Lifeblood Page 32

  He smiles without humor. "I've decided to make covenant with you."

  I snort-laugh. "Are you kidding? Why would I ever agree? Why would you want me to?"

  "Why else? Power. With you on my side, the Prince of Doves will have no choice but to surrender to Myriad. The war will end, as you claim to desire, and I will take my rightful place in Troika. The new Secondking."

  I would rather die. "You'll never have enough power to become king."

  His comm glows, but he pays it no heed. "Choose, Ten. This is your only means of survival. And you want to survive, don't you? You want to continue fighting me, at the very least. To ensure you save your friends from my wrath."

  Every decision matters. Every action has a consequence. What you sow, you will reap. As he deceived Kayla, he has deceived himself. "Love gives rather than takes. By saving myself, I would be condemning others. That, I won't do."

  A minute beam of Light slips through the shadows above, shining a few feet in front of me. Killian is here!

  Victor frowns and glances up at the sky.

  Now! Heart hammering, I dive for the Light.

  chapter twenty-seven

  * * *

  "A problem should never be the sole focus of your life."

  --Troika

  I land in the center of the beam, going from cold to hot in an instant, suddenly jacked up as if I've just been plugged in to a generator. The brand on my arm flickers once, twice...glows...and the Grid begins to buzz in the back of my mind.

  First up: disarming Victor.

  He plans to destroy Troika from the inside. He must be stopped.

  As I straighten, he realizes his mistake--never lose track of your enemy. He adjusts his aim and squeezes the trigger, but I'm on a roll, literally, and the shot soars over my shoulder.

  I swipe up my swords and come up swinging.

  Boom, boom. The bullets whizz past me. I strike at him. We move in tandem, one of us attacking, the other dodging. I manage to drive him backward.

  "You're not going to beat me." I see my victory playing along the Grid, leading my every action.

  "Wrong. You're already beaten."

  A lie. Just another in a long line.

  In a single, fluid motion, he reloads his gun. Another bullet heads my way. I duck, beginning to detect a pattern to his movements, as if he's dancing to music I cannot hear. Step, step, duck left, duck right, fire. Step, step, duck.

  Using my Light as fuel, I pick up the pace, changing the beat. I block and press my swords together. With a swipe of the staff, he falls to the side, but also fires another shot. He lands and leaps at me. I dart in the opposite direction, going low, as if I mean to knock his feet out from under him.

  When he jumps, I jerk the staff up instead of down, hitting his calves to disrupt his balance. He falls again. I yank the staff apart and twirl a sword, cutting off his foot before he lands. Thud. He's on the ground, reaching for his spurting stump. I cut off his hand, the gun still in his grip.

  He screams. I pivot around him...and remove his other hand.

  His next scream makes a mockery of his first, Lifeblood pouring from all three wounds.

  Determined to end this, I relock the swords and press the tip of the staff against the pulse at the base of his neck. A flame burns him.

  "Mercy, mercy," he cries.

  I'm panting, my heart pounding. This boy has caused me all kinds of problems. He has deceived me, hurt me, and killed my friends. If given the chance, he'll do it all again.

  My heart weeps. Allow him to live. Save the enemy, one at a time... As long as there's breath, there's hope.

  ...but I'm tempted, so tempted to finish him. Death is what he deserves.

  A thick beam of Light spreads over us, bright and warm. I glance up and exhale a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. MLs are fleeing. Has Troika won?

  "Mercy." Victor's voice weaker, his strength draining as quickly as his Lifeblood. "Mercy. Please, Ten."

  "If the situation was reversed and I asked you for mercy, you would strike me down with a smile on your smug face."

  But I am not him. My choice today defines who and what I am tomorrow.

  He flinches, the truth of my words irrefutable.

  I straighten, removing the tip of the staff from his pulse, adding, "I'm not going to kill you. I'm not your judge, and I'm not going to decide your punishment."

  Footsteps sound in the distance. I spin, ignoring an influx of dread as I lift my weapon, prepared to battle.

  A Troikan army rushes through the Gate, Levi at the helm.

