by Sara Ella
“Why come to us? What can we do?”
It’s getting hot in here. I wiggle and stretch, trying to loose myself from this constricting mummy wrap. Ah, my arms are free. That’s better.
“You’re a Guardian, are you not? Is protecting people not your job? I’ve heard there’s a rebel hideout. Someplace inconspicuous. Can you take us there?”
A toddler’s cry pierces their whispers.
“I’ll get him.” Nathaniel tromps past.
My tummy rumbles. I cry again, and Mom resumes her sway. But I won’t relent. Must I be so theatrical about it?
“Does she have to be so loud?” Nathaniel half shouts when he returns. Is Joshua on his hip? I can’t see past my squinched eyelids.
“She’s a baby,” Mom counters, still rocking from side to side. “Babies cry. There, there, brave girl.”
The teenager part of my brain managing to comprehend things laughs at her nickname for me. She’s always called me this. Always thought I was more than I am. Maybe I’m finally starting to live up to the endearment. I’m trying to, anyway.
“It’s all right. Shhh,” she tries.
Waaahhhh! I guess my pipes developed at an early age. Quite the solo number I’m performing.
“Well hi there, what’s your name?” She’s not talking to me.
“Jos-wuh,” a tiny voice replies.
Be still, my philharmonic heart.
“Do you want to see the baby girl, Joshua?” Mom asks sweetly.
“Uh-huh.”
She moves and sits.
I can hardly see or hear through the screams and tears. Would I shut up already? I want to see him too.
Soft skin touches my hand. My pulse slows, and I grow quiet. I turn my head. Three-year-old Joshua stares back at me, his eyes almost green in the firelight’s glow, his little-boy hair two shades lighter, all curls. But it’s him. He smiles.
“Bee-bee,” Joshua announces, as if he’s discovered something everyone else has failed to realize.
“Eliyana,” Mom says.
“El,” Joshua repeats, his l sounding more like a w, his brows scrunched and serious. “Kwhy?” He cocks his head.
Cry?
“Mmm-hmm.” A smile lilts through her voice.
I blink more wetness away. Sniffle.
Joshua pats my hand. “No kwhy, bee-bee El.” Then he closes his eyes, leans in, and presses his pudgy pink lips to my right cheek.
A surge of warmth spreads through my skin, tingling, burning. A sensation I’ve felt only one other time in my life . . . a few moments ago . . . when twenty-one-year-old Joshua kissed me, not for the first time. For the second.
A Tinker Bell giggle escapes my chest, and I wrap my tiny hand around his finger.
Mom gasps.
I don’t take my eyes off Joshua. How can I? Even as a baby, it’s impossible not to adore him.
“What?” Protective-older-brother worry rushes Makai’s breathy question. “What is it? Did he hurt her? He’s still learning how to be soft.”
“No.” Panic coats the word. She adjusts me once again, and light floods my eyes. Squint. “Look.”
I grasp Joshua’s finger tighter, afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
Nathaniel shoves Makai aside. The old man dons a set of spectacles, gazes along the bridge of his nose. “Now look what you’ve done.” His weathered face is drawn. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you here.”
“The boy. He’s the Verity’s new vessel, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel snaps. “The king and queen died after his birth. And now, because of you, we have a new set of problems. This boy is destined to become king and imprison the Void. Any idea what his connection with the girl will mean?”
Mom’s lip quivers, her strong front wavering.
“Here is what we are going to do.” My grandfather begins to pace. “You will stay here. We will prepare the girl, just as I am doing with Joshua. She will be raised to know who she is and what she must do. Her Mirror abilities will strengthen her. We must . . .”
Their voices deaden then, detach as baby me falls asleep, ending the memory. I drift through darkness, through blue and red and green spots dancing over my eyelids. I don’t hear Mom’s argument, her decision to hide me rather than remain. I don’t see them quarrel over what’s best for me or for Joshua.
Because the choice is finally mine.
And Jasyn is going down.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Our Stories End
Eliyana?”
Lips at my temple.
“El, are you okay?”
Fingers in my hair.
“Say something so I know you’re all right.”
