by Lori M. Lee
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Lori M. Lee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Skyscape, New York
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Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Hardcover ISBN-13: 9781477828267
Hardcover ISBN-10: 1477828265
Paperback ISBN-13: 9781477828250
Paperback ISBN-10: 1477828257
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014918596
Book design by Tony Sahara
Map by Megan McNinch
For Cha
Contents
MAP
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
I LIVED IN the home of the man I’d killed. The thought didn’t occur to me until two months after his death, when the nightmares began. Maybe because the palace had been an opulent and spacious distraction, its white halls and crimson banners a convincing veneer. Maybe because Kahl Ninu hadn’t been a man at all.
Or maybe because a part of me, a part I didn’t want to acknowledge, was just as cold as the Infinite.
The idea worried me sometimes, but the nightmares were quick to chase away the notion. Besides, if it was true, seeing Avan every day would hurt less.
The pain never kept me away, though.
“Where are you going today?”
The mirror on the wall showed my brother, Reev, standing behind me, his arms crossed as he tried and failed to keep from scowling. To anyone else, he would have looked adequately imposing, but I only smiled. We weren’t in the Labyrinth anymore, and his ongoing struggle to accept that I no longer needed his restrictions amused me.
Instead of answering, I picked up the comb on my dressing table. I ran the fine metal teeth through my hair, taking my time to untangle the knots in the long black strands. The comb had been a gift from Avan. Its curved spine fit comfortably into the groove of my palm, and it shone a lustrous blue. Using it always made me think about how little the old Avan would have valued a pretty comb.
This was all so wrong. In the last few months, I had grown used to living in the palace, but it was that comfort that made me uneasy.
The room I’d been given—I had begun to think of it as my room—was twice the size of the freight container I’d shared with Reev in the Labyrinth, not even counting the attached washroom. Colorful, tightly woven tapestries hung from white stone walls. A fire roared in the hearth, kept burning by a servant who came and went only when I wasn’t here, because I’d refused to be attended by the palace servants. Thick rugs warmed the floor. A massive bed sat imperiously on a raised platform at one end of the room. Wooden columns braced the bed at each corner, dressed in a canopy of gauzy white drapes and heavier red ones.
For the first week, I’d slept in the armchair because the bed seemed so excessive. The ache that had formed in my back, however, had forced me to relocate.
Staying here was only meant to be temporary, but our place in the Labyrinth had been taken by new tenants. Returning to the Labyrinth wouldn’t have been my first choice anyway, and the North District carried too many memories.
I wondered if Reev felt the same or if being in the White Court was worse for him, having been a sentinel.
“Kai,” Reev said impatiently.
I set down the comb and swung around on the stool to face him. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He uncrossed his arms and rolled his shoulders. They looked tense beneath his black tunic. “Has he . . . remembered anything?”
My amusement over Reev’s hovering fizzled. I stood, shifting away as I reached for the gown lying over the back of the armchair. My hand rested over the dark-green cloth.
“No,” I said.
As silence settled between us, my gaze traced the silvery damask that covered the armchair. I lifted the gown, folding the material over my arm, and turned to look at him again.
His shoulder was leaning against the door frame, and he regarded me with a tilt of his head. I had no idea what he was thinking.
“Do you think he ever will?” Reev asked.
My fingers tightened around the dress. “I don’t know. But I can’t give up.”
Reev’s lips compressed into an unhappy line. He looked like he wanted to argue, but his mouth remained closed. A muscle flexed in his jaw.
Why could he fuss about my comings and goings and yet refuse to say the things that actually mattered? Why did he insist on being so careful with me? A fissure had formed between us since that day in Kalla’s tower, when I’d killed Ninu and severed his control over Reev and the other sentinels. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t figure out how to repair our relationship.
Reev had allowed me to question him about how he’d found me on that riverbank all those years ago, but he still refused to speak of his past, before my father, Kronos, freed him the first time. It wasn’t that he needed to confide these things to me. I understood his desire to let the past lie. But he still seemed to carry guilt for keeping his secrets. And for what had happened to Avan.
The growing fracture between us wasn’t only Reev’s doing. Although I’d told him that I didn’t blame him for his actions, I hadn’t been completely honest, and I felt he knew that. The resentment jabbed at me like a pebble in my heel that I couldn’t dislodge.
It was stupid of me. Reev had been as helpless against Ninu’s power as Avan, but my emotions cared very little for logic and truth.
I held up the gown. “I should change.”
Reev nodded. Before he turned away, he said, “Be careful out there. There’s been trouble with some of the sentinels.”
I hadn’t heard of any trouble, but that didn’t mean much considering I hadn’t heard anything from anyone. Even though I’d killed Ninu, I apparently wasn’t significant enough to be kept informed.
