She doesn’t bother turning around. “The Current will not allow Paradise Steel to strike the protective Wall.”
I have nothing to lose in making the case. “Except that I have the power to wield your weapons against you. Somehow I break the Current. I can do it.” I avoid Cole’s stare. “If I strike the Inner Wall when Sage is close enough, I’ll give myself up in the process the same way Pop did with the Circuit Wall. Sage will be splintered and no longer able to fight, and I’ll no longer be a threat.” The Alliance will be saved.
Finally, a slight turn of her head in my direction. “Utilizing that power in such a manner may join the realms.”
“If Sage is close enough when I strike—”
“It is out of the question.” She turns her head away.
But the fervent gnawing won’t relent. I clamp my mouth shut and stay quiet until I find a solid verse from Milton to convince her otherwise. It’s somewhere in this cloudy mess. If I’m persistent, if I continue searching, the individual pieces will come together, and then I’ll see. I quickly scan the pages as hazy shadows taint the room. Clouds churn. The steady thrum seeping into my veins grows stronger.
Maybe I’m searching for something I can never find. Maybe I was never supposed to fight this battle. Maybe—I stop on the highlighted verse: “Perverts best things / To worse abuse or to their meanest use.”
This means something, Milton. But improper use? Are you speaking of the Well or me? I sift through several pages, stopping at a passage I circled in black ink. It’s the archfiend’s speech. “Our labor must be to pervert that end / And out of good still to find means of evil.” There’s that word again. Pervert. Why did I circle that? My notes in the margin say, “leading toward evil.” Sage leading me toward evil is a given, and too easily spelled out. What am I missing?
Cole sits on the edge of the table. “The greatest sign of an impending loss is when one does not believe one can win.”
I shut the poem, using my finger as a placeholder. “What’s that?”
“It’s from Machiavelli. And right now, everyone feels it.” Cole drops his glance and finds the picture of Eve in Adam’s arms. “You and surfer boy, huh?”
Oh. I didn’t mean to leave it on the table. I awkwardly tuck the sketch in the book. “It’s just a drawing. That’s all.” But the warmth rushing to my face betrays me.
“Thought so.”
The hurt in his eyes burns more than the bindings on my wrists. “Cole, wait.” Somehow my bound hands manage to clasp his elbow before he can walk away.
“Look, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t choose me either. I don’t belong here. Never did.”
Despite Cole’s nonchalant attitude, I know he wants more than anything to belong, to right his wrongs. And make his family proud. “You and me—we’re not so different.”
He looks through those intense lashes. “Yeah? How so?”
I’m keenly aware of my hands resting on him for too long, and how my pulse is sprinting faster. “We’ve been trying to deny what we really are.” A line from Machiavelli snaps into my head. “Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are.” The line couldn’t be more fitting.
“The Prince.” Cole’s mouth quirks. Heat returns to my face as I suddenly remember the way his lips felt when we kissed. “Machiavelli and Milton, huh?” He shakes his head, shrugging away a thought. “Yeah, well, you’ve got me all wrong, Blighty. That handbook is for rulers and royals. I’m just an expendable pawn. And I’m pretty sure your line of prose was meant for someone else.” He tips his head, gesturing to something across the room.
I look up to find Maddox at the archway, holding my drawn-out vision in his hands. His hair, although ragged, is tucked neatly behind his ear, showing off his scar. Dark circles shade his tired eyes that know exactly how to find me.
Foster takes the sketchbook, but the admiral snatches it away, setting the drawing on a table near the map.
Clouds darken. Thunder rolls. Sage is getting closer. I can feel it in my bones. It’s a deep luring call, urging me to run. “My visions come to pass in less than twenty-four hours.” I raise my voice, hoping Albrecht will listen. “If Sage is unfamiliar with the Garden, he will most likely attack at dusk when the air is gray and the Legions are hard to see. If I view the sketch, I can tell you how to stop him.” I try stepping forward but trip, taking the chair with me.
Albrecht turns around with an expression that confirms my fate. After what feels like an eternity, she says, “Prepare as planned.”