A hand squeezing mine.
Blink, blink, blink. “How long was I out?”
“Out?” Joshua asks. “You’ve just been standing here staring at me.” He laughs, my favorite sound. “I must be a good kisser. I think I sent you into shock.” He brings my knuckles to his lips, kisses them. Then—
Joshua is yanked from—flees?—my embrace, stealing my heart as he goes.
Arms around my middle drag me in the other direction.
The throne room vanishes.
The globe lights. The elegant décor. The dais. Everything is gone. Disappeared. Or so Jasyn would have us believe.
The arena swapped for the throne room is a mix between a modern-day stadium and a Roman coliseum. Stone bleachers scale the oval structure at every angle, creeping out of view beneath high arcs stretching to a starry sky. Every seat is full. The faces blur—a glitch in the façade?
The crowd roars. Angry? Excited? I can’t tell.
My captor shoves me to the ground. My gown rips at the knee, and gravel digs into my skin. I hiss through my teeth.
“Don’t touch her!”
I crane my neck. A daunting female Soulless with coffee-colored waves to her hips and high cheekbones restrains Joshua a few feet back.
Lark.
Joshua jerks and tugs. Pointless.
Boom, boom, boom. Drums beat an ominous march.
An iron gate twenty yards to my left shudders, sinks into the ground like a carnivorous jaw welcoming dinner. The reverberation travels across the sandy floor. Loosening pebbles. Thrumming into the soles of my ballet flats. Pulsating to my skull.
Jasyn struts into view once the iron teeth disappear, grinning and waving to the crowd. He’s dressed in gladiator garb, only adding to the setting he’s created. “What do you think?” he asks as he approaches, his voice amplified as if traveling through a megaphone. “Is it not glorious?” He raises his arms and does a 360, basking.
The drumming ceases. The crowd falls silent.
Jasyn tips his chin and Lark releases Joshua.
He’s by my side in an instant. “Are you hurt?”
I chomp back the pain emanating from my throbbing wrists. “No,” I lie.
He kisses the top of my head and springs to his feet. “Why the theatrics, Crowe?” He shouts above the din, his rigid form bent forward in tackle-ready fashion. “You know your time is up.” His voice carries the slightest quaver. Hopefully my grandfather doesn’t notice.
“Oh really?” Jasyn lifts his palms. “What are you waiting for then? Everyone is present. Make. Your. Move.” With a clap on Joshua’s shoulder, Jasyn announces, “Good people of the Second, I reveal to you your long-awaited king, son to the late Aidan and Ember, the vessel of the Verity himself—Joshua David!”
I hear the unified gasp of every person in the stadium, the beat preluding a Shakespearian death scene.
Jasyn steps to the guard behind me, unsheathes a sword. Shink.
This is a game to him. A cruel, twisted game. And it will never end. It will never stop. Not unless Joshua does what he has to do.
Clatter. Jasyn tosses the sword before Joshua’s feet, strides ten paces, and pivots.
Joshua glances at the sword only briefly before returning his gaze to my grandfather.
The drums roll again, low and light.
Snow drifts toward us, melts in the sand.
“Go ahead.” Jasyn almost yawns the words. “Fulfill your destiny and finish me, or inform the people why you cannot. But please, do not waste my time.”
Arrogant weasel.
Joshua’s arms shake at his sides.
“Very well,” Jasyn says. “I suppose I must do everything myself.” His gaze flits to me, left eye twitching. “This is the reason your precious vessel refuses to wield his sword.” He points a finger. “Bring me the Shield.” His arm sweeps in the gate’s direction.
Haman emerges, dragging Ky.
His slacks gather dirt with every inch, his boots scraping earth. Chains bind his wrists, coiled so unforgivingly his hands have begun to turn blue.
I link my finger and thumb around one wrist, twisting. Suddenly I realize the throbbing isn’t solely due to my fall. My wrists hurt because Ky’s do.
Haman stops when he reaches me and chucks him to the ground.
One, two, three shards of my heart land on the broken boy beside me. “Ky,” I whisper.
He turns his head away.