Still, it was hard to be upset when being left alone was what I’d wanted.
Once the door shut behind Reev, I grabbed the hem of my tunic and dragged it over my head. I pulled on a loose, cream-colored undershirt first. The green gown was made from a stiff brocade with swirling designs hand-stitched in pale-gold thread. I thrust my arms through the sleeves and tightened the lacing down the front. It probably would have been easier to dress with assistance, but the idea of needing to be helped into my clothes felt ridiculous.
With the gown cinched closed, the material fit snu
gly through my torso and waist, and then flared out at my hips. The front skirt fell in elegant pleats to mid-thigh, but the back gathered into a bustled half skirt that dusted my calves. It came with pants that were tailored to fit like a second skin. The palace steward, Master Hathney, had commissioned one of the White Court’s most admired dressmakers to construct a few gowns for me.
The clothes were another thing I didn’t want to get used to, but Master Hathney had been appalled to see me walking around in an old tunic Reev had sewn for me. And if I was completely honest with myself, I sort of enjoyed the gowns. They made me feel girly in a way I’d never been able to, or even cared to, before. I didn’t see the harm in liking them.
I pulled on my ankle-high boots and faced the mirror. I barely recognized the girl looking back at me. The gown was like a costume, transforming me into someone else. I squinted, trying to find the girl I knew underneath. My hair now fell past my shoulder blades and was in need of a trim. I was still too pale, but my cheeks had something of a warm tint to them, and my thin frame had lost its starved look.
I smoothed my palms down the front of my gown, my fingers tense against my stomach as if I could press away the anxiety there. Even though I met with Avan almost daily, my heart continued to herald the moment by pounding against my rib cage. I couldn’t stifle the hope that maybe, today, he would remember.
As I left my room, I tucked my hands into the pockets that I’d requested be sewn into the skirt. The gown should have some practical function. Reev’s door was a couple of rooms down. It was shut, so I hurried past in case he decided to question me again.
I passed a maid dusting off a painting. There were a lot of servants in a palace with very few actual inhabitants. Most of the Kahl’s ministers lived in expansive suites throughout the White Court, probably with their own armies of servants. I’d discovered the sentinels lived in barracks behind the palace. They had their own kitchen and staff, armory, and training yard. The barracks were constructed from the same white stone as the palace and with the same level of architectural detail.
I didn’t know why Ninu would bother with such lavish lodgings, seeing as I doubted his efforts had been fully appreciated by his mind-controlled soldiers. Maybe he’d just wanted the buildings to match.
The sound of my footsteps echoed up through the high ceilings as I turned down a long, airy hallway. This was one of my favorite places in the palace.
Skillfully sculpted stone columns flanked the Hall of Memories. Each column depicted something different: fur-covered hunters on horseback; herds of angel stags, their massive horns curling above their heads like halos; orchards of fruit trees; packs of large shaggy beasts with two tails; even the Outlands with its sparse landscape, spotted with gargoyles.
On and on it went, history chiseled into the foundations of the palace. I’d spent whole days picking out the delicately carved pictures, running my fingers along the grooves. I wondered if Ninu had commissioned these during his time as Kahl or if the images of long-changed landscapes and extinct creatures had been here from before Rebirth, inspiring Ninu to continue them.
Beyond the Hall of Memories was a spiral staircase and then another series of corridors with plain walls, except for the occasional painting or tapestry. I passed through the throne room, heading for the broad door that led outside. The home of the Kahl was surprisingly unguarded. There were no Watchmen on the palace grounds. The Watchmen operated under the regulations of the Minister of Law, whose authority didn’t extend to palace security. That was the sentinels’ domain, and Ninu alone had overseen them.
Sentinels who’d chosen to remain, this time in paid service, were posted outside and at the gates. Without Ninu’s brand of order, though, security had fallen somewhat lax.
I had to push open the heavy wood-and-metal door with both hands. Light filtered through. I averted my face from the rush of air that swept inside.
“You’re late.”
My stomach gave a familiar flip. Avan stood on the flagstones, a smile tilting his lips. His dark hair was combed neatly back, the steel bar in his eyebrow had been long removed, and he was dressed in the finery of his new station. His eyes, which had once been brown, now glinted like sunlight behind thinning clouds. This wasn’t the boy from the Alley. Unlike my dress, his appearance wasn’t a costume.
And yet, the sight of him standing there—tall, confident, and devastatingly beautiful—kindled a warmth in my stomach and an ache in my chest. When I was with him, pain and longing were my constant companions.
