Dang her! Is the TL brave or foolish? —What if Dior inadvertently drains your Light?—I throw the words at her through the Grid.
She doesn’t miss a step. —Dior hasn’t exhibited any signs of becoming an Abrogate. Until she does, she can’t hurt me. I’m going to treat her as I would treat anyone else.—
I almost say, So you’re going to smack her with a spiked board? I remain quiet instead.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry.” Dior wrenches from Elizabeth’s hold. “I forgot. I’m so sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry. I give you permission,” Elizabeth says, her voice gentle. Once again she wraps an arm around the girl’s shoulders, and this time Dior allows it without protest.
Long ago, the realms instituted a law stating humans are never to touch Shells. This saves the shelled spirits who are working in recruitment centers, the House of Troikan Representatives and other places throughout the world to do their jobs without interference, and allows more natural-looking Shells to blend in, hiding in plain sight.
There are only two caveats to the rule. 1) When the human doesn’t know the other person is a Shell, and 2) when the human does know and has permission from the Shell.
I stalk to the far window and gaze out, removing myself from temptation. But I’m not alone for long. Dior joins me.
I tense, expecting some kind of attack. She simply says, “I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong, and yet I took my frustrations out on you.”
Oh...zero. Levi would tell me the first to apologize is the strongest. Dior is human, but despite my earlier boasts she’s stronger than me in the way that matters most.
What remains of my anger instantly deflates. “I’m sorry, too. Archer loved you. He wanted me to make your life better, not worse.”
A warm ray of Light shines through the glass, coils around my brands and...strokes me?
I wonder if the beams are the Troikan counterpart to Penumbra. Or perhaps the rays are normal, and I’m the one who’s changed.
“Archer.” Tears fill her golden eyes, and her chin quakes. “Elizabeth told me he died in battle.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Yes.”
“I loved him so much.” The tears streak down her cheeks. “I’ve tried to move on. Since I signed with Myriad, I mean. I’ve dated. I even have a boyfriend. But...”
“I know. It’s hard to get over Archer.”
Her head cants to the side. “You loved him, too.” A statement, not a question.
“Very much. He was like an annoying older brother.”
She laughs softly. Then her tears flow faster, harder.
The Grid buzzes inside my head, pricking like bee stings. Remember the year you spent as an Unsigned, torn between Troika and Myriad, unsure what was best for you? Every time someone pushed you one way, you pushed back and ended up further away from a conclusion. Be the Laborer you needed someone else to be.
The suggestion grounds me. Deep breath in...out... “Before he died, Archer forgave Killian for what he did to you. They worked together to recruit me to Troika.”
Her eyes widen. “He worked with Killian? Seriously?”
I nod. “You define Killian by the worst of his actions. Actions that are part of his past. Mistakes he made and now regrets. By the end, Archer defined him by his current actions, which proved how much he’d changed. He’s different, Dior. He feels remorse for what he did to you. He even searched your contract for a way to free you from your punishments.”
“But he couldn’t find one.” She slumps a little. “He wrote the contract, and he’s very good with fine print.” She presses her palm against her neck. “Despite the contract, I decided to continue on with the life I’d planned. I accepted a residency and dedicated myself to saving others. Which I can do. But only if my patients are Myriadian. And I know, I know. I’m told I shouldn’t have any problem turning Troikans away. They’ll only hurt my realm later, right? But people I like and admire are Troikan. If they scream in agony and I turn away, I’m a monster.”
“I’m sorry.” I am. Her struggle is agonizing.
“My contract states I’ll be a Laborer in the Unending, not a Healer. I’ve only ever wanted to be a Healer.” She shudders, and finally, she breaks down, her knees crumbling. She lands on the floor with a hard thud, sobbing into her hands.
I’m angry on her behalf. Her choices led her down a terrible road filled with bumps and potholes. She’s bruised and broken, clinging to the only life raft she’s been thrown. A court date.
Compassion overtakes me. This girl doesn’t know me, but I know her. I can help her. I know I can!
I crouch beside her and comb my fingers through her hair. She hisses and scrambles away from me. I hiss, sharp pain exploding at the ends of my fingertips, shooting through the rest of me.
“What was that?” she demands.
I rub my arms, feeling as if lightning is now striking on the underside of my Shell. “I don’t—” But I do. I do know, and I look to Elizabeth, my jaw clenched.
Penumbra.
How am I supposed to cleanse her?
I cast my voice to Elizabeth. —Is that a sign she’s becoming an Abrogate?—
—No. I’m guessing that is Penumbra’s defense against a Conduit. That is why you weren’t supposed to touch her.—
Right. Rules are rules for reasons. Whether I know the reasons or not. “I’m sorry, Dior. I’ll be more careful in the future.” I stand. “And I will help you, even if I have to work myself to the bone.” I will act like the woman Archer expected me to be.
