Everlife (Everlife #3)

Do not enter the warehouse. I repeat, do not enter the warehouse. At least not until we figure out Sloan’s message. As much as I want to help her, I don’t want to lose you to an ambush. (And when you do invade, make sure she’s protected.) Now. Let’s figure this out. Sloan and I go way back, spent more than a year locked in Prynne Asylum together. The number might deal with our confinement. But if that’s the case, there are too many possibilities.

The sixth girl to die at Prynne…the sixth guard to die… our sixth class…my sixth roommate…our sixth fight…our six a.m. alarm…our sixth day together…our sixty-sixth day together… None of it means anything to me, though.

666—the universal sign for evil. Betrayal is evil.

6 + 6 + 6 = 18. Eighteen alarms. Eighteen bombs. Only eighteen Abrogates.

Argon has the atomic number 18, and is the third-most abundant gas in the Earth’s atmosphere. Louisiana became the 18th state of the United States.

Whatever the answer, I agree with you. Myriad has set some kind of a trap.

Continue to watch the warehouse. Let me know if anything changes or anyone enters, leaves or even approaches. We’ll design a game plan when we have more information.

Update: I’ve got the key to Killian’s cage. I’m headed back to the house.

Light Brings Sight!

Conduit and Architect,

Ten Lockwood





chapter eleven



“You have a treasure hidden inside you. If you take it for granted, you will lose it.”

—Troika

Killian

My connection with Ten ends abruptly, my mind going blank. I fight to reestablish the link to no avail.

Curses tumble from my lips. She was punched, kicked and shot. She’s in pain. I know, because searing pain throbs in my jaw and hand. She’s losing Lifeblood fast.

I shouldn’t care about her sorry condition. The bond is responsible for my concern, nothing more. Plus, with a little manna she’ll be as good as new. But I do care, and it has nothing to do with saving my own hide. The girl genuinely likes me. She might be the only one in the realms who does. I’m not yet ready to lose her.

Going to lose her, anyway. One day. Why not now?

Because…just because!

Be at peace. She is strong. Capable. She will return to you.

My voice, courtesy of my Troikan side. And that’s exactly what it is. Troikan Light, a gift from Ten. Strangely enough, I’m beginning to like him. Or rather, me. Like myself. Whatever.

My eyes flutter open. I’m crouched in the corner of my cage, my nose pressed into the wall. Must have given myself a time-out, to better block out the rush of activity that’s taking place around me.

What if someone attacks Ten before she finds manna? Biscuit will guard her to the best of his ability, but what if his abilities aren’t enough? How are they going to sneak past the armies to reach the house?

Forget peace. I worry.

As I try, again, to reach Ten through the bond, my fingers rub at the numbers tattooed atop the horse brand. 143, 10. Earlier I noticed Ten has 143, 11.9.12.12.9.1.14 tattooed on her wrist, and to my surprise, it doesn’t take me long to decipher the meanings.

I love you, Ten

I love you, Killian

The knowledge steals the air from my lungs. I did. I loved her. That is why I bonded with her.

Numbers always tell a story, and they never lie.

Is this how I felt after meeting her for the very first time, all twisted up, like a vine wrapped around barbed wire?

Why remember the tattoo, though? Why now?

She thinks I need to learn to trust her without emotion.

The answer slams into me, stealing the air from my lungs a second time. I do trust her. Just a little, but enough. I trust her not to harm me. A little trust, a little memory.

If I want to remember everything else, I need to trust her fully, with the fate of my realm? No, sorry. Asking too much.

My ears twitch as the sounds of battle register. The growl of the dogs. The roar of the cats. The chorus of sounds from the other animals. Snorts, screeches, caws, bleats and brays. Marching footsteps—then racing footsteps. Shouts. Not a single gun goes off, however. The TLs must not want to shoot the animals.

“Fall back, fall back!” Deacon’s bellow echoes from beyond the house. “They’re using some sort of sleeping gas.”

I stand, and scan my surroundings. Only a few feet away, a side table is overturned, an unconscious Archer splayed in front of it, his body twitching. Seizing? He must have been standing at the bars of my cage, trying to get my attention, when he passed out.

Bea is licking his face.

Dawn is crouched beside him, pale and trembling, staring at an empty syringe as if it has let her down in the worst possible way. Her deer waits beside her. “Whatever they did to him, he’s not responding.”

They? Troikan soldiers?

“What happened?” I demand.

“He went outside,” she says. “When he came back in, there was a dart in his neck. I pulled it out and he collapsed.”

Some type of drug then. “Give him more manna.” The more severe the trauma, the more medicine—strength—a spirit needs. Every word agonizes my jaw. “Give me some, too.” Maybe I’ll heal. Maybe I’ll strengthen Ten through the bond.

“I’m out of manna,” Dawn says, her gaze tormented. “And I don’t know if I’d give him more, anyway. The first dose made him worse, I think.”

Some people thrive under pressure, like Ten. Some people fall apart, like Dawn. “The soldiers wouldn’t do anything that would lead to the death of one of their own. They had to know we’d give him manna. Maybe they want you to think he’s worse after with manna, so you won’t give him any more. Do it, and see what happens. This is a soldier’s quarters. Soldiers get injured. There’s more manna, guaranteed.” Ignore the pain. “Check everywhere.”

“Everywhere. Right.” She climbs to her feet and rushes around the house, her deer following her every move.

I waste no time, sitting and shoving my legs through the bars. With my feet braced on either side of Archer’s neck, I pull him toward me. Bea lunges at my ankles, and bites. When I run my hands along every inch of Archer’s body, finding only a single dagger—will have to do—she bites my wrists.

Kill him…no better time…

The urge bombards and overwhelms me, rousing the new Mary Sue side of me.

Harm a defenseless man, and you harm your soul.

Maybe I don’t like the Light side of me. Troikan proverbs? No, thanks. But still I pocket the weapon and shove Archer back into place, Bea calming. Ten cut off a man’s hand for me. In return, I’ll let her best friend live.

Mistake! If I plan to raze this realm to the ground, I’ve got to start somewhere, with someone.

And I will. Maybe. Definitely. Just not with Archer Prince.

The healer and her guardian return with a first aid kit. Unaware of what’s transpired, Dawn administers a second dose of manna. Archer begins shaking more. White foam forms at the corners of his mouth.

“What do I do?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

“Give him a third dose,” I say.

“But—”

“Do it!”

The deer rams his antlers into my cage, rattling the bars. A warning, I’m sure.

Trembling, she obeys me. “You’re not going to die— again!—on my watch.” She slaps his cheek, hard. “Do you hear me? You’re not going to die.” Another slap.

Finally, a moan slips from him, and his terrible shaking stops.

As she expels a heavy sigh of relief, Bea dances atop Archer’s chest.

With a trembling hand, Dawn offers me a vial of manna. “Depending on the strength of your bond to Myriad, this will hurt you worse or help you. At least, I’m assuming. I’ve never met someone bonded to both realms.”

I accept the vial with muttered thanks and, after a slight hesitation, take a sip. Warmth. A twinge of pain. But my jaw does begin to heal.

Does Ten’s?

As I drain the rest, the door bursts open. Deacon and a Messenger I recognize as Clay Anders rush inside, animals close on their heels. A pit bull and a zebra.

The house is basically a zoo.

“Reed was captured, so the troops are backing off. They are ready to bargain.” Deacon spots Archer on the floor and rushes to his side. Bea offers no protests, turning her attention to the pit bull to lick his face. “What happened?”

Dawn chews on her bottom lip. “Archer was drugged. He—”