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  Raanan frowns as Hoshi and Clementine jump up and clap.

  "He's here!" Clementine squeals. "Someone pinch me. No, don't! If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up."

  "I've been praying for another glimpse of him," Hoshi admits.

  I glance over my shoulder to discover...Victor Prince. He's involved in a deep conversation with a girl I've never met, and he hasn't yet noticed his admirers.

  My good mood deflates like a balloon with a hole. Days have passed since Archer's death. My sweet, lovable Archer.

  I haven't begun to heal.

  I miss you every minute, every second

  Are you near? Hope no longer beckons.

  I want to sob, but here, now, I can only kneel.

  Emptiness is the only thing I feel.

  Tell me, please, how I'm supposed to go on.

  For the rest of eternity, you, Little "Bow" Peep, are gone.

  Has grief erased Victor's optimism? I've heard no more talk about the Resurrection. How can we convince others to vote for Archer? Do we even try?

  Soft music drifts through the air. A live band plays amid the wealth of roses. Their instruments, like so many other things in Troika, are different than what I'm used to seeing, and the sounds...oh, wow, the sounds! The melody is hauntingly beautiful. My ears tingle. Tears well in my eyes.

  "Have you ever heard anything so exquisite?" Winifred stares at the band with dreamy eyes.

  "Excuse us, everyone. I'm going to steal Ten away." With an arm snaked around my waist, Meredith herds me toward the Great Throne room, even though the door is closed.

  "Why--" I spot the Secondking to the right of the doors, speaking with a man and woman.

  His violet robe is the most ornate I've ever seen, the seams bound together with gold thread, the hem glittering as if soaked in Lifeblood. He's tall, his face plain, but his eyes...they are bluer than a morning sky, brighter than a sapphire and lovelier than a blue jay.

  The man and woman notice our approach and take a step back, clearing our path. My mouth dries, and my insides perform a series of flip-flops. I'm about to meet Troika's king. In person.

  Don't trip. Don't spit when you speak. Oh, zero, how's my breath?

  Meredith bows, and I clumsily do the same.

  He smiles at us, and I would swear the sun just rose over the entire realm. Plain? No, this man is the definition of beautiful. "I'm pleased you chose Troika, Tenley."

  He knows my name! And though he spoke only six words, I jolt as if I just consumed an entire smorgasbord of manna. I'm electrified from the inside out. "Thank you..." Eron? Too casual. Great King? Perhaps too formal, considering our surroundings. Dang it, what's the proper way to address him? "Majesty."

  He inclines his head. One point for Ten. I nailed it.

  So...is now a good time to mention my thoughts on the war?

  As if reading my mind, Meredith urges me away. As I huff and puff with irritation, she says, "A party is not the time for politics." She stops in front of the pair who spoke to the Secondking before us.

  "This," Meredith says, "is my mother. Your great-grandmother Hazel. She's a Laborer."

  My eyes widen with surprise and pleasure. I should have guessed. Hazel is petite and blonde, just like Meredith, with a similar regal bearing. But...how is my dark-haired mother part of their familial line?

  Hazel tsks at her daughter. "What have I told you about playing Barbie with the new recruits?" Her voice reminds me of a lullaby: soft, sweet and calming.

  Meredith snorts. "You said to wait for you so you could play, too."

  Hazel nods and looks me over, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "I hope you don't expect me to call you Ten. I refuse to refer to my great-granddaughter as a number. I'll call you Blue."

  She refuses to call me a number, even though it's my name, but she's fine with a color? I take a page from Clay's book and pat the top of her head. Only family can get away with such illogical logic.

  "I'm good with Blue. How about I call you Meemaw?"

  "Yes!" She fist-pumps the sky. "Meemaw it is."

  "And this," Meredith says with a laugh, "is Steven, your grandfather. He's a Laborer, though a different subset. He harvests manna."

  Steven smiles and shakes my hand. He's on the tall side with clear Native American roots. "So wonderful to meet you, Tenley."

  "Call me Ten. Or Blue," I add with a wink. I wonder if he and my grandmother are still married.

