Chosen - Kiersten White Page 0,107

extra, time to stop hating myself for it. I’m going to use everything. I land hard between Artemis and Leo. I swing the sword toward her, but she takes a step back, holding up her hands. “By all means.”

“We’re not done.” I can’t even stand to look at her, knowing what she did. It makes no sense. None of it. But Leo first. I slice through the duct tape, then set my sword down and break the chain holding him there. He stands, full of life and fury. I know it’s awful how it happened, but seeing him restored is still like cold water on a parched throat.

The fight on the catwalk behind me is raging, awkward and treacherous with the drop beneath all of them. “You good?” I ask Leo.

He nods. “They need help.”

“I’d toss you, but even I’m not that strong.”

He smiles at me, something so hopeful and warm bursting through the sadness and desperation there. We haven’t lost each other yet.

“I have a better idea.” He jumps, grabbing the bottom of the triangle doom device. It swings, and he uses his own weight to increase the momentum.

“Be careful!” Cillian’s dad shouts. For the first time, he has the sense to look nervous.

“Watchers, duck!” Leo releases and flies through the air. He sails over our friends’ heads and then lands hard just past them. So hard, in fact, that the catwalk groans and buckles beneath him. He jumps back as that portion of it detaches, taking most of the zealots with it. They tumble down the side of the cavern toward the bottom. Leo turns and joins Rhys, Cillian, Imogen, and Doug fighting the remaining zealots. Which leaves me with my sister.

“Is it ready?” she shouts, ignoring me.

“We’ll come to you! I know the way!” Leo pushes through their remaining attackers, tossing them off the catwalk with ease, and my friends run into a cavern.

“No,” the hellgod says. “It must be shifted into the divine transference configuration.”

Artemis huffs in frustration. “Translation?”

“Translation is,” I say, twirling my sword, “I still have time.” I swing with all my might at the side of the wretched triangle thing. My sword connects with a ringing blow—and then my hands and arms go numb. The sword clangs to the catwalk, my arms useless.

“Nina.” Artemis sighs. “Honestly.” Then she punches me in the face.

ARTEMIS

EVERYTHING IS SPINNING OUT OF control. Nina was never supposed to be here. She was never supposed to see how it happened. She was never supposed to be in danger.

Artemis wanted to protect her from that, at least. But it’s too late. She needs to protect Nina, she needs to help Honora, she needs and she needs and she needs. The Sleeping One was right to see that in her. She needs so much, and until she gets this power, she’ll face this exact situation until Nina dies, or Honora does, or Artemis does. She’ll watch Nina get left behind in flames. She’ll watch Honora being hurt by people she can’t fight.

Once, when presented with an impossible situation, she chose Nina. And because of that, she lost the role that should have been hers. The training. The power to make decisions for herself and others. She’s never forgotten what it felt like to hold Nina in her arms while the world burned around them. It wasn’t real—it was a magic-induced hallucination to test whether she could make the hardest sacrifice—but Artemis saw and felt everything. Those bastards made her test as close to what had actually happened as possible. The world even burned violet-black, just like their room.

She chose Nina. She chose wrong. And she knows Nina will never make the right choice either.

This time she’s choosing power over Nina, so she’ll never have to make that choice again because no one—no one—will be able to hurt her. And only then will everyone else be safe.

Nina is in her arms again. The world isn’t burning. Yet. Artemis won’t fail.

29

“NO FAIR,” I MUMBLE AROUND the swirling stars of pain and confusion left behind after Artemis’s fist gave my face a handshake. “Cheating.” My arms still won’t work, and Artemis is obviously taking whatever performance-enhancing demon cocktail Honora favors.

“Will you calm down and wait?” She hauls me to standing, then holds me up, my back against her. Her arm around my neck. A blade against my—

Oh. Not holding me up. Holding me hostage.

“How could you?” I’m not crying because of the pain in my face—which is tremendous but temporary. “She helped raise us.