”

She’s right. Jeremy is only a few months old, has no concept of language, and yet he has spoken to me telepathically. The rest of my objections wither. I have other questions, of course. I always have questions. Knowledge is power. But this woman is not the person I want teaching me. She might have trained Levi, but she isn’t half the warrior he was.

“Other infants speak to their loved ones, too.” She spreads her arms wide, all I’m the smartest woman in the universe. “Just like I told you. Wise.”

“I will not be blackmailed.” A promise from the depths of my soul. If she knew me, even a little, she would understand I always mean what I say and say what I mean. Those who are weak, lie. Those who are strong, defend the truth, whatever the cost. “I told you. I will vote for the one I think is best. You won’t change my mind.”

The color drains from her cheeks, the cool mask slipping away. There’s no hiding the desperation in her eyes now. Desperation I’ve seen reflected back at me more than once, when I stared into a mirror, wondering how I could get myself out of whatever mess I’d fallen into.

“Please, Miss Lockwood. Tenley. How you feel about Mr. Flynn is how I feel about General Orion.”

Oh, now she calls him Mr. Flynn?

“He means everything to me,” she continues. “When my family died, he was there for me. Let me be there for him. And he will save us from Myriad. He will. You just give him a chance.”

The darker part of me—my Myriadian side?—laughs. Such a fool. She’s handed us the key to her destruction.

Us? No, oh, no. “He didn’t save us before. What makes you think he’ll succeed with a second chance?”

She opens her mouth, snaps it closed.

I’m not done. “If you know the love I have for Killian and took him away from me anyway, if you are using him to blackmail me, you are worse than I realized.” Even still, I focus on my Troikan side, where compassion holds my heart in a vise grip.

She’s hurting. There’s no need to kick her while she’s down. And really, Luciana isn’t the first person to ask me to vote for Orion. Levi did, too, right before his Second-death.

I know two facts about him. (1) He was a war hero who led his troops into battle with vigor and cunning, and (2) his return would be good for Troika. But so would Levi’s. And Meredith’s and Archer’s. But I care about Myriadians, too. I want what’s best for everyone.

“You love Orion the way I love Killian?” I say. “Even though the General is married to another woman?”

She flinches, as if I landed another punch. “I didn’t say I was proud of my feelings, only that I have them. And I’m not asking you to pick him simply because I miss him. I’m truly concerned for our home, Miss Lockwood. Mere days ago, Myriad almost destroyed us. One second we were happily working as usual, the next we were fighting for our lives. If Myriadians aren’t stopped, they’ll come at us again, and again. Our children will be hurt. Or worse! Just...think about all I have said.” She taps her wrist. A Light shines from her forearm, a keyboard that is an extension of her comm. As she types, she says, “Your choice could ensure our victory. Or our defeat. If we lose, everyone you love will perish.”

“So I’m the chosen one, after all? Or perhaps you mean Orion is the chosen one, all on his own.”

She scowls. Then, having no response, she transports away.

Zero! I’m not done with her—or Shamus! But first things first.

As I rush through the next Gate, no animals follow me. A flicker of disappointment burns my chest, but I quickly tamp it down. I make my way to the House of Secrets, where the Eye is located. The portal will allow me to see anyone in the Land of the Harvest or Troika.

I exit the Gate onto a circular sidewalk about the size of a football field. Along the outer edge of the sidewalk looms one skyscraper after another, as well as two piles of debris, courtesy of the bombings. In the center is an island, connected to the sidewalk through multiple bridges, and in the center of the island is the Eye, a massive oval of glistening mist, surrounded by a cluster of jagged, unpolished diamonds.

Throngs of people meander in every direction, some coming, some going. Four-legged animals—everything from dogs to donkeys—trail a few of those people. The smart ones who accepted Eron’s gift.

Something I’ve noticed: Whatever our Secondking does, he has a good reason, and that reason is always beneficial to us, his people. Take the Exchange, for instance. On the surface, it seems cruel. If we do something wrong, either inadvertently or on purpose, we are forced to trade places with the one we harmed; just for a moment, we experience the past through the other person’s eyes. We feel their pain, learn their thoughts.

Honestly, a whipping would be easier to endure. Physical wounds heal. The ones on our hearts scar, and last forever.

“Excuse us.”

The voice pulls me out of my head. A massive wolf with snow-white fur looms just in front of me. Eyes the color of emeralds stare at me, expectant. His teeth are long, sharp and as white as his fur. The better to eat you with, my dear.

I reel. “Um. Hi.” I’ve never had a conversation with a wolf before.

Is he my—

“My human would like to speak with you,” he says.

Oh. I look behind him, and spot a guy who is vibrating with eagerness, sadness and hope all at once. He’s covered in soot, his clothing torn. Clearly he’s been working to clean up the mess.