  What the heck. I go ahead and ask.

  "During a human marriage, two bodies are bound together, not two spirits." She pats Steven on the shoulder. "Upon Firstdeath, the bond is voided. But no worries. We're best friends now."

  With her gaze on something--or someone--behind us, Hazel frowns. "What is she doing here?" Annoyance drips from her tone. "Only friends and family of the newbies received invitations."

  Foreboding rushes through me, a river without a dam. I turn...and spot Elizabeth. Great!

  She whispers something to the freckled redhead at her side, and the two glare at me before making their way to Nico, Raanan and Sawyer, who have congregated in a corner.

  "She's distantly related to Raanan." Meredith wags a finger in her mother's face, and I begin to understand why she's a Leader. "And we're happy she's here, aren't we? We hope she has fun. Right? Right! Because we love our fellow Troikans, no matter what."

  Well. Raanan's silent treatment now makes sense.

  "Right," Hazel grumbles. "Happy. Fun. Love."

  I catch sight of Clay, Reed and Kayla as they enter the courtyard, and a spark of happiness ignites. "Over here!"

  They spot me and rush over. Before I dole out hugs, they notice Meredith and bow their heads in greeting. Hazel and Steven receive handshakes.

  Clay wiggles his brows at me. "Hey, baby. You must be the square root of negative one, because you can't possibly be real."

  I bark out a laugh.

  Meredith rolls her eyes. "Your pickup lines need serious work, Clayton."

  "So you keep telling me." His smiles widens as he focuses on her. "But that wasn't a pickup line. This is. On a scale of one to ten, you're a nine...and I'm the one you need."

  She throws back her head and laughs with delight.

  Whoa. Full stop. Did eighteen-year-old Clay just try to pick up my grandmother? Gross! Killian, at least, is nineteen and only a year and a half older than me.

  Killian...

  Forget contacting him. I want to see him, breathe him in. I want to touch, hug and kiss him. I want his skin pressed against mine, without a flicker of pain. And the desires do not spring from my crush on him. Not entirely. I think... I think the Grid is trying to tell me I'm not supposed to be here without him.

  Impossible. Right? The Troikan Grid would never welcome a Myriadian.

  Still my heart cries, Killian.

  There are seven letters in his name. The numerical equivalent is 11 + 9 + 12 + 12 +9 + 1 + 14 = 68

  68 is a code meaning "put it back," while 86 is a code meaning "remove it."

  Kayla waves a hand in front of my face and says, "If your plan is to discourage Elizabeth from seeking revenge by making yourself look miserable, mission accomplished."

  "I miss Killian," I confess softly. She's never met him, and I'm glad. Before me, he slept with his assignments. His method of choice. The quickest and easiest way to convince a girl to make covenant with Myriad, desperate to stay with him.

  What can I say? The boy gives good romance.

  At first, I feared I was just another number to him (har har). Just another conquest to be won. But he willingly entered the Kennels for me in order to buy me more time, so I could make a decision about my future in peace. He disobeyed his Leader's orders to hurt me, protecting me instead. Finally, he urged me to make covenant with Troika, despite the war.

  How can I ever doubt his affections for me?

  "You won't be allowed to leave the realm for a year," Kayla tells me. "You have to complete your training first."

&n
bsp; I open my mouth to respond, but the girl who arrived with Elizabeth approaches our circle--sans Elizabeth--and zeros in on Clay.

  If she thinks to strike at me by hurting my friend...

  He's a good guy with a good heart, and I will play Ten Ways To Die if her intentions are anything but honorable.

  After a few minutes of back and forth teasing, the two wander off. I'm tempted to follow, but Clay looks so happy. I let him go without comment, and the conversation behind me snags my attention.

  "--so excited to make my first kill." I recognize Clementine's voice.

  "I know!" Hoshi replies. "Those Myriadians are going dooown."

  They talk about ending a life as if it's easy, as if there are no consequences. I know better. I've killed before. A guard at the asylum sneaked into my cell, expecting a good time. I choked him with his own belt. Another guard beat inmates for attempting to escape. I stabbed him in the gut.