Why did they do this to him? Is Jasyn’s goal to break me?
Joshua clutches his chest.
I attempt to mute my emotions. Joshua’s an Ever. An Ever who loves me. I’ve no idea if what we shared was a Kiss of Infinity, but it doesn’t matter. Because I have the power to break his heart. And Ky? My life is his. I need to restrain myself. My heart is a time bomb, and I control the counter. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
“Leave Kyaphus alone.” Joshua’s resounding timbre ricochets throughout the stadium, unwavering. “He has no part in this.”
“You have no idea.” Jasyn toes the sand. Chuckles. “Let us play a little game. Every minute you hesitate will be another life I claim for the Void. Shall we begin with Kyaphus?”
“No,” I cry. I place my body in front of his. “You’ll have to go through me first.”
Sweat glistens at Joshua’s temple. His ears are bright red.
Jasyn wags two fingers at Lark, who brandishes another murk-filled syringe.
My pulse zooms up my neck, fires to my ears. When my soul was linked to the Verity, the Void couldn’t touch Ky. Will it have the same effect now that I’m eighteen? I can only hope since my birthmark remained, somehow the protection on my soul is intact as well. The protection on Ky’s soul.
Lark approaches and shoves me aside. I kick her shin and pull her hair. Sing, “Stop. Don’t.” But she ignores me. Why—?
There. Inside her left ear. Some sort of plug. She can’t hear me.
My song is useless.
Lark injects the syringe into Ky’s neck without batting an eye.
His face contorts. He hisses in pain.
The arena spins. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Taste salt and rust. When I gain focus again, I watch as the Void is unable to consume Ky just as it had been before.
Relief cools the volcano bubbling in my core. Thank the Verity.
“How very interesting,” Jasyn muses as if making a scientific discovery. Except he can’t fool me. His casual humming and hawing lets on he expected this to happen. That he’s only messing with Ky to torture me, which in turn torments Joshua.
Enough.
Gathering all my strength, I push off the ground, stagger forward, placing myself between my grandfather and his current victim. Time to find out if I have what it takes. Inhale. Exhale. Vision clearing. I turn my focus on Joshua. He wears a drawn expression, mouth turned down in silent anguish. I close my eyes and force myself to sing the lyrics I’ve spent the past week pairing with my own personal melody. The lyrics meant to persuade him to do what he must.
“Every choice you made for me,
The love I always failed to see,
You gave it all to see me free,
Let me give it all for you.”
“El.” Joshua shakes his head. Touches his lips. “Wait.”
It’s working.
“Every time you held on tight,
Never let me leave your sight,
Did what you thought was right,
Let me do what’s right for you.”
He covers his ears. “El, stop. I’m not ready. I need another minute.”
I inhale, ready to begin a new verse. We don’t have another minute.
Fingers snap.
I double over. I’ve experienced Haman’s Calling firsthand before, but this is different. Less, somehow. My insides twist. I cry out. But at the same time, I feel the Shield in me fighting back, building a wall against the Shield in Haman. Healing. Mending. Restoring.
Joshua whirls, fingers clawing his breaking heart.
Ky opens his mouth but doesn’t make a sound, his obvious pain finally confirming what I’ve suspected since our kiss.
He kissed me back. We shared a Kiss of Infinity. Our link is complete.
I pick up the sword.
Heavier than it looks. I struggle to wield it.
Joshua’s by my side, his pain subsiding as mine does. Hand over mine, he says, “Stop.”
I thrust the hilt into his palm. “Then end this. Now.”
The determination behind his eyes gives me a semblance of hope. Did my song work? Have I convinced him? The sword arcs, circling his head as his face contorts.
This is it. He’s—no.
Thud. Haman collapses to his knees, his face a petrified state of shock. The blade has passed through the soft space between his chest and throat. No blood. No scream. Another thud. He’s on his side.
Gone.
The crowd roars.
Joshua plants his feet in a wide stance. “No more, Crowe.”
If the death of his right-hand man shakes Jasyn, he doesn’t show it. “I knew when it came right down to it, you could not imprison the Void inside your beloved.”