He reached for me. I took his hand, my fingers brushing over the calluses on his palm. Did he ever look in the mirror—at the tattoo and the scars and the calluses, grave markers of his past—and wonder, Who are you?
“Shouldn’t keeping track of the time be a skill of yours?” he asked as he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. We made our way down the path toward the curling iron gates that led out into the bustling streets of the White Court.
“You’d think,” I mumbled, dipping my head so that my hair shielded my eyes.
Before all of this, I used to enjoy studying the way the threads of time connected everything. There had been wonder in pressing my hand against the continuous flow and watching the world catch and slow around me. Meeting the Infinite had changed everything, and I would sooner give up my powers than join them.
The thing is, I may have gotten my wish. I hadn’t touched the threads since Ninu died. In the months afterward, I’d ignored the shimmery fibers, denying their existence—until one day, they began to fade and disappear.
I could no longer see, much less manipulate, the threads of time.
CHAPTER 2
NO ONE KNEW. For now, I wanted to keep it that way.
However long I had left before Kronos returned, demanding things of me, seemed to matter less now that I’d lost the abilities inherited from him. I’d tried to picture the threads in my mind, tried imagining my fingers tangling in the current, but they wouldn’t appear to me.
Maybe this meant I was stuck being human. All I knew was that I no longer felt like I was walking around with a ticking clock over my head. What could Kronos do with an heir who had no power?
Avan stroked his thumb over the back of my hand as his fingers rested atop my knuckles. The physical contact, the ease with which he initiated it, was new. When he’d been human, even once we grew more comfortable with each other, he’d always shown restraint in the way he touched me, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced the touch was welcome. This new Avan had no such reservations.
Those turbulent years of his past, the dark episodes with his father—the boy who’d hidden behind so many faces that I’d never quite known which was real—all of that had died with him.
But traces remained. Sometimes, he would say something or he would look at me a certain way or his mouth would twist into a crooked smile, and I could see him there—my Avan—just beneath the surface, battling to break through. Every time, it was like the air was ripped from my lungs, like I was the one drowning.
But this was only my imagination. My Avan wasn’t slowly suffocating behind those lucent eyes. He was gone.
As one of the Infinite—immortal beings very much like gods—he was the physical embodiment of Conquest, chosen as a replacement for Ninu. To me . . . I didn’t know what he was yet. But I was trying to find out.
A Gray in the form of a horse waited on the cobblestone road past the gates. The numerous metal sheets that made up its body shone even beneath the pall of yellow clouds. It had been recently washed and polished. Behind the grills in its chest, the Gray’s energy stone glowed a healthy red. A thick seam scarred its neck where the metal had been welded back together. I had been unexpectedly overwhelmed when Mason had arrived from Etu Gahl with Avan’s Gray. This Gray had carried me and Avan a long way.
“You look beautiful,” he said with an appreciative nod at my gown.
I tried not to tug self-consciously at the fabric. “Thanks. It’s . . .” I fingered th
e tight lacing over my ribs. “Different.”
“Different can be good,” Avan said.
I tilted my head to look up at him. My gaze followed the jagged black ink of his tattoo, peeking out from behind his high collar.
I knew the tattoo continued down his shoulder and upper arm in the shape of a gnarled tree with twining roots. Across his chest, the branches stretched out, bare except for three bright-green leaves. Those leaves had meant something to him once. Did he care to know what?
Different could be good, but I didn’t know yet if it was better.
“Did Reev make you late?” he asked lightly.
“He wanted to know where we were going.”
Avan released me so he could grip the Gray’s saddle and pull himself up. As soon as I was settled behind him, my hands rested against his hips like they’d never left. It seemed wrong to feel this way about him, but I couldn’t control the way my face grew warm and my pulse quickened. We’d spent hours in this position, on this same Gray. I knew every curve and plane of Avan’s back.
Annoyed, I shoved the memories away. It was pointless to sit here reminiscing about something he couldn’t even remember.
“Where are we going?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said. “Let’s just . . . ride.”
He faced forward, his fingers fiddling with the controls on the Gray’s neck. “You got it.”
I wanted to rest my cheek against his back, but I didn’t. We had yet to establish anything between us other than that he wanted to share my company, and I didn’t have the heart or willpower to refuse him.
Our Gray carried us over the cobblestones, slipping easily into traffic, which was light at this time of morning. I watched the buildings pass: tall structures of stone and glass broken up by smaller, squat businesses with cheerful red bricks and brightly painted signs. People were out, strolling down the sidewalks in their neat gray tunics with embroidered sleeves or colorful gowns with cinched corsets, lacy collars, asymmetrical necklines, and dramatic bustles. It was a different sight from what I’d been used to in the North District.