Everlife (Everlife #3)

I might have kept my word that day, but I have broken it many times since.

I made a terrible mistake today. I trusted the wrong people, betrayed the wrong girl. An innocent girl.

Once, she saw something great in me. She looked at me with adoration and admiration, even hope. When Javier carried her out of the small room, she cast me a final glance, one laced with wariness and suspicion. That glance hurt in ways I never imagined possible.

The electricity might have burned my body, but Ten’s look burned my soul.

I’ve lost something precious: her trust. And for what? Imprisonment, degradation and pain, all of which I deserve. But she does not.

My hands fist. Determination rises inside me, an undeniable tide. Those who hurt her will pay. I will make sure of it. And I will do whatever proves necessary to win back her trust.

First, I will escape. Then I will save her.

Firstking help Myriad then. I will torch the realm and never look back.

“Let’s get you more comfortable, shall we.” Victor Prince clutches the edge of my cage—a cage tangible to both spirits and Shells—and drags me through the door.

Despite the injuries his spirit sustained, his Shell is strong. The outer casing is meant to shield us through the worst of times. Like a type of armor.

Revenge might not be Ten’s thing, but it is mine.

Forgive. Let the Light illuminate your path and order your steps.

The other side of me. A side I ignore.

As I’m hauled through a hallway, down an elevator, outside the building and through a Stairwell, my rage continues to blaze. Every step he takes only serves as kindling. I want to maim and kill him. I will maim and kill him. I will also maim and kill Zhi, Javier and even Ambrosine— after I save Ten.

In the town square, she’ll be used as an example. Love Troika and suffer.

As if she hasn’t suffered enough.

While Javier did his best to invade her Grid, she remained strong as a rock, astounding me. No wonder I once fell in love with her. She is the only ten in a world of ones. She endured excruciating pain in order to protect her people, and despite her distress—distress I, too, experienced firsthand, certain I would die at any moment—she fought, a warrior to her core, and she won.

Now I will win, or I will die trying.

Victor drags me through a crowded section of the City of Carnal Delights. The carnival. More dragons fly overhead, streams of fire like fireworks. There’s a kissing booth, and even an orgasm booth. Come one, come all. Every game involves stripping. Lose the severed hand toss and you have to remove an article of clothing. Lose Whack-a-Prisoner, and you have to remove an article of clothing. So really, everyone wins.

Except the spirits in the Kennels, of course. They provide the severed hands, and they are the ones who get beaten with a barbed-wire-covered baseball bat.

There are rides: the carousel showcases Shell versions of Troikan Generals on their hands and knees, bumper cars fly around an arena smashing into replicas of famous Troikan landmarks and a zip line offers a tour of the entire realm.

Snacks are sold: cotton ambrosia, fried ambrosia, ambrosia corn and ambrosia cakes. Even ambrosia bacon.

As a child, I often snuck out of the Center of Learning to play here. No one paid me any attention then, and no one pays me any attention now. I don’t bother shouting for help. I know these people; I won’t be aided—I’ll be mocked.

Victor takes me through another Stairwell, then a Gate, and we enter the Capital of Bliss. Also known as the Cob. The air smells of chocolate, champagne and sex. The most basic indulgences. Skyscrapers, cottages and pyramids are scattered throughout. For our poorer citizens—those who refuse to fight in the war—there are warehouses or communal living spaces.

Here, crowds stop and stare at us, everyone dressed in the era of their death. Be you, be free. Some people laugh at me, others look at me with pity. Once, both reactions would have sent me over the edge. I would have ranted and raved. Having been raised in the Learning Center, abandoned by my father, overlooked by other families, I craved the good opinion of others, desperate for acceptance. Now I see the truth.

I wanted to be admired, but I also wanted to make everyone who’d ever overlooked me sorry for doing so. Another type of revenge.

At this moment? The opinions of others—of strangers— mean nothing to me. These people have no bearing on who I am or what I’m worth. With my actions and words, I decide my worth. And after everything I’ve done to Ten, I’m not worth much. But I’m going to change that.

Escape. Save Ten, kill our enemies. Rescue the survivors in Many Ends, including my mother.

It’s time to face facts. Myriadians lie. The end justifies the means, Ambrosine said. What he meant: Sometimes, for the greater good, evil is necessary. But he’s wrong. Evil is never necessary. It will never help the masses, will only ever hurt. And lies are evil; the very language of malevolence.

If the Secondking will lie about little things, he will most assuredly lie about big things. Like Fate and Fusion.

Again and again, Ten has proven herself trustworthy. That is why I will follow her wherever she leads. That is why I will trust her, no matter what the circumstance might be.

If I had a team, I would ask others for help. Might even beg. Anything for Ten. But there’s no one here willing to offer aid or watch my back. My fault. Like Ambrosine, I lied to the people closest to me to advance my own agenda.

Never again.

I will be the man Ten wants. The man she needs. The man she deserves.

Victor enters another Stairwell. In order to pass through this one, however, he must endure an ID test. He places his hand on a data pad, and a machine reads the chip embedded in his Shell’s wrist. As soon as he’s cleared, we enter the most coveted neighborhood in Myriad, hence its name: The Coveted.

All of the Secondking’s children live here. This is where all Generals live, as well, and where all Abrogates will live, when they arrive. This is where I have wanted to live my entire life. Mansions, castles and palaces abound. There isn’t a hut or a shack in the bunch.

Victor lives in a palace that makes the most exquisite building in the Land of the Harvest look like a hovel. A bridge leads to a towering golden statue of his likeness. On either side is a wild, rushing waterfall that flows into a rocky moat. Ambrosia trees fill the courtyard and sweeten the air. Myriad’s emblem is carved in walls made of crystal.

Servants stand outside, opening the doors as he approaches.

“Leave us,” he barks.

The pitter-patter of rushing footsteps sounds as guards and maids rush to obey, dodging opulent furnishings framed by a plethora of precious gems. A Florentine ebony chest inlaid with rubies. A table made entirely of sapphires. A diamond encrusted sofa with a solid gold frame. But the prince’s most prized possession? An alabaster display case with a man-pelt inside.

I’ve heard the story about the pelt a million times. Everyone has. Over the eons, Ambrosine and his brother Eron have met twice to discuss a peace treaty. At least, Eron the Prince of Doves believed peace was the goal. The first time, Ambrosine betrayed and skinned his brother. The second time, after Eron’s skin had grown back, Ambrosine rinsed and repeated.

He would have killed Eron if he could have, but Eron survived.

One pelt hangs in the Temple of Unholies as a display of Ambrosine’s “strength.” He must have given the other pelt to Victor as a thank you for bombing Troika.

Once, I bought into the hype, believing true strength came from a willingness to do whatever proved necessary to achieve victory. No longer. If the means is unjust, nothing justifies it.

However, I’m not looking for justification right now.