Joshua doesn’t respond.
“Say it,” Jasyn says. “Say you surrender.”
“I will not.” The words are ground out through clenched teeth.
Jasyn withdraws the sword impaling Haman. Blood gushes and pools. “Have it your way. The next victim, please.” Jasyn waves an arm and a brawny Soulless with tattooed arms and a dark goatee emerges from the space beyond the gate, drags a new captive forward. I don’t recognize the Soulless, but I do know the girl he’s dragging.
Ebony.
“How many of your people—your father’s people—will you allow to become Soulless before you either end me or surrender?” Jasyn’s eyes are wild. Crazed.
Ebony is tossed to the ground, perfect nails digging into the sand. Shiny hair falling into her eyes. She hangs her head. I barely hear the words she speaks. “You promised me. You said if I served you, the Void would never touch me.”
“Yes, well.” Jasyn’s gaze darkens. “I lied.” He nods at Lark, who withdraws another full syringe.
Despite the bad blood, literally, between Ebony and me, I don’t want to watch her become Soulless. No one deserves that.
I will not let any of our stories end on Jasyn’s terms.
I forget the perfectly chosen lyrics from before. Attempt a desperate plea instead. “Your mother,” I sing to Joshua. “She died giving you life. A life meant to follow in your father’s footsteps.” My voice is hoarse. Dry. Cracking. “Please.” The word is off-key. “Let me go so others might live.”
He pauses. His gaze flits. And then, what I feared wouldn’t come but am terrified to see . . .
Joshua nods.
“I’d rather die,” Ebony begs. “I’d rather die than lose my soul to the Void.”
“As you wish.” Jasyn leers at Ebony. He stands beside her, points the sword at her heart. Lark backs away. “Choose,” Jasyn belts. “Surrender or allow this girl to die because of your cowardice.”
I look between Joshua and Jasyn. Jasyn and Joshua.
The Verity’s vessel creeps forward.
Jasyn laughs. Raises the sword higher.
But neither Jasyn nor Joshua is fast enough. As if sliding into home plate,
chained wrists and all, Ky forces Ebony aside with his shoulder and places himself directly beneath Jasyn’s sword.
A cry of agony. From me. From Ky.
I watch his blood spill, spill, spill onto the ground as Jasyn withdraws the sword from his middle.
“No!” My throat strangles the word. Too little too late.
Several things happen at once.
I’m beside Ky, on my knees, dirt and blood everywhere, mixing and staining and smelling so vile I want to puke.
Ebony scrambles away, clawing at the sand, stumbling toward the gate.
I can’t see Joshua, but I hear him. He cries out. Because he knows what Ky’s death will bring.
My heart wrenching, I emit an ugly sob.
And then . . .
Ky dies.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Rewritten
Now the real storm begins.
Time lags. Each heartbeat a minute apart. I’m screaming but don’t hear a sound.
No. My life is supposed to take Ky’s place. Yet there he lies. Unbreathing. Unmoving. I pound the sand with my fists. Can I heal him? I’ve never tested my Physic abilities.
Joshua. Ever blood. I whip my head around, hair slapping my face in drenched columns.
But he’s not stirring either. On his back, limbs akimbo, chest still as a stringless guitar.
I bite my lip. Squeeze my eyes. Pull my hair.
What. Is. Happening?
And then I hear it. The heart-wrenching sound of a woman’s cry. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Mom.
Eyes bigger than bass drums, I search the crowd. I’m standing, running. Where, where, where—?
I trip over something, hands breaking my fall. But the impact ushers in no pain. I feel nothing. Twisting, I seek the culprit. A lifeless girl in a cornflower-blue gown lies facedown on the sand. Ankles crossed, arms framing her head like a ballerina.
Here is the reason for Mom’s agony. I am gone too.
Jasyn struts around our triangle of death. Kicking Ky. Pressing a heel to Joshua’s head. I can’t decipher his reaction. His face gives nothing away. Shocked? Terrified? My grandfather pauses at my body. I want to cover myself, protect my vulnerable form. But he doesn’t touch me.