  Relief opens a floodgate, and tears fill my eyes. I pull the staff apart and sheathe the swords as I rush over to Kayla. She's unconscious, unmoving, but she has a pulse.

  I push every bit of Light I can spare into her and shout, "Help her!" Victor is proof spirits are harder to kill than humans. I think...pray...she can recover from this.

  Levi issues a series of orders. Three soldiers see to Kayla's care while another two deal with Victor. As both individuals are carted to the Sanatorium, I begin to tremble.

  "Kayla told me Jeremy is safe," I say. If she lied...

  "He is safe. I've seen him."

  My knees give out, and I topple. My tears spill over and rain down my cheeks. "According to intel, there are--were--nine Myriadian spies in our realm," I tell Levi. "I killed two. Victor is the third."

  "The Secondking can do what we can't, unearthing those who disabled their comms and locking them away until they can be questioned." He closes the distance and, with a quiet hiss, eases beside me. There's a wet spot on his rib cage, and it's growing, his Lifeblood hemorrhaging.

  "You need Light, but I have none left," I say. "Why don't you go to the Sanatorium with the others."

  "I'll go. Eventually. You'll be happy to hear we were also able to drive the enemy away...with Killian's help."

  My heart skips a beat. He came through. After everything, he came through for me. He chose me, fighting his peers to save me.

  I cry so hard I dry heave.

  I want my arms wrapped around him. I want his heart beating against mine and his scent in my nose. I want his breath fanning my skin, branding me as effectively as the Troikan symbol. I want his lips pressed against mine.

  I want to thank him.

  "What about Clay?" I rip the hem of my shirt and press the material into Levi's side.

  With another hiss, he takes possession of the cloth to maintain pressure on his wound. "Killian and Deacon found and freed him before joining the battle. Apparently there are Troikan sympathizers inside Myriad. Clay helped them fight outside the walls."

  Killian kept his promise to me, finding my friend and bringing him home.

  A promise kept is a star in the darkest of nights. A bridge between us. A bridge no one will ever be able to destroy.

  I tell Levi everything that happened. Kayla's betrayal. Victor's plots and plans. Sadness fills his eyes.

  "What will happen to Kayla? If she survives?" I ask. Punishment? Banishment?

  "The Secondking will decide."

  "And Victor? What will happen to him?"

  "His covenant has been broken, his grace period over. He'll be banished. He wanted Myriad, he can have Myriad."

  My hope is that he is haunted by the kindnesses shown to him today--and every day he lived here--that he realizes he lost a prize.

  "Our realm..." I say.

  Levi heaves a sigh. "We have much to rebuild."

  Much is an understatement. "And the casualties?"

  "I would say they are too numerous to count, but I'm sure you'll find a way."

  I have no humor to spare. I dig my fingers into the ground, dirt sinking under my nails. "How was Myriad able to do this?"

  "They distracted us with smaller battles in the Land of the Harvest, dividing our focus while launching a bigger battle on our own soil." He pauses, sighs again. "You did well today, Miss Lockwood. You saw past your emotions, putting the needs of others above your own wants. I'm p
roud of you."

  A hard lump clogs my throat.

  Through the Grid, a Light brighter than any other shines. My cells sizzle and snap with new life. Strength blooms inside me, a rose opening for the sun. I'm no longer slumped over but sitting up straight.

  The princess! She is energizing me. No, not just me but all of us. Levi is sitting straighter, as well.

  "One day," he says, "you will be able to do that. As for this...we will overcome. We have been knocked down, but we won't stay down." He stands and offers me a hand, helping me to my feet. "Today we salvage."

  We take different Gates and Stairwells through the realm. The Capital of New, the Baths of Restoration and the House of Secrets sustained the most damage.

  For the next several hours, we dig through the rubble, searching for survivors. The other Generals work alongside us, and so do the newbies. Old and young have come together as one.

  The jagged rocks cut my hands, and I lose a couple of nails, but as we find survivors, my determination is renewed and I continue on. At some point, Deacon joins us. He's covered in soot and grime and there's a bruise on his jawline, but he's steady.

  A little while later, someone taps my shoulder, startling me. I turn to find Clay and launch into his open arms. He hugs me tight, as if I'm the only life raft in the middle of a typhoon.