“Please,” he says. “My wife died this year.” He speaks Swahili, a language I’ve never learned; even still, the Grid translates every word in an instant. “I know you haven’t met her, and that most of the realm wants one of the Generals to return, but please. Please! Consider my Fahari. She was the kindest, sweetest, most loving woman ever born.”

Someone else I’ve never met pushes him out of the way, vying for my attention. “You must vote for—”

The wolf turns and growls at the newcomer. Newcomer’s eyes widen as his mouth snaps closed.

Then, tone as calm as can be, Wolf says, “Allow my human to finish his conversation, then you may speak.”

Guardian animals are amazing.

Unfortunately, the ferocity of the growl draws everyone else’s attention. Suddenly, those others issue pleas of their own. Well. Word has certainly spread. Tenley Lockwood is the one who will decide who comes back to life, courtesy of the Resurrection.

A stray thought arises: Am I Tenley Flynn now?

“I’m sorry,” I announce. I doubt anyone hears me. “I’m in a hurry.”

I push through the masses. Once I’m standing before the Eye, I search the portal for any hint of darkness inside Troika...with no luck. Zero! I whisper Killian’s name...still nothing. Foot stomp.

Maybe I’m supposed to do more than look and speak? But what?

Ugh. I can’t ask anyone for help. If a Troikan discovers a Myriadian currently lurks in our midst, mass panic could ensue.

Okay, so. Coming here was a fool’s mistake. Noted. But where can I go? My apartment was destroyed in the most recent attack, and anywhere else, I’ll be inundated with citizens just like these, desperate to influence my vote.

I’m tempted to open the door to the Rest and ask Archer, Meredith and Levi for advice. But the shadows...

Luciana’s warning rings in my head. What if the shadows now taking up prime real estate inside my head somehow use the bond I share with my friends to sneak into their sections of the Grid?

Can’t risk it. Not until I erect some sort of block.

Once again I fight my way through the crowd. A little more difficult this time around. No matter. I manage to slip through a Stairwell, then a Gate, and finally end up in a scorched—abandoned—manna field, no workers nearby. Raindrops join the flower petals, gently falling from the Veil. Before my eyes, little green buds break through the soil.

I lie upon the earth, the rain a light pitter-patter against my skin, mixing with a warm cascade...of tears? Ugh. I’m married, but I’ve never felt more alone. I’m—

Welcoming pity. A shudder rocks me. I will not feel sorry for myself. If I do, I’ll weaken. Pity will only drain my hope and leave me empty.

Now is the time to rise and shine and fight for what’s right.

I have too much to do to sulk.

First up, Killian’s liberation. End goal: freedom from war.

Loyalty, passion, liberty.

Strength. Clarity.

Light.

Yes! I close my eyes and open a door in the Grid, unleashing a flood of Light. As shadows hiss and run, I do my best to erect a mental block before concentrating on my bond to Killian—

Suddenly I’m six years old. I’m perched on my knees, my stomach empty and twisted with hunger, my skin caked in dirt. I ran away from the Learning Center weeks—months?—ago. No one wants me, fine. I can make it on my own, and I’ll prove it.

Or so I thought.

I gasp, realizing I’m in Killian’s head, reliving one of his memories.

Two men stand behind him, ensuring he’s locked in place as a well-dressed man paces directly in front of him, back and forth, back and forth. One of those men is holding a wafer of ambrosia and yelling at Killian, furious that he tried to steal food from him. Him, an exalted General.

Finally the General stops and glares at Killian with cruelty and calculation in his dark eyes. “You want this, boy?” He shakes the ambrosia in Killian’s direction, making sure he smells the sweetness. His mouth waters, and his gums ache.

“Beg me for it.”

Killian shakes his head no, refusing to beg. Even now, pride rules him.

Motions exaggerated for effect, the General takes a bite of the wafer. Little crumbs fall to the floor, and Killian whimpers. When he reaches out, the man on his left stomps on his hand.

A cry of pain from Killian—and me. Hot tears continue to pour down my cheeks.

The memory plays on, the General reaching for the whip hanging on the wall. Killian stays put, still staring at the crumbs.

With a nod from the General, the guards rip away Killian’s shirt.

“Soon,” he says, unfurling the whip, “I’ll take you back to the Learning Center, where you belong. Until then, you’re going to beg me, as ordered. That, I promise you.”

The scene goes dark, and, even as I sob, I question why I’m not allowed to witness what happened next.

No doubt the answer is simple. It would have broken me.

I had tae beg for scraps as a child, simply to survive. I’d rather die than beg for anything.

So badly I want to wrap my arms around him, around the boy he used to be and the man he became. I want to protect him from the past, present and future. I want to know why he’s forgotten me, but I’m learning more about him.

Something Luciana said nags at me. Love is not a feeling, but a choice. In that, I agree with her. But I wonder...

What if Killian lost his memories because he must choose to be with me without having feelings for me?

Will he?

More determined to find him by the second, I brace and pursue our bond...