  Both were acts of self-defense, and yet I haven't been able to wash the dark stains from my soul.

  Soon I'll be expected to slaughter entire armies.

  Sweat beads over my nape, even as my insides chill.

  Victor moves to my side, handsome in a white robe with black embroidery. He shakes hands with everyone in our group. Kayla brightens when he kisses her knuckles.

  He winks at me. "You want to dance, New Girl?"

  Overjoyed by his ease with me, I nod. Only as he draws me away do I notice no one else is dancing. "Wait," I begin.

  "Nope. No take-backs." He swings me around and tugs me against him, catching me and laughing. "This is happening."

  He looks so much like his brother I can't help but soften against him.

  "How do you like Troika so far?" he asks.

  I scan the sea of faces for Elizabeth, but she's nowhere to be found. Kayla is frowning at me. When she notices my gaze, she spins away.

  Odd. "The land or the people?" I ask Victor.

  "I'll take that to mean you love the land but want to throat-punch some of the people." He flattens a hand on my shoulder and the other at my lower back, careful not to delve anywhere he shouldn't. "Here's what you don't know. One of the soldiers Killian killed--Elizabeth was dating him."

  Oh...zero. My shoulders roll in. "How do I earn her forgiveness?"

  "If forgiveness has to be earned, it isn't forgiveness."

  A high-pitched scream assaults my ears, and panic sweeps through the crowd.

  "Help," a girl shouts. Young Fatima? "Help them! Please!"

  Another newbie rushes past me, a look of terror on her face.

  "It's all right." A guy chases after her. "It's not what it seems."

  I wrench from Victor's arms and dart in the opposite direction, closing in on the still-screaming Fatima. She's on the floor, curled into a ball, staring ahead as if she's just come face-to-face with her worst fear. Multiple people attempt to comfort her.

  "What--" I spot the reason for her upset and cry out.

  Killian. Killian is here. He's chained to a column, his feet engulfed in flames, his features contorted in agony. He screams. Clay is chained to the column next to him, his feet also engulfed by flames. He jerks at his bonds to no avail.

  As I sprint over, three facts occur to me. 1) Not a single General, Leader or Laborer is concerned for the boys. 2) The flames emit zero heat. 3) The air is fresh, no hint of burning leather or flesh.

  However, there's no time to ponder the reasons. No time to waste with a debate about whom to save first. Clay is Troikan. Any soldier here will happily rush to his aid. No one but me will free Killian.

  I unsheathe the knife discreetly hidden under my skirt and slide the rest of the way across the marble pathway to stop behind Killian. I reach for the lock on his chains and--

  Go still. My hand ghosted through him.

  Confused, I pat at him. He is 100 percent intangible to me.

  I don't understand. I lean over and reach for Clay. My hand ghosts through him, too.

  A hologram, I realize. Only a hologram.

  Relief blends with a potent mix of anger and dread. Who would create such a sickening scenario? And why?

  No need to ponder the answers for long. A smug Elizabeth stands nearby. Her friend is with her--and so is the real Clay. Hurt shimmers in his eyes. Even though he wasn't in any kind of danger, he knows what I know: once again, I opted to save someone else first.

  "I told you," Elizabeth announces. "We aren't safe with our new Conduit around. She will always choose a Myriadian over a Troikan."

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: An introduction, a request and a question

  Our first assignment together! I hope you're as excited as I am, Mr. Flynn. I've heard good things about you, and I'm looking forward to seeing you in action. I know it will take time for you to fully trust me, and I understand. I'm currently an unknown to you.

  Going forward, there are two things you should know about me: I love my realm, and I will cross any line to protect those placed in my care. I encourage you to reach our goal--freedom for all--any way you see fit. I will never oppress you with ridiculous rules; I ask only that you show me the respect my position is due and keep me informed.

  Now, about our assignment. I hope you comprehend victory isn't our only end goal. We are fighting for our very way of life. The right to feel our emotions rather than ignore them. The right to play after a hard day of work and enjoy the time we've been given. The right to shuck conformity, to no longer be mindless drones but individuals with singular needs and wants.

