Everlife (Everlife #3)

Ten tilts her head to the side, thoughtful as she regards me. “Killian is right. The tree is alive, like all the others here. Hello, it even has a name. The Tree of Life. While the others do their best to harm us, this one willingly feeds us. I mean, we aren’t bitten or poisoned when we take the leaves. So why wouldn’t the tree give us more—if we ask nicely?”

“Why don’t we have to ask for the leaves, then?” Reed asks.

“Because food is a necessity, and weapons are a luxury?” Ten hikes one shoulder in a shrug. “Because the Tree of Life doesn’t want us using the limbs to hurt other spirits?”

Facing one of the massive trunks, she brushes her palms over the bark. “Please. We want to help the people here, not hurt, and we could use—”

Before she can finish her sentence, a branch lowers, reaching for her. The end curls around her fingers and turns her arm before stroking the warhorse branded into her wrist.

Limb after limb tumbles to the ground, and not a single one comes close to hitting us.

Reed gasps. “All this time…”

Our group goes silent, shock palpable. Then we begin whooping with happiness. The tree is alive and is aware and is willing to help us.

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you,” I say.

Other thanks follow. “Thank you muchly.”

“You’re the best.”

“Owe you.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Thanks.”

“You rock!”

Raanan is the first to sober. “We’re not going to get far with a bunch of clubs. And that’s all these branches are good for, considering none of us has a dagger.” A limb still attached to the tree swings in his direction and whacks him on the butt.

Giggling, Dior flattens a hand over her mouth.

“Could it be?” Ten stares at a branch for a several prolonged seconds. “I mean, it’s possible. Even probable. Even though it makes no sense.”

She doesn’t make any sense. “Could what be, lass?”

“Light is always the answer,” she says, ignoring my question. She lifts the biggest branch and sits down. “I have an idea.” With her eyes closed, she draws in a deep breath… wraps a hand around each end. Deep breath out. Tension soon lines her face, a sign of deep concentration.

“What is she—” Reed begins, and reaches for Ten.

I grab his wrist, stopping him. “Let her work.”

His nod is stiff, but he drops his arms to his sides and presses his lips together.

Soon pinpricks of Light flicker to life at the ends of Ten’s fingers, muted at first, but growing in intensity. Light she is somehow channeling. Light = heat. Heat = fire. Fire = change.

She rubs her fingers along the end of the branch and… yes! The heat creates a pointed tip. A spear. Or an arrow, if we can create a crossbow. I think that we can. My belt is metal, and we can unfasten each link to use as nails.

By the time she opens her eyes, she’s drenched in sweat and pale. I pick the most succulent leaves for her and do not relax until she’s consumed each one, her color bright once again.

“Never thought I’d see Killian Flynn playing nursemaid,” Archer mutters.

“I’m practicin’ for later,” I reply, deadpan. “When I’m naked with my lass.”

Ten elbows me in the sternum, and I throw her a grin, all, was it something I said?

I rub the sore spot, and pretend to pout. “Baby, I was tellin’ the truth, just the way you like.”

Her snort delights me.

“Where did you get Light?” Raanan asks.

“Love is Light and Light is love. You have some, too. You all do.” Her mismatched eyes gleam with anticipation. “Anyway, the tree showed me how my staff was created. One of its limbs was used, along with Light. Did you know that? About the staff, I mean.” She directs the question at Archer.

He shakes his head, sandy hair falling over his forehead. “I had no idea. After I defected to Troika—” he casts me an unreadable look “—the Prince of Doves gave me the staff and told me to keep it close, because it would one day save my life.”

The Prince of Doves has visited Many Ends? When? Why?

How?

Did he somehow rescue someone here, without ever stepping foot in the subrealm? But if he was here, why not rescue everyone at once?

I met him once. I was on assignment, and he simply appeared before me. He tried to convince me to defect to Troika. I mocked him, sneering at his offer. Truth is, as I’d looked into his sky-blue eyes, I’d never felt more inadequate. Plus, I genuinely believed he would regret his offer; I also suspected he’d made it simply to throw me off my game. Which he did. I’d been turned inside out, and failed to recruit my target. One of my first failures.

Now, I’ve seen the Secondking of Troika through Ten’s eyes. He would never come here and leave spirits behind. That’s not who he is. He cares too deeply.

So. Someone besides Ten, Reed and Kayla managed to escape Many Ends, and take a branch with him. Or her.

Ten gasps, her entire body jolting. “Eron,” she blurts out, and everyone frowns. “Centuries ago, there was a bridge between Troika and Myriad. Eron used to come here. He and Ambrosine would meet with the Firstking under the tree’s shade.”

So I was wrong?

Reed purses his lips. “How do you know this?”

“The tree.” She pats the trunk. “Do you not hear him?”

“No,” we all say at once.

Her ears twitch as she concentrates. “Reminds me of Eron. A piece of Eron, maybe?”

I’m not sure if she’s talking to us or to herself.

“Once the bridge burned,” she says, “Ambrosine placed obstacles around the tree—the creatures, insects, doorways—and built a barrier around them. What he didn’t know until too late—he’d created Many Ends, binding himself to the subrealm. Because he is bound, his people are bound.”

Well. I wasn’t wrong, not really. Eron was here, but not while souls were being tortured.

“What about the Unsigned?” I ask. “Why are they sent here alongside Myriadians who experience Second-death?” Her eyes go wide. “Because there’s no such thing as Unsigned. When the Firstking created the Land of the Harvest, he gave possession of it to both of his sons. But Ambrosine stole the deed. He owns the Land of the Harvest. If you aren’t bound to Troika, you are bound to him. Rather than welcome the Unsigned into his midst, he sends them here, as punishment.”

Dior rubs a hand over her breastbone, as if to ward off a terrible ache. “How can Ambrosine be so cruel to so many?”

This, I can answer. “He feeds on the pain he causes.” I’ve seen it firsthand. As Zhi, Victor and Javier tortured Ten, I watched him close his eyes and soak up her misery as if it was his own personal brand of ambrosia.

“Well, it’s time to take him down. Destroying this realm and stopping the constant torment should starve and weaken him.” Ten links her fingers with mine and gives a comforting squeeze. “Come on. We’ve got weapons to construct.”

After we gather enough leaves to feed an army—gotta keep up our strength—we sit, forming a circle around our pile of fallen branches. I perch on Ten’s right, Archer on her left. Dior sits on his other side, and the two share a brief kiss.

I watch as everyone but Dior creates one weapon after another. Spears, bows and arrows. Daggers. Or more precisely, shivs.

Noticing my lack of effort, Ten frowns and whispers, “What’s wrong?”

“I have no Light.”

“Uh, that’s not true.” After positioning herself in front of me, she flattens her hands against my temples. Her touch is soft and welcome, and I have to swallow a moan of desire. I want her again.

Who am I kidding? I always want her.

“Close your eyes,” she says, and I obey—though it’s difficult. I could stare at her forever, but it still wouldn’t be long enough. “Look. Look deep inside you.”

Her voice drifts through my mind, rippling along the Grid. A Grid I see more clearly as I follow those ripples, deeper and deeper—

There! I spot a small Light, unimpeded by a single shadow. It is a flame that crackles in the heart of our marriage bond.

Joy explodes inside me, and the flame grows.

My eyelids pop open, and my gaze meets Ten’s. She’s peering at me, expectant.

“Well?” she asks.