A new memory takes shape. Killian stands in front of a mirror, naked. Gloriously, exquisitely naked. He’s only seventeen years old, yet muscle sculpts him. His skin is bronzed, mostly free of tattoos but littered with scars.

Why didn’t those scars heal? He should have regenerated.

A girl crouches behind him. She has short, dark hair, pale skin, elfin features and a slender build. She’s wearing a black tank top and a pair of barely-there panties, and it’s clear the two have just had sex.

Envy pricks me. Envy and anger, with a dash of hurt. This boy is my husband, and this girl is seeing him at his most vulnerable. Seeing him in ways I haven’t. Not yet, anyway. Her memories of him belong to me!

At least I recognize her. Erica used to Flank Killian, chronicling his exploits. Then she helped him help me, and Myriad locked her in the Kennel.

Another item for my To Do list. Find her and set her free.

I turn my attention to the small but luxurious room. The bed is covered by a plush black comforter while a fuzzy white blanket drapes the foot. A matching circular rug surrounds the bed. Softness when you lie down, softness when you stand up. The walls are painted black, except for the mirrored one. Several frames hang throughout. Empty frames. Once they contained holographic images of Killian and Archer, but Killian deleted them after Archer defected, then saved the frames as a reminder. You can count only on yourself.

The dresser is hand-carved in the shape of a dragon, wings extending from the sides to act as bookshelves.

“Let me get this straight,” Erica says as she tattoos his calf. “You want a map of Myriad to cover your entire body—just because. Isn’t that taking realm loyalty a little too far?”

“There is no such thing as too far, baby. Besides, the tattoos will cover my scars,” Killian replies, accent-less.

Doesn’t feel comfortable enough to be his true self with Erica? And baby? Gross!

I have a direct line to his thoughts, but he isn’t thinking about the accent. Only about using the map to keep track of all the things he plans to hide inside the realm, how Erica will never know. No one will know, no matter how hard or often they study the images inked into his skin. Can’t read a map without a key.

His mind is the key.

He’ll hide weapons, money used in Myriad, Troika and even the Land of the Harvest, and extra supplies of ambrosia, just to name a few. That way, if ever he loses his home or earns a punishment that strips him of his possessions, he won’t have to start over. Not again.

My heart clenches in my chest, seeming to bump against broken ribs. The other tattoos he’s asked Erica to add... He’s lost so much, and wants to honor what he loves and misses with the whole of his being. His mother, his friendship with Archer. The car he’d kept in the Land of the Harvest because he’d never gotten to drive in Firstlife, until some punk kids had stolen it from him. Ashley, the foster sister who died. Even Madame Pearl Bennett, Ashley’s mother.

Pearl adopted him, offering him a family, only to return him mere days after Ashley’s death.

What he mourned most of all, however, was his chance to become a General. When he failed to develop the proper gifts, he received a demotion and the Secondking’s disappointment.

“Scars are sexy,” Erica says. “And unique. So few of us have them.”

“Most children are protected, their vulnerability carefully shielded.”

I hear bitterness in his tone and realize he received his scars the day the General caught him stealing ambrosia. The whip...

Acid fills the pit of my stomach.

I’ve always speculated about Killian’s scars and tattoos. While I’m grateful I now have answers, I would have preferred to learn the truth from present-day Killian. To know he trusted me with his secrets and pain.

But even if his memories were intact, why should he trust me? When I sided with Archer, choosing to live in Troika, I abandoned Killian, just like everyone else. At least, that’s how he must have felt. Yes, he pushed me to let my heart lead the way, knowing I would never be happy in Myriad, but it cost him more than I ever realized.

Maybe he forgot me because he wanted to forget.

Sadness overwhelms me. Between one blink and the next, my link to Killian’s past is disrupted, and the scorched manna field whisks back into focus. The rain has stopped falling, the sun shining brightly. I remained in the memory all night long?

Zero! The vote!

I jackknife to a sitting position, my thoughts whirling. Once I had a choice to make: Troika or Killian. I chose the realm over the boy. Today, with the vote, the same choice is set before me.

I’d already decided to put Killian first; now my determination solidifies. Today, I pick the boy. There is nothing more important than a life. A single life is priceless.

I will help Killian. I will save him from those who think to harm him. I will build a new life with him, and for him. A better life. Two realms united, one people. Starting with us.

Firstking help anyone who gets in my way.

MYRIAD

From: K_F_5/23.53.6

To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

Subject: Here are the facts, short and sweet

1. I’ve bonded with Tenley Lockwood. Yes, I’m that good.

2. I’m a prisoner inside Troika. ←Yes, I said Troika.

(a) I successfully traveled through the Veil of Wings.

(b) If you want more soldiers inside the realm, bonding is the way.

3. I had ambrosia hidden in a secret compartment in my boot, as I was trained.

(a) I drank it, of course, so I’m now out of ambrosia.

(b) No one has realized my comm is currently working.

