Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(98)

“I’m sure he does. You’re pretty amazing, and he isn’t stupid.” He glares at me to prove he means business. “But love isn’t always enough, Ten.”

“Actually, according to the Book of the Law, love never fails. Love is always the right answer. Love is life.”

He makes a disbelieving sound. “Using my own beliefs against me...shameful! I’m as impressed with you as I am furious.”

I fluff my hair. “I try.”

We share an adoring smile.

A soft vibration glides along the Grid, accompanied by a sense of urgency. Frowning, I back away from Archer, as if I’m being pulled by a cord. “I think I’m needed in Troika.”

His eyes glimmer with disappointment. “I understand. Go.”

I can’t leave him like this. Knowing he loves poems—but only poems that rhyme—I tell him, “You’re tough and strong, that hasn’t changed. From now on, let’s not be estranged. I have to bail, there’s work to be done. You lucky duck, you get to stay and have fun. But don’t despair, sweet Prince, for I will come back. If only to knee you...in the sac.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’ve gotten rusty. Work on this one, and get back to me.” He waves me away. “Now, go on. Kick butt and take names the way I taught you.”

I blow him a kiss with just a little bite and open my eyes. I’m sitting on the couch in my living room.

A high-pitched ring sounds in the back of my mind. An alarm... I’m being summoned into battle. Unlike last time, details register.

A massive number of MLs have attacked Prynne. Thanks to Victor’s intel?

I suspect Killian’s boss has changed his mind about Dior and Javier. He no longer wants me to have access to the infected pair.

I grab my swords and jump to my feet. As I run out of the cathedral and into the streets, I’m surrounded by TLs and TMs who are heading for the Gate.

I notice the people have different levels of brightness. Some sparkle, as glittery as Lifeblood. Some possess a barely detectable glow.

The guy beside me looks at me and does a double take. “You’re brighter than the sun!”

I am?

Reed pushes his way to my side. “Good job. You decoded your Key. The Grid exploded with Light the moment it happened.”

Yay me?

We reach the Veil of Wings, dart through and land just outside the asylum.

Wind blows, and ice crystals whirl like little missiles. Night has fallen. The moon is high and golden, the beams peeking through clouds to find and stroke me, as if summoned. They strengthen me, and I think I strengthen them; they thicken, pushing back the clouds.

Thump. An ML drops from the roof and lands in front of me. He’s ready for war, a bodysuit covering him from head to toe to ensure his skin never encounters a single flicker of light.

He swings a Glacier at me. I block with one sword and strike with the other, cutting through his stomach. Not a killing blow, not for a spirit, just a disabling one. But the handle of the Cursing vibrates, and the boy turns to ash.

That kills him. The condition of his heart.

Other MLs leap at me, but they never reach me. In a blaze of Light, over a hundred TLs land around me, shielding me.

A war cry cuts through the air. Troikans clash with Myriadians. Enemy against enemy. Grunts and groans of pain sound. Metal clinks together. Flames crackle.

The fight is on.

Save the humans. “Anyone see Dior and Javier?” I shout.

“Inside!” Reed’s voice rises above the others.

I fight my way into the lobby. I’m lightning fast, no one able to catch me. The Grid guides me, instructions clearer than glass—because I’m finally listening. I know when to duck, thrust and spin.

But every time I fell one soldier, two more take his place, more and more MLs concentrating on me. Can I pull off a victory? By the time I make it to the staff’s quarters, I’m surrounded, one of my swords knocked out of my grip.

Zero! There’s no sign of Dior or Javier. Where are they?

The ground shakes, and I stumble. Myriad has erected a Buckler. I can hear the hiss of shadows. I’m trapped, but I’m glad for it. Let’s finish this!

I twirl the sword, the tip spitting out pure Light. MLs drop like flies, but of course, a new crop quickly swoops in. How much longer can I hold them off?

A whip cracks me from behind, coils around one of my blades and yanks. Before the loss has registered, I’ve lost my other blade, too. Fear sparks, but I tamp it down. Fear is darkness. Fear has no place in this battle.

Remember, the Grid whispers to me.

I...do. I remember the words Killian once spoke to me. His opinion of me the first time we met.

The warhorse paws fiercely, rejoicing in its strength, and charges into the fray. It laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; it does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against its side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement it eats up the ground; it cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds. At the blast of the trumpet it snorts, “Aha!” It catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.

I am the warhorse, and I will do what needs doing. I will rush headlong into battle, unwilling to concede defeat—even if it means the end of my Everlife.

MLs converge. Determined, I go low, kicking out my leg and spinning. Multiple soldiers hit the ground as their ankles bounce together. As I straighten, I punch, and as I punch, my Troikan symbol flares with Light. The next blow burns through the MLs chest, my fist coming out the other side—a sword of fire in my grasp.