Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(53)
He bumps my shoulder with his own. “One day, after your training has been concluded, you’ll be summoned once a year for a week behind a desk, overseeing debriefings like this.”
Kind of like jury duty for spirits. Which means these people might not want to be here. How wonderful for us.
He says no more, and silence thickens the air, soon cracking my calm veneer. I release a shaky laugh and whisper, “This is right on par with whipping hour at Prynne.”
The oldest juror regards me with keen displeasure. He is black, with swirling tattoos along his temples and jawline. “Being kept waiting is never fun, is it?” He bangs a gavel. “We shall begin.”
I sputter for a response. “I got here as soon as I could. I only found out about the meeting a few minutes ago.”
“Had you observed Dior Nichols as ordered, you would have been on time,” he states.
“I had permission to—”
“Only after you had disobeyed.”
Levi gives me a gentle push forward. “We’ll each have a turn at the wheel, but you, the self-proclaimed Leader, get to go first.”
“Are you kidding?” I squeak. “You had better be kidding.”
“If I give you the key to a car, Miss Lockwood, and you crash it, which of us is at fault?”
Zero! This is going to be a trial by fire, isn’t it?
A tall man I failed to notice when I entered steps from the corner to take my hand. My trembling embarrasses me, but I don’t pull away. He leads me directly in front of the desks, where an elaborately carved podium rises from the floor. My mouth dries. He helps me step up before returning to his post in the corner.
“Watch,” someone says.
Jellyair spills down each wall, and video feed of what transpired during the mission plays across them, everything on fast-forward. Funny thing. My mind processes the images and sounds at warp speed, courtesy of the Grid. What should have taken hours takes only a few minutes.
By the end, my critics—and that’s what these people are, if their scowls are any indication—know every word that was spoken and every action that was made, with the exception of Dior’s trip to Prynne and every mention of Penumbra.
Why were those deleted? And who did the deleting? Meredith, who’d witnessed the events? Or someone higher up on the food chain? Levi? Or maybe even the Secondking?
One of the main reasons I selected Troika as my Everlife home was the promise of justice for all. Here, there are no favorites. Everyone lives by the same set of rules, faces the same consequences and truth always prevails. I take comfort in that.
When the jellyair evaporates, every gaze glues to me. The urge to fidget is strong, but I press my weight into my heels, remaining still.
“Do you consider the mission a success, Miss Lockwood?” The voice comes from the left.
Well. We’re going to start with a bang. My opinion versus their perception. No prob. I can roll. “Yes, I do. Dior Nichols is safe, and she has reclaimed ownership of her beloved dog.”
“But you yourself once said a victory achieved by the wrong means is not a victory at all,” another male pipes up.
I did say that, yes. To Killian. In private. As a human.
My mind spins and rattles. “I...” Have no idea how to respond to an admission of such rampant voyeurism. Hope you got a good view of my ass seems inappropriate.
“Today your Shell was destroyed by a known Troikan enemy. Is Killian Flynn a boy you trust without exception?” This voice comes from the right, courtesy of a gorgeous Asian man with hair dyed green. “Oh, and in case you haven’t been told, if you lie during these proceedings, you will be stripped of your duties indefinitely.”
Harsh, but understandable. A lie—big or small, well-intentioned or not—is the ultimate sign of disrespect. If I cannot be trusted, I’m a liability rather than an asset. “When dealing with people who are inherently flawed by nature, nothing is without exception.” I do not mention Killian’s intention to save me from harm. He has to maintain his pro-Myriad, anti-Ten facade. “But I think you question my feelings for him more than anything. You want to know if I love him. The answer is yes. I do.”
Gasps sound behind me, but I hold my head high. I won’t be shamed.
“Troikans are supposed to love others,” I say and blink. I didn’t tell Killian I love him, did I?
I was so overwhelmed by his declaration, I lost sight of my own. But I do. I love him. He owns my heart. There’s no need to ponder or weigh the pros and cons. 143, 11.9.12.12.9.1.14.
Does he know I return his feelings?
Every fiber of my being demands I hunt him down, but I plant my feet into the floor. First things first.
“He has harmed and killed many Troikans,” one of the jurors says. “People we loved.”
“He’s never killed in cold blood.” Not to my knowledge. “Like everyone here, he strikes in the midst of battle. And haven’t we all made mistakes? Aren’t we all grateful for the second...fifth...tenth chances we’ve been given?”
“My mother used to say the same.” The youngest girl speaks Spanish, yet I understand every word, despite never having learned the language. She smiles at me—she has the most adorable crooked tooth—before wiggling her brows. “Plus, Killian Flynn is cuuute.”
I suppress a smile of my own. “Yes, he is.”