dry your tears.” He rushes off.
“Is everyone I meet going to make me feel like I fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch?” I ask.
“Spirits are flawless. There isn’t a can of dog food in the bunch.”
Good to know. “So who was that?”
“Victor Prince. Archer’s younger brother. They shared a special bond.”
Archer’s brother? Guilt slashes me, until I’m nothing but confetti.
Why didn’t he curse at me? Or rail? Why didn’t he demand I leave the realm forever? Something! Instead, he invited me over for, I’m guessing, a little light flirting.
Oh...zero. He must not know about my involvement in Archer’s death.
I wish the ground would open up and swallow me.
“Behold.” Deacon waves his arm to indicate the path Victor just took. “Troika.”
My gaze follows the line of his finger, a drumroll going off in my head to herald the moment of truth. Is Troika as lovely as Archer promised, or the scorched apocalyptic wasteland Killian disdained?
I can’t... I don’t... I wasn’t prepared for this. The beauty before me is far lovelier than Archer described. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. A gold brick wall frames an arched entrance created from pearl; the exquisite design is broken only by the Troikan symbol, which is carved into three separate locations.
Past the open archway is a thriving metropolis both fantastic and futuristic, with buildings of every shape and design, some made with a chrome-like substance, some with crystals. Interspersed throughout are castles and other buildings straight from the pages of a storybook. Cinderella would so approve; with the dewy foliage ascending many of the ramparts, Snow White wouldn’t miss her woodland cottage and the prince wouldn’t need Rapunzel’s hair to climb to the top.
I marvel as flowers bloom in a sky of clear, dappled water. We’re under an ocean? No. Realization: we’re under the Veil of Wings! Rose petals fall, twirling lazily through the air.
A ray of sunlight dances from a sun I cannot see. I reach out...only to still. The Troikan symbol in the center of my palm sparkles. Awed, I turn my arm. The numbers sparkle, as well.
“So many changes,” I mutter.
“You were living in an imperfect and tainted world,” Deacon says. “Physical bodies reflect that. Spirits do not.”
He ushers me past the pearl archway. A wall of mist parts in the center, revealing seven smaller archways, each made with a different precious gem and attached to a different—massive—tube.
“These are Gates,” he explains. “There are seven major cities within the realm, and every Gate leads to a different one. You’ll want to learn the transport system as soon as possible.”
He takes my hand and leads me into a tube made of diamonds.
Those diamonds vanish in a blink, replaced by a searing display of fireworks. I’m cognizant of the fact that I’m still standing, still walking, and yet I feel as if I’ve been sucked into a vacuum. The array of lights blurs, whizzing past me, and a wave of dizziness causes me to sway.
With Deacon’s help, I remain upright. The lights begin to fade, the diamond tube reappears. We step onto a gold brick street, surrounded by chrome-and-crystal buildings, no longer on the edge of the realm but in the middle of it. Thousands of people surround us. Male, female. Young, old. Well, not too old. No one tops thirty-five, I’d guess. There’s a beautiful mix of colors and races, and yet they are one people. Different, but exactly the same: priceless.
Due to virtual reality tours I’ve taken through Myriad, I know their citizens wear clothing compatible with the era they lived in as a human. I’ve seen everything from Victorian ball gowns to loincloths. The same is not true for Troikans.
“Everyone is wearing a catsuit or robe,” I say. “Why?”
“The robes are ceremonial. Needed for certain jobs,” Deacon replies. “The suits are lightweight armor. The material protects us against certain weapons. We must always be ready for attack.”
How...sad for us.
A clatter of voices hits my awareness, each light and cheerful. Smiles and laughter abound. No one seems to mind the threat Deacon described.
Envy cuts through me. Have I ever been so carefree?
First I was a girl sheltered by her parents, protected from any outside influence. Then I was a girl tortured at Prynne. Then I was a girl meant to save one realm and destroy the other. Always I was a means to an end. Until Killian and Archer transitioned from Laborers to friends.
Speaking past the lump in my throat, I ask, “How did we move from one location to another in mere seconds?”
“We’re spirits, no longer bound by physical laws. The Gates allow us to travel at the speed of Light.”
I struggle to process such an impossible revelation. The precise value of the speed of Light is 299,792,458 meters per second.
2 + 9 + 9 + 7 + 9 +2 + 4 + 5 + 8 = 55
5 + 5 = 10
Stop counting! Deacon has moved on. I rush after him, trailing him through the crowd. Despite a seeming preoccupation with each other, the couples and families remain highly aware of those around them, and no one bumps into anyone else. Everyone is courteous, offering a genuine “Please” and “Thank you” whenever warranted.
Various perfumes scent the air, blending harmoniously with the fragrance of roses. Multicolored petals continue to rain from the sky.
Deacon enters a crystal building, whisking through a door of mist. The decor is breathtaking, the ceiling like a midnight sky filled with vibrant stars. The walls are aglow with hues plucked straight from a rainbow, and every piece of furniture—from dinner tables and chairs to sofas and coffee tables—extends from massive trees that have grown through the floor, as if carved from branches still attached to the trunks.
A woodland forest inside a building. This is where impossible meets miracle.
When the identity of the occupants registers, I come to an abrupt stop. People I knew and loved in Firstlife, and even family I never actually met.
There is my grandmother Meredith; since my parents disowned her before I was born, I’ve only ever seen her in pictures. She is so beautiful. Though she experienced Firstdeath in her forties, she now appears twenty-five, her skin unlined, her pale hair without a single strand of gray.
Mom once told me about the adventures she and her mother had. How they’d spent every weekend at homeless shelters to care for the less fortunate.
My palms sweat. Am I a disappointment to her?
Meredith is speaking with Clayton “Clay” Anders. Clay and I met and bonded at Prynne. During our escape, we trekked through ice-covered mountains and got caught in an avalanche.
I shudder. Clay and Sloan were swept to the edge of a cliff, terrified out of their minds, and I had to make a split second decision. Who to save first. At the time, Sloan was Unsigned, while Clay had a secure future with Troika.
I picked Sloan, pouring what little energy I’d had into pulling her to solid ground first. I hadn’t wanted her sent to Many Ends, a realm of horrors and pain, to be tortured for eternity.
In the end, I hadn’t had enough time to save Clay, too, and I regret—
No. Absolutely not. I don’t regret. Yes, Sloan later betrayed me. Yes, Clay died too young. Considering the circumstances, I made the right call. I gave an Unsigned girl a chance Clay didn’t need. She made the wrong choice afterward, and the fault is hers alone.
And look at Clay now. My hand flutters over my heart to contain a starburst of joy. He’s thriving!
I spot General