4. I’ll be returning to Myriad soon—with cargo. Be ready. This particular package bites, hard.

5. I don’t have a fifth point, but I felt like using an entire hand. We must stay true to our feelings, right?

If you have any instructions for me, now is the time to send them. Let’s win this war!

Might Equals Right!

ML, Killian Flynn

MYRIAD

From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

To: H_S_3/51.3.6

Subject: Killian Flynn

My dear General Schmidt,

First, I must admit it is an honor to fall under your leadership. Though you are only fourteen, you have been with us since birth, and I have watched you grow into the General of generals.

Second, Killian Flynn contacted me only moments ago. He says he’s bonded with Miss Tenley Lockwood, that he’s in Troika, and that he will soon return to our midst with the girl at his side.

He protected the girl yesterday, yet he’s willing to harm her today? Something is off.

How would you like me to proceed?

Might Equals Right!

Sir Zhi Chen

MYRIAD

From: H_S_3/51.3.6

To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

Subject: Check it

Dude! Killian Flynn is the man. He nailed the babe no one else could score, yo.

Okay, so I just had a meet and greet with our queens and they—legit—almost crapped themselves. In fact, I’ve never seen them so excited. To celebrate Killian’s victory, they are throwing a party tonight, and you and yours are invited. BYOB. (Bring your own babes. The queens will supply the beer!) Oh, and they say the K-man is hereby pardoned from all his crimes.

Our Secondking showed up for the last part of the meeting, and he says K doesn’t even remember those crimes, that he’s now on our side, totally and completely.

Side note: If you aren’t ready to die from envy, something’s wrong with you. I’m STILL high on Ambrosine’s power. The intensity, man. My knees literally buckled. I dropped and couldn’t move until he walked away. But the best part of it all? One of his shadows ghosted inside me—and freaking stayed put.

I carry a part of our king!

Chicks have been throwing themselves at me ever since.

Anyway. Alert me the moment the happy couple crosses into Myriad, you dig. K-man will need a Healer to purge him of Light. We’ll use his link to Troika to destroy the realm. His wifey-poo will probably die, so, that’s another plus.

Stick a fork in this war—it’s over!

Might Equals Right!

General Hans Schmidt

MYRIAD

From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

To: V_P_5/20.16.18

Subject: New developments

I’ve spoken with Killian Flynn, as well as General Schmidt, who spoke with our queens, and even our Secondking. Mr. Flynn has been pardoned for all his crimes, and he will soon be returning to our midst with the infamous Miss Lockwood in tow. By some miracle, he was able to convince her to bond with him.

Victory will be ours.

Now, were you able to deliver Miss Aubuchon to General Schmidt, as requested? And how is Miss Lockwood’s father doing? Update me.

Might Equals Right!

Sir Zhi Chen

MYRIAD

From: V_P_5/20.16.18

To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

Subject: Get your facts straight

He’s not my Secondking, he’s my father.

As for Sloan Aubuchon—yes. I delivered her to Hans. (You know him by the name General Schmidt. I know him on a more personal level.) By the way, his plan for her is spectacular. Just wait.

You’ll be happy to know Leonard Lockwood hates his daughter with every fiber of his being. He blames her for his early Firstdeath, and he’s eager to settle the score. He’ll help us any way he can.

Here’s the thing, though. I want to be the one to end her.

Might Equals Right!

ML, Victor Prince

MYRIAD

From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

To: V_P_5/20.16.18

Subject: Be patient

Once Mr. Flynn has served his purpose, Miss Lockwood—Mrs. Flynn now?—will have served hers. I’m sure your father will be amenable to giving the pair to you as a gift. They can die right along with Troika.

Might Equals Right!

Sir Zhi Chen

chapter five

“Wise counsel is an invaluable treasure.”

—Troika

Ten

Electric impulses race through my comm, jolting me. One second I’m in the scorched manna field, the next I’m in a private room at the Baths of Restoration, standing in the middle of a pool.

The change of scenery is startling, and I struggle to catch my breath as I orient myself. Four stone walls surround me. Above, there’s no ceiling, allowing me to peer up at the beautiful crimson sky, so peaceful it taunts me.

“It freaking worked.” Clay Anders steps into view. He’s flanked by three others: Reed Haynesworth, Raanan Aarons and Clementine Vickers.

Happiness overtakes me. My friends are here. I met Clay in the Prynne Asylum. He’s the kind of friend others dream of having. Rock solid, loyal and 100 percent dependable.

Reed, I rescued from Many Ends. Raanan and Clementine experienced Firstdeath on the same day as me, so we went through Troikan initiation together. We haven’t always gotten along, but we’ve been through hell and back. Bonds formed. Trust was forged.

Everyone but me is wearing a ceremonial robe. White with green trim = Laborer-in-training.

While Clay is my age, both Reed and Raanan are a year older. All three boys are tall with black hair, but that is where their similarities end. Clay is lean and tanned with wavy locks that frame a classically handsome face, and navy blue eyes. Reed is wider, more striking, with lighter skin, hair that is straight as a board and brown eyes with a beautiful uptilt. Raanan is dark from head to toe and packed with muscle, with midnight eyes filled with the smoldering heat of a desert sun.

