Everlife

“Drink up. You’re a Conduit, special and we need you well. I’m sure you could use a boost.” She places a vial of manna in one of my hands, and heads for the exit.

I follow her, and everyone else follows me.

“I’m not special,” I mutter, and drain the vial.

“You saved us during the invasion,” Clay says. “Trust me. You’re special.”

The manna is sweet on my tongue, but for the first time, it burns going down. Sharp pains shoot through me, but thankfully they fade in a hurry.

Do I now need a mix of manna and ambrosia?

I’ll figure it out. Later. Ahead is a Gate, an archway that looks to be made entirely of diamonds. Our group enters two at a time, the diamonds vanishing as fireworks explode around us. We remain on our feet, even continue walking, while we’re shot to a new location.

There, we enter a Stairwell. Then we enter two more Gates before reaching our destination. The Garden of Exchange. Thank the Firstking, this city is untouched by the bomb blasts, its hanging wisteria, honeysuckle and ivy vines as lush as ever. Fruit trees are in full bloom, branches heavy with peaches, oranges, apples and every other kind of treat you can name. Wild strawberries and blackberries intermix with a maze of colorful flowers, sweetly scenting the air while leading to the heart of the city, where millions of citizens have already congregated, everyone decked out in some kind of robe.

There are children, teenagers and adults, though no one looks older than thirty-five. That’s to be expected. When a spirit reaches the Age of Perfection, the outward appearance freeze-frames, no matter how old a physical body becomes or used to be.

Different animals are present, as well. Dogs. Cats. Deer. Wolves. A handful of zebras. Horses. Birds fly overhead. Despite the number of living beings amassed here, not a single conversation is taking place. Not a roar, growl or purr can be heard. Silence reigns, and it’s eerie.

As we approach, the crowd parts down the center for the one who will be rendering the only vote. My heart thuds against my ribs. We motor forward, sweat dotting my palms. I catch sight of Nico and breathe a sigh of relief. Until his eyes narrow and fill with hate.

Hate? I stumble. Does he know I married Killian?

Someone steps in front of him, blocking him from view before I can speak with him. My gaze lands on my great-grandmother Hazel, and my mind trips along after it. Such a precious woman! Beside her is my great-grandfather Steven. If I fail to vote for Meredith, their daughter, they’ll be hurt.

I swallow the lump growing in my throat. Next I see Millicent, my little brother’s nanny, and Jeremy. My heart squeezes. As he wiggles and giggles, I pause to caress his soft cheekbone.

—Ten!—

His voice drifts along the Grid, filling my mind. This isn’t the first time he’s spoken to me this way, but I’m still startled. —Hey, baby bro. I love you so much.—

—Love, too.—

“Get him out of here,” I whisper to Millicent. “Keep him safe.” If there’s a riot after I render my vote, I don’t want an infant caught in the chaos.

Her jaw drops, and she blinks rapidly. Then she nods and works her way through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction.

Keep moving. Get this done. A royal palace is ahead, with walls made of diamond, sapphire and ruby, emerald, topaz, and beryl, onyx and jasper. Every gem is flawless, breathtaking.

Before the palace is a bridge. Before the bridge is a dais.

Tremors flood me. On the dais stands the Secondking. The majestic Eron, Prince of Doves, is wearing a spectacular violet robe with gold seams and a hem that glitters as if it’s been soaked in Lifeblood. He’s tall and leanly muscular, with dark skin and eyes bluer than a morning sky, brighter than a sapphire and lovelier than a blue jay.

Despite the majesty of those eyes, his face is plain. A fact that always astounds me. He should be a showstopper.

Who am I kidding? He is a showstopper. Appearance means nothing. Heart, everything. Love and power radiate from him. So much power. Too much for one person to bear. Well, an ordinary person. Eron is far from ordinary. Light shines from his pores, radiant and pure, warming me.

In the back of my mind, the shadows shudder with fear. I grin.

Behind the Secondking stands each of our thirteen Generals. They represent a mix of nationalities and hail from all over the Land of the Harvest. Today they are dressed in turquoise robes with metal links sewn into the shoulders to denote their exalted station.

My grin fades. Do the other Generals know that Luciana and Shamus are holding Killian hostage?

The shadows seize upon the rage that sparks inside me, and dip their toes in the waters of my mind...ripples flow along the Grid. Threatening to invade other doors?

Careful. In an effort to control the emotions, I breathe deeply and turn my focus to the others. The handsome Alejandro gives me a nod of greeting. I’ve always liked him, and I hope beyond hope that I have an ally in him—no matter what. Jane and Spike give me a nod of greeting, as well, while the others implore me with their gazes.

I can almost hear the chant inside their heads. Choose Orion. Please.

Tremors shake me. With my head high, I ascend the steps, the pitter-patter of my feet almost as loud as a scream. I walk onto the dais, stop a few feet from Eron and kneel, at the same time crossing my arms over my chest to form an X. As I raise my arms, they uncross to form a V. A show of my fealty.

Just like that. The rest of the world vanishes. I’m alone with Eron, surrounded by Light and fluffy white clouds.

“Rise,” he tells me, his voice like music and thunder and rain all at once.

I obey, my mind whirling. “Where are we? Why are we here?” Whoa. Bring it down a notch. This is my king. Be respectful or be quiet.

“Consider this today’s briefing.”

Great. Wonderful. Hesitant, I say, “You know about my bond with Killian.”

“I do.”

He offers no protests. “You support us?” I suspected, but confirmation will—

“I do,” he repeats. “Love never fails.”

Confirmation will thrill me. I stand taller. “Some would argue I don’t know real love.”

“Some are deceived.”

He says no more, and I don’t press my luck.

“Would you like to know why I gave you the sole vote in this Resurrection?” he asks.

“Yes.” The word leaves me so quickly, it’s almost a hiss.

“After the bombing I realized a startling truth. You, Tenley Lockwood, are not a Conduit.”

I gape at him, certain I misheard. “I’m not?”

“You are the first of your kind. A Conduit and an Architect.”

“A what now?” I’ve never heard the term in association to a position here.

“You possess the amazing ability to make Conduits.”

Part of me wants to argue with him. The other part of me accepts the knowledge without reservation. Look at Raanan. I suspected this. And really, in Troika, nothing is impossible.