move or stand but Archer says, “We need to go before the authorities arrive,” so I do both. With the movement, the cuts I’ve sustained tear deeper into muscle, and my bones vibrate. My limbs are waterlogged. They weigh two tons, at least.
“The plane was on fire when it crashed into the water,” Archer says. “If we hadn’t buffered you, you would have died.”
“Thank you.” The words aren’t good enough, but they’re all I’ve got. I grind my molars as pain shoots through me. “Where are we?” Had the pilot gone off course?
“East Coast. New York.” He leads me to Sloan, who’s seated inside a circle of rocks, her knees drawn up to her chest as water froths around her feet. There’s a cut on her forehead and obscene streaks of blood over each of her cheeks. Her gaze is focused above, where rainbow beams of light dance through the sky. Either the northern lights have moved or there’s another realm battle going on.
“The pilot told me he was sorry, but he’d been offered the only thing he ever wanted.” Her chin trembles. “I didn’t understand at the time. He hit me, and when I opened my eyes, he was gone and we were...we were...”
“I know.” He willingly, purposely signed our death warrants. But...why? “Who would want us dead before we’d signed away our futures?”
“Myriad,” Archer says. “They’re tired of waiting for you to make a choice and don’t want to risk a covenant with Troika.”
No. “I don’t believe that. Killian fought to save us.” He’s alive. He has to be alive.
“Yes, and I’m sure he’ll be punished for it. He’s been different with you, going against orders, even killing Vans.”
Rocked to the bone, I look up to the sky and shout, “If Killian is hurt, I will never sign with Myriad.”
There’s a whistle of wind, and it scrapes against my nerves. But there’s no voice. No eruption of lights that spell out, He’s safe.
A really tall, really muscled guy—Deacon?—approaches us. His features are rough; they are those of a warrior who’s lived on the battlefield and danced in the blood of his enemies. His hair is cropped and dark, but his eyes are the color of summer, green and lush with life, the perfect foil to his ebony skin. His nose is a little too long and his mouth a little too thin but both work for him, and work well. He’ll never be on the cover of a magazine, but I’m willing to bet he’s the star of many fantasies.
He assists Sloan to her feet and drapes a jacket over her shoulders, speaking to Archer in a language I’ve never heard before. A beautiful language that rolls from his tongue.
Archer replies in the same language.
“Come,” he finally says to me.
“What—” I begin.
He already knows what I’m going to ask. “The Troikan language. That way, if any spirits from Myriad lurk nearby, they won’t understand what we’re saying.”
We’re hustled to a van he’s procured. The back is empty, perfect for lying down.
The driver introduces himself—yep, he’s Deacon. As he takes corners a little too swiftly, Archer does his best to patch our wounds. He doesn’t have the most delicate touch, and the bumpy ride only makes his inelegant ministrations worse. I wince when he ties the bandage around my arm a little too tight.
Boom!
The van rattles, and both Sloan and I gasp.
“A battle between the realms,” Archer confirms. “My boss’s men are stopping Madame Bennett’s men from getting close to you.”
No wonder the battles seem to follow me. They are. “What about Killian?”
“No one has reported seeing him.”
Fear and disappointment combine, threatening to flatten me. “Why don’t you just give us your Lifeblood?” That’s how he healed Sloan of her frostbite.
“We lost too much fighting our way to you before the crash and even more as we fished you out of the water.”
Now that I’ve hemorrhaged, I understand.
“If we lose any more,” he says, “we’ll be useless for days. Since your injuries aren’t life threatening, I’m not going to weaken myself. You need me strong.”
“I get it,” I say, and I do.
We lapse into silence. Sloan is shivering, so I draw her closer. I should be as traumatized as she is, but despite everything, I’m somehow calm. Well, calmish. And tired, the vibrations from the road doing their best to lure me to sleep. I fight to remain awake. Part of me suspects I’ll open my eyes and find out I’m back in Many Ends.
“All right, folks.” Deacon’s voice