Clementine is the youngest, her pale skin covered in adorable freckles. She has pink hair, big hazel eyes and charming features. To me, she looks like a living doll.

Normally my friend Kayla Brooks would be here, too, but she’s currently recovering from a bullet to the face. My hands fist. The shooter? Victor Prince. He convinced her to betray Troika, told her they would bring about the end of the war and when that happened, they could be together. A lie, all a lie. Victor hadn’t wanted the war to end; he’d wanted Troika laid to waste.

He is responsible for the most recent attack. When he failed to win me over to his cause, he tried to assassinate me.

Truth is, even if Kayla were recovered, I doubt she’d be here. Her actions hurt innocent people. A lot of innocent people. Yes, she realized her mistake, and she’s been forgiven by the majority, but no one trusts her. Including me. I love her dearly, but even I have limits.

The muscles in my shoulders bunch into hard knots. I’m the worst kind of person in the world right now—I’m a freaking hypocrite. Again and again, I’ve sided with Killian. How easily my situation could have been like Kayla’s.

If ever Killian had used me...

But he hadn’t. He won’t. There’s a big difference between our boyfriends: Victor sees no value in life other than his own, and Killian does. Or he used to. I don’t know the man he’s become.

I need my old Killian back. Killian 1.0. There’s no beating the original.

With my friends at my sides, I can do anything. Even bring Killian 2.0 into the Light.

The knots unwind, and my tension fades. “How am I here?” I ask. “Better yet, why am I here? And where are your guardian animals?” Dang it, where’s mine? Gimme!

“One question at a time,” Raanan says. “We heard you’d returned from a secret meeting and the first thing you did was visit the Eye. We needed to speak with you, so we had Clem retrace your steps. And I’m still waiting to meet my guardian.”

“Me, too,” the others say in unison.

“Tell us about the secret meeting,” Clay says.

What to admit, and what to hold back? “I’ll tell you, but can we backtrack a minute? Did you say Clementine worked the Eye?” Only Leaders train at the Eye. Last I heard, Clementine was a Laborer.

Grinning, she fluffs her hair. “Didn’t you hear? Lots of people got a promotion, and I’m one of them. Thanks to the Grid, skills were downloaded straight into my brain.”

“While you were gone, announcements were made.” Reed sits at the edge of the pool, and draws one knee up to his chest. “The bombings killed so many, massive restructuring had to be done. Clementine, Rebel, Winifred, Hoshi and Sawyer are to become Leaders.”

“What about you? What about Nico and Fatima?” They are the other newbies who experienced Firstdeath on the same day as me. Fatima is the youngest at six years old.

Reed rubs two fingers over his jaw. “I turned down a Leader position, and Fatima’s training has been delayed. She’s not coping well with all the disasters. As for Nico, I don’t know. No one’s heard from him since the bombings.”

Zero! What if he’s trapped underneath the rubble?

“I got a promotion, too, only information wasn’t downloaded into my Grid.” Raanan levels a hard gaze on me. “Probably because you’re the one who promoted me.”

Frowning, unsure I heard him correctly, I thump my chest. “Me?”

Nod. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing?” I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Wrong.” He points a finger at me. “After the bombs were set off inside the realm, you touched me. Lightning arced between us. Ever since, I’ve been burning up with fever, though I’m not sick. I’m stronger. And I know, I know. I was hot already. Now I’m scorching.” He winked.

As suspicions dance through my mind, I chew on my bottom lip. Is it possible...? “Has the Grid expanded inside your mind?”

His eyes widen. “Yes. New doors keep popping up.”

I chew harder. Somehow I must have turned him into a Conduit, the way Myriadian Generals can turn humans into Abrogates. Except, he’s not as radiant as before, and Conduits glow. Or maybe the problem with that is, well, me? Maybe I can’t see Light the way I once did, my mind too clouded by shadows. “I have an idea, but I’m not sure I’m right. Let me do a little digging before I—”

“Tell me,” he demands.

Oookay. How can I deny him? I’d want to know, too. “I think you may or may not—maybe, probably, hopefully—be...a Conduit.” Before he has a chance to respond, I rush to add, “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. Like I said, I don’t even know if I’m right.”

At first, he has no reaction. Then excitement pulses from him, and the corners of his mouth quirk up. “I’ve always known I was special. This proves it.”

“All right. Enough of that.” Clay gives Raanan a little shove before jumping into the water. Cool droplets splash my face. He closes the distance and gives me a hug. “Do you know what’s odd?” he asks.

“You mean there’s more?” I sigh. “Tell me,” I demand, just like Raanan. See? I have to know.

“Every other number,” Clay says.

I snort, taking comfort in the familiar. Whenever we’re together, he tells me a number joke.

