Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(42)
The loss of Dior?
A bitter laugh escapes the human. “Thanks to Killian Flynn, I’ve endured hardships for the past two years. He’s a monster, and I’m ready.”
Oh, no she didn’t! “You are responsible for the pain you suffer. Your decision, your consequences.”
Elizabeth sucks in a sharp breath. The Messenger I still haven’t met finally looks in my direction, his eyes wide.
Dior balls her fist and steps toward me.
One of my number brands throbs. A warning to stay quiet? Too late. “Don’t,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I must. When it comes to fight-or-flight, I fight. Every time. Continue down this path, and it won’t end well for you.”
Levi told me I must temper my strength with humans. I’m stronger than they can ever hope to be.
To be honest, I’m not as strong as I could be. I’ve got to push myself harder. My one-on-one with the spiked board proves I have to be ready for anything, anytime. And considering my aspirations for peace, I have to be prepared for pushback.
Elizabeth jumps between us, her gaze remaining on me. “Threatening a human won’t end well for you, Ten.”
Zero! She’s right. I’m allowing my emotions to steer me. It’s time for head-smarts to take the wheel. Proceeding with caution, I say, “Troikans are love. The true Lights of the world. Myriad embraces hate. Do you want to be Troikan, as you claim, or remain Myriadian? You can’t be both.”
Dior closes her eyes and drags in a deep breath. If the actions are supposed to calm her, they fail. Her eyelids pop open, and she glares at me. “You’re already Troikan, an advocate against judging others, and yet here you stand, judging me.”
I should fade into the background. I’m not observing, I’m participating. But what the heck? I’ve already violated orders. “I’ve stated facts, nothing more, nothing less.”
“You’re as cold as Killian. I would never—”
“Tsk, tsk,” I interject. I am not cold, and neither is Killian. “Those three words—I would never—are an attempt to disguise judgment as opinion.”
“Enough, Ten.” Elizabeth wraps an arm around Dior’s shoulders to draw her away while whispering words of comfort.
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.”