  When we part, he chucks me under the chin. "Why didn't the two fours feel like eating dinner?"

  How much do I love this boy! "Because they already ate. Sorry, I mean eight." I press my forehead against the center of his chest. "I'm happy you're alive and well."

  He gives me another hug. "I wish you could have seen Killian. He swooped in, armed and dangerous. Slayed and took names. No one could stop him."

  That's my guy.

  A door opens in the Grid, and I see Archer's beautiful face. My tears return.

  I whisper, "Today we will mourn, but new strength will be born. For those who have fallen, we will not be downtrodden. We will rise and we will shine, and in the sand we will draw a line. We will fight for what we believe, and to our hope we will cleave. Victory will be ours, and in the darkness, we will glitter like stars."

  Archer offers me a sad smile.

  Clay frames my face with his hands, lifting my head to kiss my temple. "The past is in the past, where it belongs, and the future awaits us...but there's something else we need to discuss."

  Archer snorts. "Tell him he sucks."

  I laugh and say, "Not bad."

  "Thank you." Clay wipes a tear from my cheek. "I hunted you down to deliver a bit of good news. Kayla's awake, and she wants to see us."

  *

  While half of the Sanatorium is in perfect condition, the other half is destroyed. Triage tents have been set up around the rubble, Healers doing everything they can to save the injured.

  Kayla has a gurney in back of the tent farthest from the others. She's propped up on a mound of pillows. The enclosure holds fourteen other patients, some missing limbs, some thrashing in pain.

  War is never pretty.

  Levi beat us here. He's sitting in a chair next to her bed, holding her hand. The two haven't noticed us; they're too focused on each other.

  "Did I...did I lose my citizenship?" Her voice trembles. There's a bandage between her eyes, hiding her wound.

  "No, Miss Brooks. You didn't lose your citizenship. You simply lost your way."

  The words surprise me, even though part of me expected to hear them. Levi is the epitome of the Troikan way of life. He doesn't tell us the path to walk; he shows us. And this...this is what changes people for the better. Unconditional love.

  A sob bubbles from her. "I'm so stupid. I never should have believed--" Her gaze lands on me, and she sobs again, sobs so hard she can no longer speak coherently.

  Levi stands. Though his dark hair is in complete disarray, he's wearing a clean shirt. He pats my shoulder as he passes me, and says, "Give compassion, receive compassion."

  Then he's gone. I take his place at Kayla's bedside, and to my amazement, it's not resentment or anger I feel but pity and compassion. I could just as easily have been the one to turn on my friends. The only difference is, I placed my trust in someone deserving; she didn't.

  "I'm so, so sorry," she chokes out.

  "I forgive you," I say, and not because she's apologized. I forgive her because I refuse to give hate a place in my life. Hate carried Victor to his disastrous end. Hate drove Myriad to attack a realm where innocent children played.

  She only sobs harder.

  On the other side of her bed, Clay pulls up a chair. "Enough blubbering like a baby." His tone is stern and unbending. Un-Clay-like. "You made a mistake. Who hasn't? Use the mistake as a tutor, learn from it, and move on."

  "P-people died." She wipes at her tears with trembling hands. "I helped kill... I'm a murderer."

  "Yes," I say. "You are." It's true. There's no denying it, no coating it with sugar. "But don't stay in here and wallow. Get out there and help the people you hurt."

  Reed joins us, squeezes my hand. "Victor and the other Myriad supporters would have found a way to attack us even without you." A bandage covers his left eye and there's a gash on his neck. "I just wish you'd come to me, told me what you were planning. I could have talked some sense into you."

  She sobs again. I let her cry it out, and as the minutes turn into hours, I doze on and off in my seat. I'm aware of people coming and going, but don't snap to full attention until Deacon peeks his head through a slit in the tent. Our gazes meet, his expression grim; he motions me outside. I stand a little too quickly, bid the others a hasty goodbye and rush out.

  As soon as I'm standing in front of him, he says, "Despite the attack, Dior's day in court has kicked off."

  You've got to be kidding me. "We should reschedule. Just for another day. Levi needs rest, not stress." We all do!