Now he tweaks my nose. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you kind of look like the grim reaper without a cape.”

Seriously? “There’s a right way to take that?”

Raanan rakes his gaze over me and shrugs. “He’s wrong. You don’t look like the grim reaper. You look like his evil twin.”

Great! I absolutely refuse to lie to my friends, or anyone. I’m not weak. “I’m...” Just say it. “That secret meeting I attended? It was with Killian. We...bonded.”

To my amazement, no one is surprised.

Raanan slaps Reed on the shoulder. “Knew it. Pay up.”

Grumbling under his breath, Reed digs into the pocket of his robe and hands over a small vial of manna.

“Flavored with whiskey,” Raanan says while wiggling his brows. “A rare mannskey.”

I do a little glaring. “You guys bet on my relationship?”

“We experienced a ripple of absolute darkness through the Grid.” He shrugs, all, What else were we supposed to do? “I figured you had something to do with it. And if you’re involved in something, the Myriadian is involved.”

Well. He isn’t wrong.

“So you’re married?” Clementine asks, and claps.

“I am.” Happily...almost. Maybe. Hopefully!

Grinning, she jumps up and down. “Have you guys had sex yet?”

My cheeks heat, and I nearly choke on my tongue. “Um...”

“Hey. You aren’t supposed to ask a girl that kind of question. You’re far too young.” Raanan flattens his hands over her ears. “Well?” he asks me. “Have you? And has anything bad happened because of the bond? Besides you looking like Death’s evil twin, I mean. We’re told to stay away from Myriadians, so...huh huh have you? Has it?”

I roll my eyes, and say, “I plead the fifth on both counts.”

“You also suck.” His hands fall away from Clem.

We haven’t had sex, no, but I kinda feel like I acquired an STD anyway. Shadows Too Dark. How can I get rid of them permanently?

“Two of our Generals hid Killian inside Troika.” I dunk into the crystal-clear water, ripples brushing against me, cleansing me from the inside out. Even my breath is freshened.

What the water doesn’t do? What its name promises. My strength is not restored. I think I’m more tired than before. My limbs are shaky, and my stomach is a mess. What if I fight the Generals and lose? My frustration mounts. “They’re blackmailing me, trying to control my vote for the Resurrection. That means finding Killian is priority one. Freeing him is priority two.”

“Let me guess,” Reed says. “You’re supposed to vote for Levi.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Orion.”

Clay thinks, frowns. “Why? Levi is the one we need, no doubt about it.”

Everyone else nods. And I get it. I do. Levi trained us. He’s smart, kind and determined. But...I’m not sold. Does no one see the merits to having Meredith or Archer returned to our midst? Meredith is a Leader and open to peace between realms. Archer is a Laborer with the heart of a lion. He’s willing to die for his loved ones—and has!

How much am I willing to sacrifice for my realm...for peace?

How far am I willing to go for Killian...for love?

If we are truly to be one body—the chosen—the members of our body matter more than ever.

“We have an hour until the vote,” Clementine begins. “I can return to the Eye and—”

A vibration rides across the Grid, arresting me. Arresting all of us. In unison, we go still.

“The Secondking has issued a summons,” Raanan says, decoding the message that accompanies the vibration. “Due to murmurs of discontent, the Resurrection ceremony has been moved up. We’re to head to the Garden of Exchange now.”

Zero! What about Killian?

Deep breath in, out. Right now, he’s safe. So I’ll go to the Garden of Exchange. I’ll cast my vote. As long as the Generals need me, he’s going to be fine. Afterward, I’ll find him. Perhaps with the help of the person who is Resurrected.

In a blink, my To Do list changes. Decide who will come back from the dead. Find and save Killian.

No pressure.

As Raanan helps me out of the water, Clay taps his wrist and a bright Light appears directly over it. He type, type, types. A towel appears in one hand, and a purple robe in the other. Purple = royalty. I gulp.

Definite pressure...

Argh! When there is pressure, do not panic—sow and reap. Life is a garden. Plant a seed, and grow a blessing...or a curse. The harvest depends on your seed, for like gives life to like. If I want love, I must sow love. If I want to help my goals, I must help my realm.

Which of the slain will help my realm if Resurrected?

Clay tosses me the towel. After I dry off, I hand the towel to Clementine, and she uses it to shield me as I change into the purple robe. Then I braid my wet hair.

“Drink up. You’re a Conduit, special and we need you well. I’m sure you could use a boost.” She places a vial of manna in one of my hands, and heads for the exit.

I follow her, and everyone else follows me.

“I’m not special,” I mutter, and drain the vial.

“You saved us during the invasion,” Clay says. “Trust me. You’re special.”

The manna is sweet on my tongue, but for the first time, it burns going down. Sharp pains shoot through me, but thankfully they fade in a hurry.

Do I now need a mix of manna and ambrosia?

