Everlife (Everlife #3)

Good question. —I’ll Daze him and, with Clementine’s help, transport him to the house. Boom. Done.—

—If the Bucklers are down, sure. You can use your comm to transport. Good plan. If Bucklers are still up, you’ll have to drag the man across the realm. And we both know citizens will not be lookin’ the other way when they see a General being hauled down the street like luggage.—

Ugh. He just had to go and make a good point, didn’t he. —What do you suggest?—

—You already know the answer, you just don’t want to do it. Now slow down. You’re approachin’ a fork, and I need to figure out which way you should go.—

I ignore his comment about knowing what to do…because he’s right. —How can you tell? About the fork, I mean.— The gloom hasn’t thinned, is still all-consuming.

—Subtle nuances in darkness. Trust me.—

—I did…once. Look what it got me.— A groom with no memory.

Silence. And it’s like poking a bear with a stick. The anger currently lying dormant inside me yawns and stretches, close to wakefulness. My hands fist.

When I reach the fork, as predicted, I pause, as commanded.

I’m told: —Go right.—

—How do you know?—

—You are bound to Troika, and I am bound to you. I feel what you feel. There’s a charge when you shift right, but no charge when you shift left.—

Right again.

My heart rate spikes as I round the corner. Up ahead, a spark of Light glows. More of the princess’s Light? Like a moth to a flame, I surge forward. Must get closer. Strength awaits.

—Stop!—

Killian shouts the command, jarring me enough to stop me. Biscuit bumps into the back of my leg, and I stumble forward another step.

—What’s wrong?— My heart is ready to pound its way out of my chest.

—Look down.—

My gaze drops, and I gasp. Through the Light, I spy a row of zigzagging spikes that extend from the ground, ready to rip me to ribbons.

—Thank you.— “Careful,” I whisper to Biscuit.

Together, we tiptoe, hop and wind our way past the spikes.

—In roughly one hundred feet, there’s a room on the right.—

—I’m not going to ask how you know. Not again.— No way he can miss the grumble in my tone. I palm the mini-Dazer, my finger hovering over the trigger.

Kill Shamus. He dared take Killian from you. He must learn the error of his ways.

Not Killian, not this time, but me. The darkest part of me. I stumble as the desire for bloodshed overwhelms me.

Resist! My teeth gnash. Must ignore her—or me. I’ll Daze Shamus, nothing more.

Once again I surge forward, this time counting my steps. Two…ten…thirty…ninety…

At long last, I reach this newest Light. Killian claimed the room is on the right, but the Light shines from the left. I’m about to step in that direction when the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Electrical impulses. From the Light. A trick?

I turn to the right—

Something hard slams into my jaw. I careen to the side, sharp pain exploding through my face, stars winking in the back of my mind.

Killian hisses. Biscuit growls.

A booted foot kicks my stomach, and I careen once again, stumbling toward the Light, then through it. Lasers! Shadows scream and claw at my skull, sharp pains shooting through my temples.

No time to recover. Another kick. The Dazer flies out of my hand and skids across the ground, and it does reach the Light. Oh, yeah. Definitely electrical impulses. A new kind of laser. The gun disintegrates.

—Attack!— A command from Killian, the white-hot burn of his rage crackling, inciting my shadows. —He isn’t allowed to hurt you.—

Kill. End your enemies, end your problems… A true temptation.

With a grunt, I fling myself at my opponent. He reels backward, and we fall into a spacious and well-lit room. No time to appreciate the finer aspects of the decor. Or the fact that Biscuit can’t pass the lasers on the door. In the Light, my attacker’s identity registers. General Shamus. I’m not surprised, only disappointed he’s willing to harm me in order to keep Killian behind bars.

We spring apart and face off.

Though Shamus is taller and stronger than me, and far more experienced, I refuse to back down. I’ve taken down bigger and stronger.

“You shouldna have come here. You’ll never convince me to leave with you, and I’ll never decide it’s a good idea to free the Butcher.” He pops the bones in his neck. “You’re part Myriadian now, and it’s clear Troika isn’t, and will never be, your top priority.”

“And you, the guy who broke Troika’s law to love his fellow citizens—to do no harm to one another—are a shining example of putting Troika first?”

He flinches.

Unfortunately for him, I’m not done. “If you only love the lovable, you’re no better than the Myriadians you hate. You know that, don’t you?”

“They killed my wife. I have good reason to hate them.” His dark eyes are wild, his body vibrating with rage of his own. Or is his darkness fueled by mine? “She was a Messenger, had no battle experience, and wanted none. Like you, she craved peace. One day, she was in the Land of the Harvest, helping a human, when an ML spotted her and…” His hands fist. “He beheaded her. She’d done nothing wrong. Nothing! And he killed her.”

—Enough conversation. Take him out.—

—You mean do your dirty work for you?—

Argh! Push, pull. Why am I doing this? Why am I fighting so hard to free a boy who plans to betray me? And he does plan to betray me, doesn’t he?

The answer fills my head, and it is as simple as it is complicated. Plans can be changed. I have hope. Hope that Killian will remember our past. Hope that I will reach him. Hope that we didn’t destroy our futures but can strive for better.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Shamus.” I hurt for him. I really do. “Tell me true. Is Killian her murderer?”

He blusters for a moment. “What does that matter? A Myriadian is a Myriadian.”

“Do you really believe that? Is one Troikan the same as any other Troikan?” As his cheeks darken, I demand, “Is. Killian. Her. Murderer?”

“No,” he finally snarls.

“Then your vendetta isn’t against Killian. Stop this. You are a General. The best of us. So be the best! Set an example of love and forgiveness.” I give my words a second to sink in, pray they do. “Enough people have died. It’s time for peace.”

“As if we could ever trust Myriadians to keep a peace treaty. We would merely set ourselves up for slaughter. Again! Do you think we never tried your route in all these millennia? We did, and we suffered for it.”

Why are we not taught about the attempt(s)? Let me guess. For the same reason we’re not told about inter-realm bonding. To weed out the fools. “The Prince of Ravens is to blame.” Everything I’ve learned about him tells me this. If he were a tree, his people would be his branches, feeding off him. He lies and cheats. Envies and steals. “When he’s gone, the shadows will die.” They must. You can prune the branches, but to kill the tree, you must uproot it. “Myriadians will be free of their influence.” Killian will be free.

I will be free.

“You are supposed to be the best of us, Conduit, and yet you gave a key to our Grid to the Butcher!”

Zero! It’s like I’m punching at the wind, getting nowhere. “He’s lost people, too.” His mother. Archer. And at one point, even me. Having seen into Killian’s past, the constant rejections from potential families, the General who beat him and made him beg, I may never get over my guilt and remorse, or my desire to hurt those who hurt Killian.

I know nine Myriadian Generals died the day of my birth, his greatest tormentor among them. Deep down, I’m kind of…glad.

“Your compassion has ruined us,” Shamus informs me.

Where is that compassion now? “No.” I shake my head. “Your lack of compassion ruined you a long time ago.”