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.