I gulp a dose of courage, then another. They’ve been misled to believe a lie. What is the Verity for if not to expose the truth? “Which one of you”—I point to a trio of women who laugh behind their hands, pointing at their childless peer beside me—“has never made a mistake due to grief?”
They shut off their chatter. Not a single one makes eye contact with me. But the roses in their cheeks play witness to their shame.
“And you.” I pick out a guard poking his staff through a cage at the tortured balding man. “Have you never lied? Cheated? Stolen? Have you never heard the voice of darkness at your door and it’s everything you can do to turn the bolts and shut out the din?”
The guard ceases his fun, withdraws his staff, and lowers his head.
Time for the clincher.
I lower myself from the platform, refusing Jasyn’s help as I do. Then I walk directly toward the Lioness, Isabeau, Troll, original vessel of the Verity herself. I stand before her. I do not cower. I do not bow.
“And you, Your Grace.” My emphasis on the word grace is impossible to miss. Good. “Have you forgotten where you’ve come from? You created the Void.” Her eyes widen. Do I see a hint of a tear, there in the corner of her right eye? “How can you now condemn those who live caught in its snares? How can you accuse, when you yourself felt so much agony at Dimitri’s rejection, your shattered heart caused the very thing that afflicts theirs?” My chest is an earthquake, my heart beating so fast it rumbles my core. But I am rooted in light.
And I will not be moved.
The Lioness, speechless for a moment, stares.
Have I come through loud and clear? Will my voice make a difference when it’s needed most?
“Eliyana Olivia Ember.” Joshua stands feet away. The way he looks at me, says my name? It’s all the explanation I require. He’s fighting something too. We all are.
I convey a silent plea as the last bit of my Ky melts into Kyaphus. I hold on to my love for him as long as possible until he’s—
The Void’s vessel. What’s he doing here?
“He’s here to take everything from you,” Miss Shadow in my soul says. “Just as Jasyn Crowe tried to destroy your life, so Kyaphus—”
A hand on my shoulder. I whirl. My teenage grandfather stands there, liquid brimming in his eyes and hat to his heart. “You are the one. The girl with the light. Her Grace has spoken of you as a long-lost treasure. I scarcely believed you existed.”
I scrunch my forehead.
“When I became the Void’s vessel, I believed it less daunting to use its power than to fight it. But perhaps there is another way? If I ever have a daughter, I hope she is like you.”
Innocence, pure and simple. Jasyn is the orphaned boy looking up to Aidan, trying to figure out where he belongs.
I consider Kyaphus again, but with the same eyes that loved the Shadowalkers. Rather than hatred building, compassion rises, squashing every stone I wished to throw his way.
“No!” The darkness within me wars against my head. My heart. Her voice is stronger than ever, clawing out with screeches and cries.
This is the moment that counts. Give up? Give in?
“I will never stop fighting. Someday I will be free. Try to deny it, but you will choose me. And when you do . . .”
She goes on and on, so loud and long and never taking a breath. I physically cover her ears. Why, when I finally sense a breakthrough, does the moment of truth arrive?
The Lioness becomes Isabeau in a seamless swirl. Approaching me, she leers, the almost-change I saw before vanished with her fur. “Ah,” she says. “It appears the boys will not be the only new additions to the Shadowalker execution.” Her chin lifts left, then right. “Guards, lock them up.” With her widest smile yet, she adds, “Let the games begin.”
THIRTY-THREE
Joshua
I growl.
“Troll.”
Isabeau. Fairy Queen. Lioness. She is the same no matter which form she assumes. The immortal can smell darkness. She, after all, is to blame for its creation.
“Yes. Isn’t she beautiful?” Josh’s voice is faint, but it’s there.
The Shadowalker I believed I at last managed to lock away lingers, a mark not quite removed. He will always exist, anticipating a chance to escape. But I will never cease fighting him. From here on out, I vow to choose the light.
I release my hold on my brother.
He grunts and stumbles, catching his breath in heaves. When I offer him a hand up, I utter the words I never thought I’d say. Not to him. But now they must be spoken. Now they are my truth.
“I’m sorry. For everything.”
The unblinking eye contact between us sets me on edge. I almost think he might not accept my offer.
But, as I’ve learned, this is Ky—not Kyaphus. Not Josh. This is my brother. A better man than me.
He takes my hand.
I pat him on the back and he nods. “Thanks,” he says.
“Sure thing.”
But the moment doesn’t last. In unison, we turn to find the one we came for.
“Get off me.” El kicks, but she has no need. The guards obey her Amulet command without protest. The dilemma she faces is in her eyes. She’s fighting something no one can see, a battle I am all too familiar with.
“You can do this, El.” I go for her but three men close in. Not even guards. They simply want to impress their queen. I’m restrained without a word. My crime? Being human.
“Silence her.” The man with the bowler hat returns it to his head. Next he withdraws a handkerchief, does a quick swipe beneath both eyes, then stuffs it in his blazer pocket. Whatever moment he and El shared has end—
Wait. I do a double take. Is that . . . ? It cannot be Jasyn Crowe. At first I didn’t make the connection, but . . . “Impossible.” I scratch the back of my head, then take three steps toward him. “Jasyn?”
He stands before me, looks me up and down, though he’s shorter, scrawnier. Nothing has changed, not when he’s fifteen or fifty. An air of superiority remains. “How do you know my name?”
“You’re . . .” Did we really travel to the past? “You . . . know my father.”
“Who is your father?”
“Aidan Henry.”
The lines on his forehead tighten. “You must be mistaken. Aidan does not even have a wife to claim, let alone children.”
“I said don’t touch me!”
My attention shifts. Two guards back El into a corner. One is a shorter, thinner version of Preacher, all scruff and scowl. The other is much broader, a double Kuna if such a thing exists.
Managing to escape his sole jailer, Ky says, “You heard her.” He attacks the whiskered guard, grabbing him in a chokehold while he bucks my brother this way and that.
The burlier guard attempts to aid his comrade, prying Ky’s arms off, though my brother regains his hold each time.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to fight fair?” He pokes the guard in both eyes with his free thumb and forefinger. “No? Well, I guess all moves are fair game then.”
The smaller guard yelps. Forgetting El, Ky puts his energy into getting the leech off his back.
Nice. I knew my brother was a good knife fighter, but this? He doesn’t need his weapon to make a dent in his enemies.