I’ll figure it out. Later. Ahead is a Gate, an archway that looks to be made entirely of diamonds. Our group enters two at a time, the diamonds vanishing as fireworks explode around us. We remain on our feet, even continue walking, while we’re shot to a new location.

There, we enter a Stairwell. Then we enter two more Gates before reaching our destination. The Garden of Exchange. Thank the Firstking, this city is untouched by the bomb blasts, its hanging wisteria, honeysuckle and ivy vines as lush as ever. Fruit trees are in full bloom, branches heavy with peaches, oranges, apples and every other kind of treat you can name. Wild strawberries and blackberries intermix with a maze of colorful flowers, sweetly scenting the air while leading to the heart of the city, where millions of citizens have already congregated, everyone decked out in some kind of robe.

There are children, teenagers and adults, though no one looks older than thirty-five. That’s to be expected. When a spirit reaches the Age of Perfection, the outward appearance freeze-frames, no matter how old a physical body becomes or used to be.

Different animals are present, as well. Dogs. Cats. Deer. Wolves. A handful of zebras. Horses. Birds fly overhead. Despite the number of living beings amassed here, not a single conversation is taking place. Not a roar, growl or purr can be heard. Silence reigns, and it’s eerie.

As we approach, the crowd parts down the center for the one who will be rendering the only vote. My heart thuds against my ribs. We motor forward, sweat dotting my palms. I catch sight of Nico and breathe a sigh of relief. Until his eyes narrow and fill with hate.

Hate? I stumble. Does he know I married Killian?

Someone steps in front of him, blocking him from view before I can speak with him. My gaze lands on my great-grandmother Hazel, and my mind trips along after it. Such a precious woman! Beside her is my great-grandfather Steven. If I fail to vote for Meredith, their daughter, they’ll be hurt.

I swallow the lump growing in my throat. Next I see Millicent, my little brother’s nanny, and Jeremy. My heart squeezes. As he wiggles and giggles, I pause to caress his soft cheekbone.

—Ten!—

His voice drifts along the Grid, filling my mind. This isn’t the first time he’s spoken to me this way, but I’m still startled. —Hey, baby bro. I love you so much.—

—Love, too.—

“Get him out of here,” I whisper to Millicent. “Keep him safe.” If there’s a riot after I render my vote, I don’t want an infant caught in the chaos.

Her jaw drops, and she blinks rapidly. Then she nods and works her way through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction.

Keep moving. Get this done. A royal palace is ahead, with walls made of diamond, sapphire and ruby, emerald, topaz, and beryl, onyx and jasper. Every gem is flawless, breathtaking.

Before the palace is a bridge. Before the bridge is a dais.

Tremors flood me. On the dais stands the Secondking. The majestic Eron, Prince of Doves, is wearing a spectacular violet robe with gold seams and a hem that glitters as if it’s been soaked in Lifeblood. He’s tall and leanly muscular, with dark skin and eyes bluer than a morning sky, brighter than a sapphire and lovelier than a blue jay.

Despite the majesty of those eyes, his face is plain. A fact that always astounds me. He should be a showstopper.

Who am I kidding? He is a showstopper. Appearance means nothing. Heart, everything. Love and power radiate from him. So much power. Too much for one person to bear. Well, an ordinary person. Eron is far from ordinary. Light shines from his pores, radiant and pure, warming me.

In the back of my mind, the shadows shudder with fear. I grin.

Behind the Secondking stands each of our thirteen Generals. They represent a mix of nationalities and hail from all over the Land of the Harvest. Today they are dressed in turquoise robes with metal links sewn into the shoulders to denote their exalted station.

My grin fades. Do the other Generals know that Luciana and Shamus are holding Killian hostage?

The shadows seize upon the rage that sparks inside me, and dip their toes in the waters of my mind...ripples flow along the Grid. Threatening to invade other doors?

Careful. In an effort to control the emotions, I breathe deeply and turn my focus to the others. The handsome Alejandro gives me a nod of greeting. I’ve always liked him, and I hope beyond hope that I have an ally in him—no matter what. Jane and Spike give me a nod of greeting, as well, while the others implore me with their gazes.

I can almost hear the chant inside their heads. Choose Orion. Please.

Tremors shake me. With my head high, I ascend the steps, the pitter-patter of my feet almost as loud as a scream. I walk onto the dais, stop a few feet from Eron and kneel, at the same time crossing my arms over my chest to form an X. As I raise my arms, they uncross to form a V. A show of my fealty.

Just like that. The rest of the world vanishes. I’m alone with Eron, surrounded by Light and fluffy white clouds.

“Rise,” he tells me, his voice like music and thunder and rain all at once.

I obey, my mind whirling. “Where are we? Why are we here?” Whoa. Bring it down a notch. This is my king. Be respectful or be quiet.

“Consider this today’s briefing.”

Great. Wonderful. Hesitant, I say, “You know about my bond with Killian.”

“I do.”

He offers no protests. “You support us?” I suspected, but confirmation will—

“I do,” he repeats. “Love never fails.”

