Lifeblood (Everlife #2)

“The disease is stronger in him than in Dior. He rages out, and nothing calms him.”


For once, I lament free will. If a human doesn’t want us near, we cannot go near. The only exceptions? When a family or friend inside the realm asks on behalf of the human. Like Meredith so often did for me.

Lockdown!

Even with a family member’s interference, there are codes of conduct all TLs must respect.

“I received word before you arrived at the coliseum,” Levi says. “One of the reasons we lost the battle is Javier himself. Our soldiers were weakened in his presence. We believe he’s begun the transition. He will become an Abrogate.”

A sound I don’t recognize slips from my lips. If Javier becomes an Abrogate... “Could he cleansed and become a Conduit for Troika?”

“It’s...possible.”

A chance is better than nothing.

Javier could be the one, then. He could save Troika and win the war. Because Javier Diez is—

In my mind, the Grid translates the word Diez. In Spanish, diez means ten.

He is Javier Ten.

The knowledge comes with a strange mix of dismay and hope. And pressure. A whole lot of pressure. If he signs with Myriad, he’ll become a General. Before the deaths of Rosalind and Abdul, he would have been the tenth. The complete set.

Myriadians have always favored the numbers one and zero. They have ten cities within their realm. Ten festivals of celebration. Ten points on their brand.

The day of my birth, nine of their Generals were killed. Their Leaders believe the spirits of those Generals immediately Fused with humans. Beginning with me.

With the loss of Rosalind and Abdul, Myriad desperately needs two new Generals. Javier is a nice start. Do they believe Javier is the one they’ve been searching for, instead of me? After all, ten is ten, and there are always different ways to say the same thing:

2 x 5 = 10

1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10

Greater than 9 but less than 11.

. . . . . . . . . .





X


11-1 = 10

A dime.

A decade.

Decem.

Dix.

An insidious monster with fangs and claws prowls through me—his name is Envy. I actually envy Javier. He might be the one my realms need. Him, not me.

I’ve bewailed my status for weeks and now, when it might be taken from me, I want it back? Wow. I suck.

“I wonder if our s—” Remembering our audience, I press my lips together.

“It’s okay. Deacon knows there’s a spy in our midst,” Levi says, understanding the direction my mind had traveled. “We’ve checked out everyone who knew where we were keeping Javier, but have come up with no concrete evidence any information was leaked. But all that means is he or she is very, very good at hiding his or her activities.”

“Maybe Myriad is fighting so hard to keep Dior on their side because she influences Javier.” Once Levi told me I wasn’t seeing the full picture. He was right. But my eyes are beginning to open.

“They aren’t fighting to keep her anymore,” Deacon says. “This morning they voided their petition to stop her trial. A court date has been set for two weeks from today.”

Unease prickles at the back of my neck, but I say, “That’s wonderful.” She’ll be pleased. And I did promise to help her. But I can’t help remembering Killian’s warning...

Deacon rubs the back of his neck as if he feels the same sense of unease. “I don’t think she’s ready.”

“Why? I still don’t understand the in and outs of court,” I admit.

He looks to Levi.

Levi thinks for a moment, sighs. “It’ll be better if you show her. Do you have time?”

“I’ll make time. But first things first. We’re stopping by your apartment, Ten.” Deacon wrinkles his nose. “You have to shower and change into a ceremonial robe.”

“No problem. And no need to go home. I can use the locker room—”

“Robes aren’t stored there.”

Right. Meredith would have fetched one while I showered and waited for me to finish. She would have offered me pearls of wisdom and—

Lock. Down. Now.

“All right. Let’s go.” Using Stairwells and Gates, we travel thousands of miles in seconds, stopping at Deacon’s house—mansion—to acquire a robe for him, then at an outdoor market to buy manna since both our cupboards are bare.

I hurry through a shower. Deacon eats half the food and takes a power nap on my couch.

Clean and dry, I weapon-up, strapping blades to my waist, thighs and ankles. I slide Meredith’s ring on my finger—lockdown—and pull a white robe over my head. The material is feather-soft. As I anchor my hair in a knot on the crown of my head, I head to the living room.

“Let’s go,” I say, and stuff my mouth full of manna. Energy zings me.

Deacon looks me over and shakes his head. “No weapons.” He pushes a few keys on his keyboard. In a flash of Light, his Shell appears. “You’ll need yours.”

I reluctantly remove Meredith’s ring and all the daggers and step inside my Shell, which is flush against the massage wall. We make our way to the Veil of Wings. People smile and wave at us. A few try to stop and chat with me, but Deacon sends them off as kindly as possible.

Everyone thinks I’m a hero, despite Meredith’s death. They think I’ve finally proved myself loyal to the realm. I want to lift my head to the sky and scream, It wasn’t me. I did nothing right and everything wrong. I’m a failure.

“You’re tense,” Deacon says with a frown. “Why?”

I ignore his question and ask, “Where are we going?” I won’t lie to him, not even a small, innocent lie. Actually, there are no small, innocent lies. Saving his feelings today will only hurt him in the future.

I know this firsthand. My parents lied to me often. So did the people in charge at Prynne. Madame Bennett. Even friends, and once, Killian. Trust is precious. Once lost, it’s difficult to rebuild.

But I won’t tell Deacon about Killian, either.

“We’re headed to the Courthouse. It’s neutral territory, overseen by the Firstking. We do not break the Firstking’s rules. Ever. Ignorance is not an excuse.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“No weapons of any kind inside the building. No fighting anywhere, either verbally or physically. He is the judge supreme. When one of his delegates rules on a case, it is final. There are no appeals. Both Troikans and Myriadians attend the sessions, so be prepared for killing glares. We attend in Shells for the benefit of humans—they’re usually the ones on trial.”

Usually...

I think of my mother, desperate to switch sides to spend time with her infant son. I think of Killian...who might not be as happy in Myriad as he used to be?

If he would go to trial... I close my eyes, imagining the joy of having him nearby, of touching him and being touched by him, of working cases with him rather than against him, and I smile. I don’t want to be parted from him. I want him out of danger, mine to protect. I want...him. I just want him.