We swim faster, harder, my heart beat, beat, beating as we dive straight through the light. I know we’ve reached the Fourth when we’re suddenly headed up instead of down, following another set of stone steps. Except these are different. Where the steps in the Third were infested with barnacles and seaweed, these are inlaid with precious stones in greens and golds.
When we reach the surface, we crawl up the remainder of the steps onto the landing and collapse. My sodden clothes anchor me to stone.
Khloe props herself up on her elbows. “Bet you’ve never seen a Shield do that before.”
I shake my head, wet hair clinging to my skin.
“It’s pretty neat, huh? And it’s not just gills. I can adapt to any climate. Change my blood from warm to cold in the desert. Grow fur in a blizzard. Bones taught me how to project my Calling onto others too. It’s how I could give you gills like me.”
Bones? Ebony taught her this? So this is what they were doing on deck this morning. Practicing.
Too cool. I’m so asking Ebony to teach me ASAP. How awesome would it be if I could project mirror walking?
I wring my hair out and take in our surroundings. We’re on a miniature island in an ocean, and a rope bridge extends from the landing to a rocky shore. My gaze follows the bridge. To shore. To—
Myriad emotions wash over me at once. Shock. Pain. Relief. Confusion. I bolt up and crouch in front of Khloe, shielding her like the flesh and blood she is.
Fourth Reflection Guardians line the stone shore beyond the bridge. They’re darker skinned like Kuna and Tide. A mixture of men and women. Barefoot. Dressed for a party in their multicolored sarongs and togas. All bear tattoos on their right biceps, though from this distance I can’t tell what the tattoos depict.
Past the Guardian line, a massive Roman-style palace towers, complete with marble columns and a statue of a regal-looking woman in a toga. Archaic symbols I can’t read are carved in swirling patterns on the columns and steps. Just like the gems glistening underwater, the symbols are also gold and green. In the distance to the east and west I spy mountain peaks white as cappuccino foam, their snowcaps out of place in this tropical climate. This is the Fourth? It’s grander than anything I’ve imagined but also familiar in a way that feels like home.
Khloe pokes my back, popping my awestruck bubble. I blink rapidly, concentrate on the Guardian line. Each one has a weapon drawn and ready. Spears, knives, bows, swords. Some restrain our crew members. Charley. Flint. Ebony. Gunner. Tide. And is that . . . ? It is. Gage? He’s the one restraining Tide. How did he get here and why?
My mind wants to examine the possibilities, to connect the dots. But then I zero in on the line’s center and forget them all.
Two men stand there, one behind the other. Ky is in front, beaten and bruised. His right shirtsleeve is torn, revealing his Void-encompassed arm. Even from here the blood on his swollen lips is visible.
Anger surges through my veins, electrocutes my nerves. I’m on my feet, sprinting across the rope bridge. When I’m halfway between landing and shore, the man detaining Ky steps from behind him.
My heart stops, but my feet keep moving.
“El,” Joshua calls. Relief softens his cerulean gaze. For a moment I almost don’t notice he’s holding a sword to Ky’s neck.
He’s holding a sword to Ky’s neck.
I step ashore, mere feet away from them. My arm reaches, shaking in a desperate plea. Stop. Please. Release him.
“El?” Confusion creases Joshua’s forehead. His sword hand lowers a fraction of an inch.
But it isn’t low enough.
I swallow. Strain to find my voice. The first word I’ve uttered in days rasps from my lips, loud enough for my ears alone.
“Ky.”
THIRTY-THREE
Living in a Blur
All eyes attend us. No one moves. The only sound is water lapping shore, combined with the pulse tap, tap, tapping my eardrums in perfect eight counts. We’re center stage and our audience waits with breath bated.
“Go back, Khloe,” I croak.
“No.” I’m not facing her, but there’s no denying the tears wavering her voice.
My throat burns worse than ever, so I wave my arm frantically, gesturing for her to get the crowe out of here.
Three, two, one . . .
Splash!
Sigh. At least she isn’t as stubborn as her brother.
“El-i-yan-a Em-ber.” Joshua enunciates each syllable. Slowly. Carefully. It’s as if he’s unsure my name and I are one and the same. “It’s me.”
My right foot slides back, followed by my left. I’m distinctly aware of Ky’s mirrorblade tucked into the back of my jeans. I grabbed it before we left, uncertain what the Fourth would bring. Now I have the urge to reach for it but can’t quite bring myself to follow through. This isn’t Joshua. At least not the one I know. My Joshua is a good guy. A hero. But the man before me is a stranger, cut from the same cloth as Haman or Jasyn or Gage—men molded by weapons and cruelty and revenge.
Gage stands only a few feet to Joshua’s right, the only other man here from the Second. Are they together? No. No way.
“What are you doing?” The words are hardly audible. I clear my throat. Who knows how long my voice will last, but I’ll take what I can get.
Joshua’s brow furrows. The arm holding the sword to Ky’s neck trembles. “El, you’re confused. But everything will be fine now. I am here. Everything will be fine.”
Is his repeated phrase to assure me or himself?
The blade connects with Ky’s skin. Blood seeps and drips.
I wield the knife. My arm remains as steady as Ky’s unblinking gaze.
“Stay there,” he says in my head.
My entire being aches to give Joshua a taste of his own sword, but I stay put.
“Trust me.” Joshua’s uneven tone mirrors his shaking hand. “Everything will be fine.”
Fury flares. Everything is so not fine right now it disgusts me.
“Easy now,” Ky warns. “Don’t make him angrier than he already is.”
Right. “Joshua,” I breathe. “Listen. I was wrong to leave without telling you.”
And you were wrong to keep Ky’s letter from me, I want to add. But I sense now is not the time to demand his apology.
So I give mine instead. “I’m sorry. But it isn’t Ky’s fault.” I gesture toward him, my palm out in surrender. “Let’s talk about this.” I force a melody beneath my words for good measure. It feels stronger now somehow. Odd. If the Callings are dwindling and the Thresholds drain more each day, wouldn’t I be weaker?
“Not necessarily. If the Verity is growing weak, I presume it would be drawing power back to itself.”
My eyes widen. What?
“My guess is that each time a Calling disappears, the Verity recharges a little, making it seem strong again. It’s having to do less, expel less energy to source another Calling. But it’s only temporary unless we can destroy the Void.”
Intuition tells me to glance behind me.
No!
Khloe floats facedown in the water. I lug her out, back onto the landing. Turn her on her back.