Confirmation will thrill me. I stand taller. “Some would argue I don’t know real love.”

“Some are deceived.”

He says no more, and I don’t press my luck.

“Would you like to know why I gave you the sole vote in this Resurrection?” he asks.

“Yes.” The word leaves me so quickly, it’s almost a hiss.

“After the bombing I realized a startling truth. You, Tenley Lockwood, are not a Conduit.”

I gape at him, certain I misheard. “I’m not?”

“You are the first of your kind. A Conduit and an Architect.”

“A what now?” I’ve never heard the term in association to a position here.

“You possess the amazing ability to make Conduits.”

Part of me wants to argue with him. The other part of me accepts the knowledge without reservation. Look at Raanan. I suspected this. And really, in Troika, nothing is impossible.

“How?” I ask. And, wow. Wow, wow, wow. Being one of only two Conduits capable of cleansing Penumbra had come with tremendous responsibility and pressure.

Without pressure, there would be no diamonds.

Now there is another, and there will be more.

The ferocity of Eron’s gaze intensifies, nearly drilling me to my knees. “Do you know what apocalypse means?”

I nod, even as my stomach churns. “The destruction of the world.”

“That is one meaning, yes. But the other? A revealing. The end of the war nears, and with it, change comes.” He motions to the horse branded on my wrist. “Change rides his—or her—warhorse. You are the first of many. There will be others, on both sides.”

My mouth goes dry. Killian bears a horse on his wrist, as well. Is he on our side—or Myriad’s?

“How do I make Conduits?” I’ve touched others. Killian. Clay. Luciana, even. Only Raanan has made the transition.

“When you find a candidate who is ready,” he says, “your Light will know, and do the work for you.”

That...makes sense. But I’ll have to ponder the pros and cons later. I’m not sure how long I’ll have Eron’s undivided attention. “I still don’t understand why you gave me the vote.”

“Don’t you?” He offers me an indulgent smile. “I value life. All life. Like you, I crave peace.”

Nice to know I’m on the same page with someone like Eron. He is a good king and a great man. I can’t—no, I won’t—let him down. And not just him, but everyone; even those who do not fully comprehend. My baby brother has to live in the world we create. I can fight to give him something better, or let him wade through whatever crapstorm we allow to rage.

“What if people are disappointed with my choice? Or infuriated?” I ask. “Will you stand with me?”

The look he gives me can be described only as indulgent. “I’m always with you, even during the most trying times. Especially during the most trying times. Just because you can’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not there. Just because things go badly one day, doesn’t mean I’m not working to make them better the next.”

That’s fair.

“You’ve read the Book of the Law,” he says. “My mission statement has never changed, never will. Trust that we are working together for the good of all. While I am the head, you—the people—are my body. Trust that I want what is best for everyone, no matter their allegiance. I believe my actions have proven this, again and again, even if some of my people have strayed.”

The clouds vanish as quickly as they appeared, the rest of the world coming back into view. We’re back on the dais, the crowd overflowing the Garden of Exchange.

“Have you decided who will rejoin our fight?” Eron’s voice booms for one and all.

Here it is, the moment of truth. What am I going to do? Is the right choice for Troika the right choice for Killian? What about the right choice for facilitating the end of the war?

Half of the crowd begins to chant. “Orion. Orion. Orion.”

The other half chants, “Levi. Levi. Levi.”

Well. The masses want a General, no doubt about it.

But I cannot forget—these people are stuck in negative flow. A rushing river pulls us one way, and too many are content to be swept along. I’m fighting my way upstream, even though I’m tired, unsure and plagued by darkness. I can’t stop. The second I do, the very second, I’ll drift down the river alongside everyone else—and I’ll suffer the same end.

Gotta get them in a different body of water.

My gaze meets Hazel’s, then Steven’s. This time, they silently plead with me. Vote for Meredith, the woman who gave her life to save yours.

My heart squeezes in my chest. I love Meredith. I want her back. I really do.

“Tell us, Ten.” The Secondking waves in my direction. “Speak the name, and I will do the rest.”

Shadows writhe with more force. People chant. Animals call out. The Generals stare daggers into my back. My nerves fry. Inside me, pressure builds.

“I...” Deep breath in, out.

I had already tentatively removed Elizabeth from the equation, but I do so with surety now. She’s with her boyfriend, Claus, and she’ll have no desire to leave him. That leaves Orion, Levi, Meredith and Archer. Who’s it going to be?

Loyalty, passion, liberty.

Sow, reap.

There’s a name in my heart. The person I’ve wanted to pick from the beginning. The person I believe will most help this realm. Someone I would have picked already, if my mind hadn’t gotten in the way, obsessing about the consequences of a wrong choice.

Heart and mind might not agree, but I’m done worrying. I’m going to take emotion out of the equation, and let my heart lead the way—the true Troika way.

For better or worse, I announce, “I vote for...Archer Prince.”

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