  "In the chaos, we missed the deadline to reschedule. To postpone now is to lose."

  I rub the back of my aching neck. "So what do we do?"

  "The warehouse where Shells are made still stands. Now we collect a Shell, go to the Courthouse and offer what support we can."

  chapter twenty-eight

  * * *

  "Focus all your energy on your problem until it's solved."

  --Myriad

  I'm a jumble of apprehension as I enter the courtroom, Deacon at my side. The room has to be at maximum occupancy, Myriadians on one side and Troikans on the other. As the doors close behind us, emitting a high-pitched squeak, every eye darts to us.

  The proceedings--which are already in session--pause. Quiet reigns.

  Game face on.

  I lift my chin as I move deeper into the chamber. Javier is seated on the front bench of Troika's side. He's got his own game face on, hiding the thoughts rattling inside his head.

  Because Deacon and I are encased in Shells, Javier can see and feel us. Deacon sits next to him and gives him a little push to make room for me at the edge, Deacon remaining a buffer between us.

  Javier's hands are wrapped over his knees, his knuckles white. Well. There's a hint of his thoughts, after all. He's petrified.

  His infection reacts to my presence, the veins of black writhing. The Grid buzzes, irritated by our close proximity. Light spills through me, lining every inch of me to create a barrier.

  I skim the faces of other spectators--

  My gaze collides with Killian's, my heart nearly kicking down my ribs in an effort to escape my chest and get to him. He's sitting with Sloan on Myriad's side. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

  Why did he come? To see me? Or Dior? He has to know she'll take one look at him and be more determined to side with Troika.

  My spine suddenly snaps straighter, as if it's been strapped to a board. He's here for us both, isn't he?

  Brilliant boy. My boy.

  I'm not sure I'll ever have the words to thank him for everything he's done for me. I just hope he sees the gratitude and love in my eyes.

&
nbsp; Concern and longing stare back at me. I force myself to look away and nod at Sloan. She offers me a wobbly smile.

  The proceedings resume, and much like the other case, the judge's chair is centered on the dais at the back of the room. Dior sits next to him, and Levi sits next to her. He's in a Shell and draped in a pale blue robe.

  The same Myriadian Barrister who presided over the last case presides over this one--and he's doing a great job. Dior is already crying, scenes from her life playing over the walls. He makes sure to emphasize the many times she allowed a Troikan loyalist to be hurt or killed, simply to avoid being punished.

  "You're selfish," he says, his tone harsh. "Yes, you made covenant to help your father, but in doing so, you hurt so many others. I know, I know. You've stated your defection will allow you to help others--to help Troikans. Do you truly believe those Troikans want your help? How many times did you allow their brethren to die simply to save yourself from castigation?"

  She keeps her gaze downcast, as if she can't bear to face the crowd. "I don't... I don't know."

  I stifle a moan. Come on. Get your head up! Resist self-loathing and forgive yourself.

  As the footage continues to play, hour after hour, and the Barrister continues to berate her, her shoulders sink in and her head dips lower.

  When the recordings finally end, he slams his hand on the wooden bar between them, leans in and shouts, "This man, Levi Nanne, claims he knows everything you've done and wants you to be part of his realm, anyway. Do you think it's possible he wants you there simply to get revenge? And what of the others? Your actual victims. They live there. Do you think they want to see your face every day? They must hate you."

  The unexpected suddenly happens. Around me, one after the other, Troikans stand and speak.

  "I forgive you."

  "I forgive you."

  On and on, until they've all spoken. And I think... I think they are the very people the Barrister mentioned. The ones she allowed to suffer and die.

  Her head begins to lift at last.

  The Barrister sneers. "Pretty words. And maybe they're true--but maybe they aren't."

  "They are true," Levi announces, jolting me. "I won't speak for you, Barrister, as you've attempted to speak for me, and I won't claim to know what you see when you look at Miss Nichols. I will only state what I know to be true. Everyone in this courtroom has made mistakes, in Firstlife and in Everlife. None of us can cast stones. When I look at Miss Nichols, I see a woman with great potential. A woman with a heart that beats with kindness. A woman I will be proud to call family."