I matter to him.
He is the answer to my every equation... I am Juliet to his Romeo, and oh, zero! I don’t want to end up like the fictitious, doomed lovers. Forced apart because a war between our families is stronger than our love.
Nervousness pricks at me as I set the swords on the ground and fist handfuls of sand, the grains falling through my fingers.
He notices the movement and turns his head to scowl at me. Not quite the reception I anticipated.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Fiji.”
Nice. “What happened to—”
“The humans were transported to a new Troikan safe house, just as I told you. So let’s focus on what you told me. You almost died before this? Tell me what happened. I’m close to blowing a fuse.”
He’s been sitting there stewing, hasn’t he?
I scrub a gritty hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Less apology, more detail. I’ve been waiting twenty-eight hours, lass.”
What? “I’ve been out for more than a day?”
Even as I speak, the number twenty-eight rings inside my head. In the Book of the Law, page twenty-eight states: There is a time for planting seeds and a time for harvesting what has been planted, a time to fight and to a time to heal, to destroy and to build, to cry and to laugh, to mourn and to dance, to embrace and to turn away, to search and to wait, to keep and to discard, to tear and to sew, a time for keeping silent and a time to speak, to love and to leave...a time for war and a time for peace.
Peace...the word teases me. Still a pipe dream?
“Yes,” Killian says. “More than a day. Every second has been agony. For me. I’ve wondered if you would wake up. I’ve weighed the pros and cons of taking you to Troika’s Veil of Wings. I’ve cried, Ten. Cried like a baby—for you.”
I melt for him.
As I tell him about Victor’s sneak attack, he radiates aggression and menace. It’s easy to imagine him as the cold-blooded killer so many Troikans believe him to be.
“I wish I’d been there, wish I’d protected you, but I can’t even protect your mother,” he says with a scowl. “She and a Laborer I trained are now in the Kennels. I’ve failed one too many times lately, and today might have sealed the deal. Myriad wants you dead, and I shielded you. I’ll spin my actions to the best of my ability, but I fear my treachery has been exposed. I could be sentenced to life in the Kennels the moment I return to Myriad. I could be used against you.”
My heart sinks. For Killian, my mother and even his friend. “Don’t go back,” I say. “Stay in the Land of the Harvest until we can set a court date.”
“I have to free them. Which means I have to continue my charade as long as possible. If I’m locked up, I’m locked up. I’ll still have a chance to rescue our people. The moment I defect, I lose that chance.”
“Killian, please. There has to be a way we can keep you safe and save the others...together.”
Silent, he stands. He’s so tall, I have to look up, up, up. The sun hits his back, shadows and radiance dancing over his chiseled features. Because he’s in his Shell, the sunlight doesn’t bother him.
He walks over, sits beside me, the scent of peat smoke and heather enveloping me.
Yearning consumes me. Hold on to him and never let go. Be his buffer in this time of trouble.
I reach for his hand, desperate for contact, but my fingers ghost through his Shell and reach his spirit. We hiss and jerk away from each other.
Disappointment consumes me.
“When you fought the Myriadian army,” he says, “you were glowing. There’s still a halo around you.” He stretches out to peer up at the sky. He is shirtless, wearing only a pair of ripped jeans and leather bracelets he gave me before I died, his tattoos on magnificent display. “It’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”
Touch him...every glorious inch...
My gaze follows a line etched through a skull that is crying tears of blood...through a cracked and crumbling moon, with pieces falling onto a blanket of dying stars...through a rosebush. The roses are black, the leaves withered, the thorns sharp.
“Since your Firstdeath,” he says, his tone gentle, “I’ve turned my entire life upside down. I’ve sabotaged the only home I’ve ever known. I’m doing what you said, putting word into action. For you. I regret nothing. But I can’t turn away from those in need. Not anymore. You taught me that.”
“Killian...”
“You were right. I think we can do more together. I think we should make covenant...with each other,” he says, and looks away.
I feel as though my head is spinning. “Make covenant...the way humans make covenant with realms? Like, pledge our lives to each other?”
“I’ve heard stories,” he says. “Of Troikans and Myriadians who have fallen in love. Through covenant, a bond forms between them, like our bonds to our kings. If we do it, what’s mine becomes yours and what’s yours becomes mine.”
Head spinning faster... “Why do you want to do this? What happened to the others?”
He rolls toward me, facing me at last, but his gaze is hooded. “I want...so many things. I want to touch you, spirit to spirit. I want you to touch me. I want us to be a family. I want peace between us. I want to find a way to save your mother and Sloan together, just like you said.”
My heart kicks into a too-fast rhythm. There are probably a thousand rules against what he’s suggesting, and a thousand punishments. Maybe even banishment. “Will you be able to pass through the Veil of Wings and enter Troika? Will I be able to enter Myriad? The Kennels?” Will I be able to return to Many Ends?
