her, and I’m not going to watch her die. “Gather your troops,” I say. “We’re going after them.”
They don’t hop to, but pause to share a look.
“What?” I demand.
“You know Killian and Sloan belong to Myriad.” There’s remorse in Archer’s voice, and that’s a step in the right direction, but he still sucks right now.
“They are people, regardless of their realm. If you won’t help them—won’t help me—fine. I’ll save them on my own.”
“And you’ll be walking into a trap,” Archer says. “Word of the execution was sent to us simply to draw you out of hiding. That’s Pearl’s MO, as she’s proved. Here, at least, you’re safe. She can’t get to you.”
“I don’t care.”
I stalk to my room to bag up the weapons I’ve collected. A few daggers, an Oxi, a Stag, two kitchen knives. That done, I strap on my leather bracelets.
When I turn, Deacon is leaning against my door frame. “All right, you’ve talked me into it. I’m going with you. For Sloan, not for Killian.”
I’ll take what help I can get, however I can get it. “What about Archer?”
“Let me tell you something, little girl. Troika has legions of armies, but every single one is otherwise engaged, especially now that we’re down to only one Conduit. These armies are stationed throughout your world and our own. They fight to protect a race of people who do not see them or even think to thank them. They have very little time off—if any at all. They work tirelessly. They’re injured often. They don’t need more to do.”
“I commend them,” I say, even though I don’t know why he’s telling me all this. “What about Archer?” I repeat.
“He went to ask the King for an army.”
chapter twenty-seven
“You have a Secondlife, but not a second chance. Choose wisely.”
—Myriad
That night, Deacon and I head for the spa to set up shop. We’re about a mile away when we come to a roadblock, Myriad Shells on patrol. We backtrack with every intention of reaching the designated area from the other direction, only to find another roadblock. An attempt to sneak past it will either prove really stupid or really smart.
Thing is, once we’re out for the count, we’re out. The end.
Eventually, we decide to back off. Pearl planned for everything, placing her people everywhere. On top of buildings. At every entrance and exit of every road and building within a one-mile radius. She’s serious about my capture. Or rather, my murder. By killing me and sending me to Many Ends, she’s certain Ashley will one day get another chance to enter Myriad. She’s desperate, and that desperation is going to be her downfall. I can’t sink to the same level.
I have to stay calm. Stay ready.
We return to the safe house to wait out the night, pacing, pacing...until finally morning dawns, the execution scheduled to begin in less than an hour. As soon as we see Killian and Sloan, Deacon is going to do the beam-me-up-Scotty thing, transporting me straight to the scene of the crime. He tries to talk me out of going that route, but I’m determined. Even when he tells me the human body always has a poor reaction to traveling from one point to the other in only a blink. Whatever. I’m willing to risk a little motion sickness.
Reporters from all over the world are on the scene. Video feed dominates every wall in the living room, the projections offering us a panoramic view of the festivities, and we watch as the street fills with a sea of humans wanting to witness the horrific event. It’s as if this is nothing but a game.
Public executions aren’t held often, but they are held and they are legal. Realms are allowed to punish signees who violate contracts as they see fit. Because Secondlife is a sure thing, the deaths aren’t considered terribly serious.
I’ve seen three in my lifetime, and I remember my parents throwing popcorn at the screen.
Come on, come on. We’re already armed for the most brutal of combat—I’m wearing half the weapons that were in my bag. All I could hold. There’s a time for peace, and there’s a time for war.
Threaten my loved ones, and it’s war. No question.
Deacon’s mouth curls in distaste. “Everyone looks so excited.”
He’s right. No matter which direction the camera pans, smiles abound. Someone even brought a beach ball to toss around the crowd.
Where is Archer? Why hasn’t he returned?
Cheers suddenly erupt along with whistles and catcalls. Tensing, I scan