She doesn’t miss a step. —Dior hasn’t exhibited any signs of becoming an Abrogate. Until she does, she can’t hurt me. I’m going to treat her as I would treat anyone else.—
I almost say, So you’re going to smack her with a spiked board? I remain quiet instead.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry.” Dior wrenches from Elizabeth’s hold. “I forgot. I’m so sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry. I give you permission,” Elizabeth says, her voice gentle. Once again she wraps an arm around the girl’s shoulders, and this time Dior allows it without protest.
Long ago, the realms instituted a law stating humans are never to touch Shells. This saves the shelled spirits who are working in recruitment centers, the House of Troikan Representatives and other places throughout the world to do their jobs without interference, and allows more natural-looking Shells to blend in, hiding in plain sight.
There are only two caveats to the rule. 1) When the human doesn’t know the other person is a Shell, and 2) when the human does know and has permission from the Shell.
I stalk to the far window and gaze out, removing myself from temptation. But I’m not alone for long. Dior joins me.
I tense, expecting some kind of attack. She simply says, “I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong, and yet I took my frustrations out on you.”
Oh...zero. Levi would tell me the first to apologize is the strongest. Dior is human, but despite my earlier boasts she’s stronger than me in the way that matters most.
What remains of my anger instantly deflates. “I’m sorry, too. Archer loved you. He wanted me to make your life better, not worse.”
A warm ray of Light shines through the glass, coils around my brands and...strokes me?
I wonder if the beams are the Troikan counterpart to Penumbra. Or perhaps the rays are normal, and I’m the one who’s changed.
“Archer.” Tears fill her golden eyes, and her chin quakes. “Elizabeth told me he died in battle.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Yes.”
“I loved him so much.” The tears streak down her cheeks. “I’ve tried to move on. Since I signed with Myriad, I mean. I’ve dated. I even have a boyfriend. But...”
“I know. It’s hard to get over Archer.”
Her head cants to the side. “You loved him, too.” A statement, not a question.
“Very much. He was like an annoying older brother.”
She laughs softly. Then her tears flow faster, harder.
The Grid buzzes inside my head, pricking like bee stings. Remember the year you spent as an Unsigned, torn between Troika and Myriad, unsure what was best for you? Every time someone pushed you one way, you pushed back and ended up further away from a conclusion. Be the Laborer you needed someone else to be.
The suggestion grounds me. Deep breath in...out... “Before he died, Archer forgave Killian for what he did to you. They worked together to recruit me to Troika.”
Her eyes widen. “He worked with Killian? Seriously?”
I nod. “You define Killian by the worst of his actions. Actions that are part of his past. Mistakes he made and now regrets. By the end, Archer defined him by his current actions, which proved how much he’d changed. He’s different, Dior. He feels remorse for what he did to you. He even searched your contract for a way to free you from your punishments.”
“But he couldn’t find one.” She slumps a little. “He wrote the contract, and he’s very good with fine print.” She presses her palm against her neck. “Despite the contract, I decided to continue on with the life I’d planned. I accepted a residency and dedicated myself to saving others. Which I can do. But only if my patients are Myriadian. And I know, I know. I’m told I shouldn’t have any problem turning Troikans away. They’ll only hurt my realm later, right? But people I like and admire are Troikan. If they scream in agony and I turn away, I’m a monster.”
“I’m sorry.” I am. Her struggle is agonizing.
“My contract states I’ll be a Laborer in the Unending, not a Healer. I’ve only ever wanted to be a Healer.” She shudders, and finally, she breaks down, her knees crumbling. She lands on the floor with a hard thud, sobbing into her hands.
I’m angry on her behalf. Her choices led her down a terrible road filled with bumps and potholes. She’s bruised and broken, clinging to the only life raft she’s been thrown. A court date.
Compassion overtakes me. This girl doesn’t know me, but I know her. I can help her. I know I can!
I crouch beside her and comb my fingers through her hair. She hisses and scrambles away from me. I hiss, sharp pain exploding at the ends of my fingertips, shooting through the rest of me.
“What was that?” she demands.
I rub my arms, feeling as if lightning is now striking on the underside of my Shell. “I don’t—” But I do. I do know, and I look to Elizabeth, my jaw clenched.
Penumbra.
How am I supposed to cleanse her?
I cast my voice to Elizabeth. —Is that a sign she’s becoming an Abrogate?—
—No. I’m guessing that is Penumbra’s defense against a Conduit. That is why you weren’t supposed to touch her.—
Right. Rules are rules for reasons. Whether I know the reasons or not. “I’m sorry, Dior. I’ll be more careful in the future.” I stand. “And I will help you, even if I have to work myself to the bone.” I will act like the woman Archer expected me to be.