He is the answer to my every equation... I am Juliet to his Romeo, and oh, zero! I don’t want to end up like the fictitious, doomed lovers. Forced apart because a war between our families is stronger than our love.
Nervousness pricks at me as I set the swords on the ground and fist handfuls of sand, the grains falling through my fingers.
He notices the movement and turns his head to scowl at me. Not quite the reception I anticipated.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Fiji.”
Nice. “What happened to—”
“The humans were transported to a new Troikan safe house, just as I told you. So let’s focus on what you told me. You almost died before this? Tell me what happened. I’m close to blowing a fuse.”
He’s been sitting there stewing, hasn’t he?
I scrub a gritty hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Less apology, more detail. I’ve been waiting twenty-eight hours, lass.”
What? “I’ve been out for more than a day?”
Even as I speak, the number twenty-eight rings inside my head. In the Book of the Law, page twenty-eight states: There is a time for planting seeds and a time for harvesting what has been planted, a time to fight and to a time to heal, to destroy and to build, to cry and to laugh, to mourn and to dance, to embrace and to turn away, to search and to wait, to keep and to discard, to tear and to sew, a time for keeping silent and a time to speak, to love and to leave...a time for war and a time for peace.
Peace...the word teases me. Still a pipe dream?
“Yes,” Killian says. “More than a day. Every second has been agony. For me. I’ve wondered if you would wake up. I’ve weighed the pros and cons of taking you to Troika’s Veil of Wings. I’ve cried, Ten. Cried like a baby—for you.”
I melt for him.
As I tell him about Victor’s sneak attack, he radiates aggression and menace. It’s easy to imagine him as the cold-blooded killer so many Troikans believe him to be.
“I wish I’d been there, wish I’d protected you, but I can’t even protect your mother,” he says with a scowl. “She and a Laborer I trained are now in the Kennels. I’ve failed one too many times lately, and today might have sealed the deal. Myriad wants you dead, and I shielded you. I’ll spin my actions to the best of my ability, but I fear my treachery has been exposed. I could be sentenced to life in the Kennels the moment I return to Myriad. I could be used against you.”
My heart sinks. For Killian, my mother and even his friend. “Don’t go back,” I say. “Stay in the Land of the Harvest until we can set a court date.”
“I have to free them. Which means I have to continue my charade as long as possible. If I’m locked up, I’m locked up. I’ll still have a chance to rescue our people. The moment I defect, I lose that chance.”
“Killian, please. There has to be a way we can keep you safe and save the others...together.”
Silent, he stands. He’s so tall, I have to look up, up, up. The sun hits his back, shadows and radiance dancing over his chiseled features. Because he’s in his Shell, the sunlight doesn’t bother him.
He walks over, sits beside me, the scent of peat smoke and heather enveloping me.
Yearning consumes me. Hold on to him and never let go. Be his buffer in this time of trouble.
I reach for his hand, desperate for contact, but my fingers ghost through his Shell and reach his spirit. We hiss and jerk away from each other.
Disappointment consumes me.
“When you fought the Myriadian army,” he says, “you were glowing. There’s still a halo around you.” He stretches out to peer up at the sky. He is shirtless, wearing only a pair of ripped jeans and leather bracelets he gave me before I died, his tattoos on magnificent display. “It’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”
Touch him...every glorious inch...
My gaze follows a line etched through a skull that is crying tears of blood...through a cracked and crumbling moon, with pieces falling onto a blanket of dying stars...through a rosebush. The roses are black, the leaves withered, the thorns sharp.
“Since your Firstdeath,” he says, his tone gentle, “I’ve turned my entire life upside down. I’ve sabotaged the only home I’ve ever known. I’m doing what you said, putting word into action. For you. I regret nothing. But I can’t turn away from those in need. Not anymore. You taught me that.”
“Killian...”
“You were right. I think we can do more together. I think we should make covenant...with each other,” he says, and looks away.
I feel as though my head is spinning. “Make covenant...the way humans make covenant with realms? Like, pledge our lives to each other?”
“I’ve heard stories,” he says. “Of Troikans and Myriadians who have fallen in love. Through covenant, a bond forms between them, like our bonds to our kings. If we do it, what’s mine becomes yours and what’s yours becomes mine.”
Head spinning faster... “Why do you want to do this? What happened to the others?”
He rolls toward me, facing me at last, but his gaze is hooded. “I want...so many things. I want to touch you, spirit to spirit. I want you to touch me. I want us to be a family. I want peace between us. I want to find a way to save your mother and Sloan together, just like you said.”
My heart kicks into a too-fast rhythm. There are probably a thousand rules against what he’s suggesting, and a thousand punishments. Maybe even banishment. “Will you be able to pass through the Veil of Wings and enter Troika? Will I be able to enter Myriad? The Kennels?” Will I be able to return to Many Ends?
