Everlife (Everlife #3)

My heart leaps with joy. Jeremy again. The fact that he’s sharing with me…

He must be a Conduit. —Save your strength, sweet boy.— The future is uncertain. No telling how much Light he’s going to need. Plus, if I were to inadvertently drain him…

Nope, can’t risk it.

I tell him, —If shadows try to invade your mind, let me know right away. I’ll help you fight them.— Or die trying.

Jeremy giggles, a new ray of Light sneaking past every defense I have. Any lingering pain vanishes. Weakness subsides. My trembling limbs go still.

—No more, young man. I mean it.—

Another giggle before our connection fades.

Concentrate on the task at hand. Worrying about him won’t help either of us right now.

Okay. Need a plan of action. First, I’ve got to open my cage in secret. But how? Men and women, young and old, surround me. This is the City of Carnal Delights, and I’m the main attraction.

The town square is nothing but a glorified circus, where degradation is an appetizer and humiliation is the meal. There are other cages nearby, all positioned on a dais; some are occupied, others are empty. The other prisoners have been stripped to their undergarments, like me. Vendors sell things to throw at the prisoners. Hail, rotten manna, buckets filled with creepy, crawling insects.

The younger members of the crowd laugh and jeer at me, enjoying my predicament. Some of the older members watch me with concern, reminding me that there are good people in Myriad.

Am I truly considering returning to Troika to help destroy this entire realm?

To save my friends…to protect my brother…

Yes. I am.

Ugh! Who have I become? And which of these people can I convince to aid me? My gaze scans the sea of faces only to zoom back to—

Aunt Lina?

Shock pounds a nail of dismay through my heart. She can’t be here. No one told me she died, and someone absolutely, unequivocally, would have told me. Ambrosine would have used her against me.

But she told me…

Did I tell you I died in the Land of the Harvest?

Maybe Ambrosine doesn’t know who she is. As a human, Lina had dark, graying hair and age-lined skin. Her eyes were often milky, a phenomena that happened every time her brain made the switch from Aunt Lina to Looney Lina.

No matter Lina’s age, though, Looney Lina acted five years old. The milky film over her eyes blinded her, whether physically or psychologically, but only to the present. She saw far into the future, her head filled with tragedies that had yet to happen.

The woman meeting my gaze has a glossy mane of silvery-white hair. Her skin is pale but flawless, and her eyes are brilliant blue.

With all the changes in her appearance, I’m not sure how I recognized her. Not that the changes are surprising. After my Firstdeath, my black hair turned blue.

She shifts, disappearing in the crowd, and I have to tamp down the urge to shout at her. The rest of her message plays through my head.

Did I tell you I died? I’m sorry I killed Killian.

I cried. You cried. I cried some more. I’m glad my husband made it up to you.

Light was the answer. Light was always the answer.

Obviously Killian hasn’t died, and I haven’t cried.

If Light is the answer, what is the question? Who was— is?—her husband?

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” A sneering Javier runs a metal baton over the bars of my cage. “I’m told this is where traitors and Troikan sympathizers end up. I’m also told they’re more than happy to prove their loyalty to Myriad after a few weeks of confinement.”

I focus on him even as I add “find Lina” to my To Do list. “You were misinformed. The condemned want their freedom, not a chance to prove their loyalty. Guaranteed, former prisoners hate this realm—they’re simply too afraid to say so.”

“Fearful is better than loyal. Loyalties can change, but fear never dies.”

“Wrong.” People like Javier, heck, like Ambrosine, think they need others to fear them in order to get what they want, but that isn’t true. Just the opposite, in fact. Finally I get what Levi tried to teach me when my training began. If you want results, make people love you. Love inspires love. If you want a secret enemy, make people fear you. Fear inspires betrayal. “Eventually, people do everything in their power to destroy the things they fear.”

He pales, but spits another curse at me.

Troika isn’t perfect. The citizens might be spirits, but deep inside they are still human, and where there are humans, there are mistakes. But one thing we do not do is lock up “traitors” and “sympathizers,” strip them of their clothing and dignity, and hurl objects at them.

I’d call that a win.

Teach him to fear.

My darker side rears her ugly head, and I grind my teeth. No. Absolutely not. Fear isn’t the answer. Fear is a symptom of hate. Hate isn’t all-powerful. Love is stronger.

My eyes widen. That’s right. Love is stronger. Light is the answer. The words reverberate in my mind, creating an equation without numbers.

Troikan Light comes from Eron, who powers the sun. Eron is love. “Light is love. Love is Light.”

How else could Jeremy share his Light—love—with me?

“What did you say?” Javier demands.

I ignore him.

If shadows are born of envy, hatred and fear, then Light must be born of love. Fondness. Tenderness. Intimacy. Endearment. Attachment. Devotion. Adoration. Passion.

Closing my eyes, I center my attention on love. Despite everything that’s happened, I love Killian. That hasn’t changed. The hard times are better with him than the best times with others.

I love Jeremy. I love Archer, the wind beneath my wings. I love Clay, my loyal, faithful friend. I love Deacon, Reed, Biscuit and Kayla. I love Raanan and Clementine. My helpers. I love Sloan, who proved herself loyal in the end.

I love Troika. I love Meredith, Hazel and Steven. I love Levi and even Alejandro and the other Generals. They fight for what they believe in: truth, justice and equality for all.

My heart begins to warm as…yes! Light flickers.

Shadows claw at me, determined not to lose ground. I love my mother, a Myriadian.

The Light spreads, and warmth follows.

Javier sucks a breath between his teeth. “What are you doing?”

Shadows quake.

“She’s glowing,” someone in the crowd calls, and others boo. “Make her stop!”

Someone buys one of the buckets of insects, and boos instantly morph into cheers. The other prisoners scramble to the corner of their cage, but they needn’t have worried. The insects are tossed on me, only me. I remain in place, refusing to react, even as a thousand little legs skitter over me, cutting me, biting me, stinging my skin, muscle and even bone. I’m filled with love, and there’s no room for hate. And this? This is nothing.

I even love these people. They are deceived. Connected to Ambrosine, mainlining his hatred and envy. They need my help, not my censure.

My lack of concern disconcerts Javier. “Stop that.” He slams the baton into my cage, causing the entire thing to quake.

“I feel sorry for you,” I tell him.

His jaw drops and he sputters for a response. “You feel sorry for me?”

“When I return to Troika, and I will, I’ll be reprimanded for disobeying a direct order, but I’ll also be accepted back into the fold. My worth isn’t based on what I do, but on who I am. A Troikan. Beloved. You will never be able to say the same. You’ve already been cast aside by your king, labeled a failure.”

With a snarl, he reaches through the cage, and though he can’t touch me, his shadows can; they extend from his fingertips to wrap around my neck and squeeze. As I fight for air, he smugly says, “How do you feel about me now?”

Love…love…do I love him? The worst of the worst.

“Stop this.” A young woman pushes her way through the throng. “Please.”

Dark hair frames a face I recognize. She has a small nose and adorable, Cupid’s bow lips. Her skin is a few shades lighter than her jet-black hair while her eyes are a few shades lighter than her skin and ringed with gold.