In that moment, deep thunder, a vibrating wave of moving earth, sends tremors through the wood floors. Chandeliers swing. One crashes to the ground.
“Check the perimeter!” Albrecht commands.
As the room erupts with frenzy, Cole quickly cuts the twine on my wrists and around my ankles and then slips away to join the crowd before anyone notices.
The tremor grows with a rhythmic push and pull. I imagine thirsty Legions rocking the Circuit Wall back and forth in tempo, wedging the invisible barrier loose. Once the Circuit Wall implodes, a tidal wave of Legions will come crashing into the Garden. And feast.
Our time is up.
Slow, growling thunder shakes the Garden. Deep fissures crack along the stucco walls, fleeing up to the ceiling. Hard metal clashes with frantic voices as Gray and Devon quickly distribute weapons.
“Please, let me see the sketch!” I beg the admiral. I can’t recall any specific detail, except Maddox’s death. I have to read the sketch to know how to keep him—and everyone—alive.
I only take three steps toward Albrecht when someone clasps my elbows from behind, dragging me back on my heels.
I trample over broken glass from the chandelier and wrestle to break free. But I’m forced back over to the conference table.
Maddox intervenes. “I’ve got her.” His grip is firm. He knows I’ll make a second run at seeing the sketch if he lets go. And I will. “Don’t fight.” His whisper is a low warning in my ear.
“I have to read the vision.” I try not to cry. The rising vibration pulses through me. I tug, but Maddox won’t let go. “I need to know how to stop it from happening.”
“Calm down.” He guides me into the corner near the Martin painting. Brazen light from a nearby lamp strokes his face as he looks at me with that stormy expression, the one that makes me forget there’s anyone else in the room.
But then I think of what Gray said about my powers, and I drop my gaze to the floor. “Maddox, please don’t look at me that way. Whatever you think you feel—it’s not me. It’s whatever ability Blights have to lure Awakened away from the Alliance.” I try to sidestep him, but he won’t let me.
“The Alliance only claims you have that power so they can keep our lines pure, but it’s not true. And I know what I feel.”
“You don’t know me.”
He pulls me closer as the frantic room grows louder. “I know you want to do what’s right. I’ve seen you put others above yourself every time. You want to make a difference. You want to belong but don’t think you can. I heard it in the poem you wrote. I see it in your eyes. I know because we almost died together. Twice. Cera, I can sense what you’re feeling the same way you read me. Like, your heart is racing right now. Your eyes want to look at me, but you’re afraid. You think I’ll turn away at what I find.” His voice intensifies. “I won’t leave you.”
He’s so right, but at the same time . . .
“You’re wrong. I won’t look at you because I’m afraid of believing in something that can’t happen. That if I do, my heart will break beyond what I can bear. I’m not afraid that you’ll leave me. I’m afraid that you won’t. And somehow I’ll end up destroying you in the process.” I stare straight into his blustery eyes and try my hardest not to cry. “I can’t have you die on account of me.”
Maddox darts his eyes back and forth across mine. “I don’t plan on dying soon, remember?”
“You don’t understand. Sage knows how I feel about you.
If Albrecht doesn’t kill me first, Sage will do whatever he can to ensure I side with him. And that means harming you.”
Maddox tenses. “Is that what you think the vision shows?”
“Yes.” My heart fights not to confess the rest, to stay strong and believe that everything will work out, somehow. But I know the truth. “Don’t say you won’t leave me. Because unless that vision changes, then it’s not true.”
Tremors shake the walls, growing stronger each minute. Gray shouts commands. Paintings shift. Furniture shudders. So do I.
Foster strides over to us. “We will read the recent vision after the admiral’s review. Be patient.”
The world is crumbling down. How can I be patient? All I’ve ever known is how to run.
Foster sets two sketches on the table. Maddox backs away, as he should. “I suggest one final review of your previous visions. Ensure nothing was missed.”
I’m not sure what good it will do. The events have already come to pass, but I’ve messed up enough to know I don’t have all the answers. And Sage has us surrounded. He will break through at any moment, and there is nowhere to run.
