Everlife (Everlife #3)

Sow and reap. A harvest will come in. Sow support, receive support. Sow dissent, receive dissent. Today, I will sow support—for the innocents who need me. I will not let the shadows win.

“Here.” Archer tosses me two short swords, his aim off. “You don’t want to hurt our people. I know. I get it. But you can’t remain weaponless while armed soldiers approach.”

I have to jump to the left to catch both swords by their hilts. “You just came back from the dead, and I’ve thrust you into the middle of a war with people you love, respect and admire. If you want to ride the pine for this battle, I will—”

“Ride the pine while you risk your life?” If looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Never!”

“—knee your testicles into your throat,” I finish.

A moment passes while he absorbs my words. Then he snorts, and the reaction is pure Archer. He’s always appreciated my snarkier quirks.

“A little obsessed with balls, wouldna you say?” Killian asks me.

His accent has emerged a couple of times, thrilling me. Even better, his words are classic Killian, his snarling tone suggesting he’s upset that I dared to threaten another male’s genitalia. Like I’m supposed to threaten his, and his alone.

I turn, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. However, he isn’t focused on me but Archer, and it’s safe to say he’s forgotten the truce he and his former bestie once shared. Killian’s expression is cold and dark, and his hands are twitching, as if he wishes he clutched his own pair of blades.

Boys!

His life matters more than his feelings.

The house begins to shake, only to stop…shake again. Stop. Shake. Stop. My heart thuds in time. “Bombs?”

Archer smiles with genuine amusement. “Nah. I think the elephants have arrived.”

Elephants? Seriously? Well, why not?

Killian looks at me, one brow arched. “Perhaps you’re Fused with Tarzan. Or some kind of Disney princess.”

Fusion again. Before this day ends, I’m going to slap him. As a favor to us both. Maybe I’ll knock some sense into him.

Ignoring him, Archer says, “I placed inter-realm Bucklers around the house. No one but us will be able to transport inside. On the other hand, none of us will be able to transport out, either. We’ll have to walk.”

A small price to pay for a safe haven. “Where are the others?”

“Here.” Raanan’s voice blasts through the house.

He appears, with Clay and Reed at his sides. Clementine and a blonde Healer named Dawn are quick on their heels. Dawn has patched me up on numerous occasions.

Different animals trot in behind the group, and introductions are made.

Raanan’s guardian is a donkey named Pop Tart. Spot, one of the zebras, is working with Clay. Paco the parrot stakes his claim on Reed by perching on his shoulder. A black Lab named Frank remains glued to Clementine’s side. Gloria, a deer, is paired with Dawn.

I wish Kayla were here. Forget any trust issues. She would understand me better than most. And she’s part of our crew. She’s valued. Where is she? Last time I saw her, she was inside a makeshift hospital, recovering.

Dawn looks me over, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. “What have you done to yourself?” When she’s standing directly in front of me, she checks my vitals and pulls a small syringe from her pocket.

“Whoa,” I say. “Hold up.” A sedative? What if she’s here to knock me out and make me easy prey for the Generals?

“So suspicious.” Again she clicks her tongue against her teeth. “This is concentrated manna. You have my word, Conduit. I’m a Healer. I’ve never hurt anyone, never will.”

Deciding to trust her—because she’s never lied to me before—I relax, allowing her to inject my bicep annnnd yes. Warmth seeps inside me, trailed by strength. Definitely concentrated manna.

The shadows kick up a fuss, malevolence spewing from them. They crave death and destruction—not just mine, but everyone’s.

These shadows…

Ambrosine and his people revere them. But…but…why? I don’t understand. Why is Ambrosine like he is? He has the same father as Eron. The two had the same upbringing. How can one brother be so good and the other so evil?

Choice.

The single word whispers across the Grid, and I suck in a breath. New Light floods me, the Grid suddenly glowing like a tree at Christmas, sending the shadows fleeing, desperate for cover.

Relief nearly buckles my knees, and yet, my mind remains on the quandary. Ambrosine versus Eron. Always everything comes back to choice.

Something I know firsthand: Every downward slide begins with a single thought.

Troikan history claims Ambrosine envied—envies—his brother. When the first vine of envy grew in his heart, he must have fed and watered it, rather than yanking it up by the root and destroying it. Eventually he would have reached a point of no return, his mind completely overshadowed by a garden of jealousy, resentment and rage.

Now he is obsessed with the idea of besting his brother.

And Killian is currently his staunchest ally.

My husband has devolved into the person I first met at Prynne, doing everything in his power to intimidate me. Or seduce me. With him, there’s no middle ground.

How am I supposed to deal with him?

When he touched me moments ago, the shadows inside my head quieted, but only for a few seconds as pleasure assailed me. I’d begun to hope. Surely we can make this work. Then he backed away as if I’m the equivalent of toxic waste, and the shadows erupted all over again.

I’m floundering. I want to hug and kiss him, then shake and slap him.

Actually, there’s no need to deal with him right now. Lives are at stake. I’ve got to take my relationship out of the equation. And really, no relationship is going to be a fifty-fifty give-and-take every day. Some days—some weeks and even months—someone is going to need their partner to pick them up and carry them.

Dawn uses a second syringe on me. Warmth…a river of new Light…a new tide of information from the Grid…

When the first human spirits arrived in Myriad and bonded to Ambrosine, their Secondking, his shadows had new hosts. Mere playthings. New darkness was conceived, and the vilest emotions quickly spread.

Ambrosine can’t just be dethroned; he must be killed. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Although, the notion goes against everything I’ve come to believe. All life is precious.

How can I justify murder?

In war—on the battlefield—I protect the weak, the innocent, even the not so innocent, those who can’t or won’t defend themselves. An enemy who attacks us must be dealt with, plain and simple. Otherwise we’ll be enslaved or slaughtered.

When Ambrosine dies, his shadows will die with him. At least in theory. Myriadians could be freed from his evil influence, able to live life on their own terms.

Yes! This! This is what I want.

Since no one else seems willing to do the deed, the burden falls on me. But how am I to accomplish it? Ambrosine isn’t human or spirit; he’s something else entirely. Like must fight like. Flesh to flesh. Spirit to spirit.

And what about my shadows? How did they come to be? At first, I thought they came from my bond with Killian. Then I suspected they’d been with me for years. Now I’m certain. We all have a garden in need of tending. I failed to uproot hatred for my father and fury directed at my mother. I fed and watered both in the bowels of Prynne Asylum.

Upon my escape, I buried my emotions, but I didn’t eradicate them. They’ve been with me for years.

I shudder. I need a complete overhaul, but oh, wow, there’s so much to do.

One mission at a time. Right now, I choose to focus on the emancipation of Myriadians. They can be saved. And, no matter who they are or where they come from, they are worth saving.

A warm hand settles on my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts. “Check your messages,” Archer says, his voice taut with grief.

Acid churns in my stomach. “What happened?”

“Check,” he commands. “Tell me he’s wrong.”