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,