I will myself to follow Foster’s orders. The first sketch is the one Maddox drew, showing the broken goblet. Liquid spills on the ground as tendrils of black threads rise from a puddle, all foretelling Harper’s death. It was the first vision of mine that didn’t come to pass. We intervened in time and changed the outcome.
Harper rushes in from the dining room carrying a wooden crate. “Take these, quickly. The healing serum is purple.” She starts handing out small vials as Devon takes the heavy crate off her hands. “The green one, we call Spike, and it will sharpen your senses and keep you alert. And this”—she doles out something that looks like royal-blue sugar cubes—“is called Gloss, and it will throw off your scent so the Cormorants can’t track you.”
“What more do you see?” Foster places another drawing in front of me, regaining my attention. It’s the one I tried to interpret with Pop’s help. The one I never had a chance to see.
As I read the image, intense shame creeps over me once again. I push aside the feeling and concentrate on the message. What I thought were hands pressing on a spine are sultry curves of a tree trunk. The bodies writhing are broken limbs, worming in pain on the ground. Probably Juniper and Bearcat. The wet lips are Sage’s words luring me, tempting me to join him. And the heart-shaped stone is Cole’s fedora.
A searing coldness descends on me. The vision was a warning about Cole’s dissension and Sage’s temptation of me—not about me luring Maddox. This vision was also thwarted, but only because Maddox and Gray intervened. If they hadn’t, Cole wouldn’t be here right now, and neither would I. Or my mom.
Albrecht tosses my latest vision to the floor, only to tread over the sketch and rip it in half with her heels. “Sergeant Carver, handle the Blight and then prepare as planned.” She plucks the intricate Steel from Cole’s hand and then walks out the door. Foster swiftly picks up the torn sketch before the pieces are entirely shredded.
The roaring hum swells. Dusk descends, spattering long shadows across tight faces. I’m certain the Wall won’t hold much longer.
“Assume attack positions at twelve and six,” Gray orders the remaining Awakened army while Cole searches through another crate, flinging out handfuls of straw. “Three-man configuration. Alert the others.” Hard soles clatter on the hardwood, fleeing out of every doorway. If there was a time for me to run, it would be now, but I can’t. I have to see the sketch first.
“Gather all Healers.” Devon ushers Harper to the front hall. “Have them parcel out the remaining serum for Caretakers to hold in the field. I’ll order Guardians to transport Cera’s mother along with any sick and wounded to the training room. You’ll be secure there.”
I hadn’t considered my mother’s safety. I’m thankful Devon has. Before Harper leaves, she flings her arms around Devon, burying her face in his neck.
Foster steps in front of me and briskly smooths the drawing on the table. “Quickly, Cera. I believe only you can accurately decipher the message.” I’m taken aback by his use of my first name and the way his usually well-behaved hair hangs in his face. “If there is anything—anything at all—that suggests a change in our strategy, please advise.” His voice is urgent, pleading. “The Alliance can protect the Well only in the limited ways given to us. You see with different eyes. Trust the solution that is made clear to you. The outcome may not be what is expected, but the path will be right, I assure you.”
The drumming vibration grows louder. The Delacroix painting falls, catching on the corner of an open crate. The canvas rips, cutting Milton’s daughter free.
“Come on, Blighty, whatcha got?” Cole leans on the corner of the table fidgeting with that chess piece.
I slide the flimsy sheets together and, as fast as possible, take in every beautiful, yet terrifying, stroke Maddox drew: Consuming flames lick the earth. A dark cloud rolls across a teetering bridge, a suspension bridge. Planks split and then fall under the weight.
I work hard to steady the image on the shaking table. I squint through the faint light. Half of the bridge was erased and then redrawn, as if the bridge had been broken right where the paper was torn. Rain falls to the ground, running across a field like strands of hair stretched in the mud. Wrenching grief snakes through me, confirming Maddox’s death. There has to be something else—something more. But the only clear image is the bridge. A message that says I will give Sage exactly what he wants.
“Time’s up,” Gray announces.
Foster blocks him. “Do you see a solution?” His penetrating eyes look to mine.