  We must prove to Miss Tenley Lockwood just how much better Myriad is for her. For everyone!

  I'd love to hear your plans to accomplish this, and I'd appreciate confirmation that your seeming affection for Miss Lockwood is exaggerated for the sake of the mission. What you tell me, I'll believe. I'll trust you until you give me reason to doubt you, and you'll trust me. I believe in give-and-take.

  Oh! One final note. I received an incident report early this morning. Apparently you tossed Sloan Aubuchon across the training room. Was such violence against your charge necessary?

  Might Equals Right!

  Sir Zhi Chen

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  Subject: A statement, a truth and a pat on the back Rest assured, I understand the importance of my mission. If Troika loses Miss Lockwood, they will fall and Myriad will rise.

  If you've read my file, you know I've lied, cheated and seduced for our realm. I'm good at it. Very good. But I will always be honest with you.

  Question: Do you truly believe my affection for a Troikan could be genuine? Rest assured I'm more determined than ever, and I'll do whatever I must to reach my goal.

  As for Sloan Aubuchon, I didn't toss her across the training room once--I tossed her across the training room three times. She will never again attack an instructor from behind, no matter how much she hates him. You're welcome, Myriad.

  Might Equals Right!

  ML, Killian Flynn

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: I'm impressed We could all take a lesson from you, Mr. Flynn. You live with passion and fight for what you want. The true Myriadian way. Carry on!

  You'll be pleased to know our efforts to draw Miss Lockwood out of Troika are progressing nicely. I predict you'll see her in a matter of days.

  Might Equals Right!

  Sir Zhi Chen

  chapter six

  * * *

  "Change is the bedrock of success."

  --Myriad

  I spend the next day at home, trying to forget yesterday's walk of shame. After Elizabeth's announcement, I left the party and, after taking a few wrong Gates, managed to find my way back to the cathedral. No one came after me.

  Last night my dreams turned into n
ightmares. Killian never appeared on the mountaintop, and the birds attacked me en masse. Within minutes, they tore me to shreds and feasted on my organs. Organs that quickly regenerated, ready to be eaten again. The pain... I still feel a twinge in my side.

  After I managed to fight my way free, I dragged my broken, bloody body into the cornfield, the throng of people absent. I was alone. No one had needed or wanted my help, and I'd fallen to my knees, sobbing.

  I'm considering forgoing sleep for the rest of my Everlife.

  Today, no visitors come knocking on my door, and I'm glad. So far, all I've done is anger and upset the people I'm supposed to protect. I haven't done anything right.

  I'm Ten, the rarity. Ten, the necessary ingredient for victory. Ten, the special one. But...what if Levi and Archer and everyone else got it wrong? What if I'm not special? What if I'm the necessary ingredient for failure?

  Dejected, I plop onto the couch. The Book of the Law appears, glowing just in front of me, all, ta-da, here I am, the answer to your problems. As if.

  I'm not in the mood to read, but I decide to do it, anyway. Knowledge is power. Maybe I'll do a better job here.

  If you forget all else, remember this: love is always the answer. Love your realm. Love your people. Love yourself. This is right. This is good. Only when you choose love are you living in Light.

  My number brands throb as I turn to the next page. Someone needs to remind the rest of the realm about choosing love!

  Other people are not the source of your problem. Your own thoughts are your--

  I flip the page.

  Let this word take root inside the rich soil of your heart so that, when a storm comes--and it will--you have something firmly planted to hold on to.

  Enough! This isn't helping.

  Frustrated, I press a series of buttons on the miracle remote and the book vanishes. Another series of buttons and a detailed map of Troika materializes on the ceiling.

  I discovered the map last night and memorized the locations of the Gates. Besides the seven main Gates leading to different cities within the realm, there are multiple smaller Gates--Stairwells--for travel within each specific city. Every city is hundreds of thousands of square miles.

  I decided to spend quality time with a favorite pastime: counting. On the map, only sixty-six trees are marked--thirty-nine on one side and twenty-seven on the other. Why?