I spill the whole truth, even though I know it will cost my life. “Sage uses his powers to spark a fire, here.” I show them the fires that burn the Garden. “The realms are linked.” I point to the bridge and the dark cloud rolling across. “And here . . .” I glance at Maddox. “Everyone dies.” I swallow hard. If this is the vision Sage intercepted, he knows he’ll win.
“There’s got to be something more.” Cole spins one half of the drawing upside down.
I turn the sketch back. “I’m telling you what the vision shows.”
Cole spins the paper sideways. “Try looking at it from a different angle.”
“That’s not how it works, Cole.” Anger seeps under my skin. A thunderous pulse shakes the room. The grand center chandelier wobbles, slipping from its hinges, but holds steady for now. “I’m telling you what it says. Sage is about to break through the Circuit Wall. He knows what the vision shows and will ensure every detail will come to pass. There’s no way to stop it.”
“Look harder.” Cole pushes the drawing closer, badgering a hard finger at it.
“I told you, there’s no—”
He slams the white queen on the table in front of me. “Look again!”
Heat boils through my veins. I knock the chess piece in his direction. “The only answer to stopping the vision is me! I’m the bridge that joins the realms. Take away the bridge, and you can stop the vision.”
Chunks of plaster fall from the ceiling, and with it comes another chandelier. Glass shatters. Crates topple. Metal clanks across the floor. I throw my hands over my head as the room darkens. Maddox shelters me to his chest.
The steady vibration resumes, shaking the walls and the sketches. I slip out of Maddox’s arms, but he stays rooted at my side.
Impatient motorcycles rev in the front drive. I’m shocked that Gray hasn’t taken me out. “Decoys are ready. We need to get in place. Now.” His voice rumbles offbeat with the roaring thunder. “Maddox, get to the training room. Stay hidden with the Healers.”
Maddox shakes off Gray’s hold. “I’m fighting this battle.”
“You’re a Guardian—”
“I’m also a Blade, and you know it.” There’s a shift in his stance, a power that radiates through the contour of his tight muscles. With those intense eyes and hair swept back, he’s very much a Blade. I push
to the table for one final look at my three visions before Gray carts me away.
Three.
There’s something about the number three.
“Prepare thee for another sight.” Milton whispers in my head as I put two pieces of the torn sketch together where the paper thinned from so much erasing.
I hold out a hand. “Wait. There is something here.”
“I’ll gather more light.” Foster rushes off, glass crunching under his hard soles.
“Why did you erase this part of the bridge?” I ask Maddox.
“It kept changing. The bridge would form, then break, but it wasn’t clear why.”
Foster returns with a trembling flame in a glass lantern. The soft light dances over the sketches, making them seem alive. In that moment, the rumbling recedes. Silence takes its place.
Something strikes me. Something I didn’t notice until now. All three visions have a lantern in the corner. I glance at the far end of the table, at my other visions. None of those do.
“Quiet is never good,” Cole says.
“Shh,” I slide the images around. As soon as I move the picture of the tree up top, the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Something is here. Cole was right. I slide the one of the goblet to the middle. The spilled black liquid now appears to be an obsidian lake. I spin part of the torn bridge upside down and move it to the bottom. The other piece I turn sideways. When I do, the broken bridge becomes a ladder. My hands are shaking.
The three individual visions, like a mosaic, piece together to make one picture. Yes. Three separate lanterns cast different points of light, illuminating one image.
“At this last sight, assured that man shall live,” Milton whispers. My heart pumps faster.
Man shall live . . . This is the answer I’ve been searching for, isn’t it? These three visions, when combined, tell me how to save the Awakened—and Maddox.
Throttling motorcycles shatter the silence. I read the sketches as fast as I can.
In the center, the tree rests over a black lake. The torn bridge is inverted, half of the ladder leads somewhere underneath where sparks light. Cole won’t stop spinning that chess piece, distracting me. I close my eyes for a moment. Let the images show me what they want. Don’t force it. Don’t try to figure it out. I clear my mind and then open my eyes, doing what Pop believed I could do.
Realms of Light (The Colliding Line Book 2) Page 24