Lifeblood
Page 107
The princess! She is energizing me. No, not just me but all of us. Levi is sitting straighter, as well.
“One day,” he says, “you will be able to do that. As for this...we will overcome. We have been knocked down, but we won’t stay down.” He stands and offers me a hand, helping me to my feet. “Today we salvage.”
We take different Gates and Stairwells through the realm. The Capital of New, the Baths of Restoration and the House of Secrets sustained the most damage.
For the next several hours, we dig through the rubble, searching for survivors. The other Generals work alongside us, and so do the newbies. Old and young have come together as one.
The jagged rocks cut my hands, and I lose a couple of nails, but as we find survivors, my determination is renewed and I continue on. At some point, Deacon joins us. He’s covered in soot and grime and there’s a bruise on his jawline, but he’s steady.
A little while later, someone taps my shoulder, startling me. I turn to find Clay and launch into his open arms. He hugs me tight, as if I’m the only life raft in the middle of a typhoon.
When we part, he chucks me under the chin. “Why didn’t the two fours feel like eating dinner?”
How much do I love this boy! “Because they already ate. Sorry, I mean eight.” I press my forehead against the center of his chest. “I’m happy you’re alive and well.”
He gives me another hug. “I wish you could have seen Killian. He swooped in, armed and dangerous. Slayed and took names. No one could stop him.”
That’s my guy.
A door opens in the Grid, and I see Archer’s beautiful face. My tears return.
I whisper, “Today we will mourn, but new strength will be born. For those who have fallen, we will not be downtrodden. We will rise and we will shine, and in the sand we will draw a line. We will fight for what we believe, and to our hope we will cleave. Victory will be ours, and in the darkness, we will glitter like stars.”
Archer offers me a sad smile.
Clay frames my face with his hands, lifting my head to kiss my temple. “The past is in the past, where it belongs, and the future awaits us...but there’s something else we need to discuss.”
Archer snorts. “Tell him he sucks.”
I laugh and say, “Not bad.”
“Thank you.” Clay wipes a tear from my cheek. “I hunted you down to deliver a bit of good news. Kayla’s awake, and she wants to see us.”
* * *
While half of the Sanatorium is in perfect condition, the other half is destroyed. Triage tents have been set up around the rubble, Healers doing everything they can to save the injured.
Kayla has a gurney in back of the tent farthest from the others. She’s propped up on a mound of pillows. The enclosure holds fourteen other patients, some missing limbs, some thrashing in pain.
War is never pretty.
Levi beat us here. He’s sitting in a chair next to her bed, holding her hand. The two haven’t noticed us; they’re too focused on each other.
“Did I...did I lose my citizenship?” Her voice trembles. There’s a bandage between her eyes, hiding her wound.
“No, Miss Brooks. You didn’t lose your citizenship. You simply lost your way.”
The words surprise me, even though part of me expected to hear them. Levi is the epitome of the Troikan way of life. He doesn’t tell us the path to walk; he shows us. And this...this is what changes people for the better. Unconditional love.
A sob bubbles from her. “I’m so stupid. I never should have believed—” Her gaze lands on me, and she sobs again, sobs so hard she can no longer speak coherently.
Levi stands. Though his dark hair is in complete disarray, he’s wearing a clean shirt. He pats my shoulder as he passes me, and says, “Give compassion, receive compassion.”
Then he’s gone. I take his place at Kayla’s bedside, and to my amazement, it’s not resentment or anger I feel but pity and compassion. I could just as easily have been the one to turn on my friends. The only difference is, I placed my trust in someone deserving; she didn’t.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she chokes out.
“I forgive you,” I say, and not because she’s apologized. I forgive her because I refuse to give hate a place in my life. Hate carried Victor to his disastrous end. Hate drove Myriad to attack a realm where innocent children played.
She only sobs harder.
On the other side of her bed, Clay pulls up a chair. “Enough blubbering like a baby.” His tone is stern and unbending. Un-Clay-like. “You made a mistake. Who hasn’t? Use the mistake as a tutor, learn from it, and move on.”
“P-people died.” She wipes at her tears with trembling hands. “I helped kill... I’m a murderer.”
“Yes,” I say. “You are.” It’s true. There’s no denying it, no coating it with sugar. “But don’t stay in here and wallow. Get out there and help the people you hurt.”
Reed joins us, squeezes my hand. “Victor and the other Myriad supporters would have found a way to attack us even without you.” A bandage covers his left eye and there’s a gash on his neck. “I just wish you’d come to me, told me what you were planning. I could have talked some sense into you.”
She sobs again. I let her cry it out, and as the minutes turn into hours, I doze on and off in my seat. I’m aware of people coming and going, but don’t snap to full attention until Deacon peeks his head through a slit in the tent. Our gazes meet, his expression grim; he motions me outside. I stand a little too quickly, bid the others a hasty goodbye and rush out.
“One day,” he says, “you will be able to do that. As for this...we will overcome. We have been knocked down, but we won’t stay down.” He stands and offers me a hand, helping me to my feet. “Today we salvage.”
We take different Gates and Stairwells through the realm. The Capital of New, the Baths of Restoration and the House of Secrets sustained the most damage.
For the next several hours, we dig through the rubble, searching for survivors. The other Generals work alongside us, and so do the newbies. Old and young have come together as one.
The jagged rocks cut my hands, and I lose a couple of nails, but as we find survivors, my determination is renewed and I continue on. At some point, Deacon joins us. He’s covered in soot and grime and there’s a bruise on his jawline, but he’s steady.
A little while later, someone taps my shoulder, startling me. I turn to find Clay and launch into his open arms. He hugs me tight, as if I’m the only life raft in the middle of a typhoon.
When we part, he chucks me under the chin. “Why didn’t the two fours feel like eating dinner?”
How much do I love this boy! “Because they already ate. Sorry, I mean eight.” I press my forehead against the center of his chest. “I’m happy you’re alive and well.”
He gives me another hug. “I wish you could have seen Killian. He swooped in, armed and dangerous. Slayed and took names. No one could stop him.”
That’s my guy.
A door opens in the Grid, and I see Archer’s beautiful face. My tears return.
I whisper, “Today we will mourn, but new strength will be born. For those who have fallen, we will not be downtrodden. We will rise and we will shine, and in the sand we will draw a line. We will fight for what we believe, and to our hope we will cleave. Victory will be ours, and in the darkness, we will glitter like stars.”
Archer offers me a sad smile.
Clay frames my face with his hands, lifting my head to kiss my temple. “The past is in the past, where it belongs, and the future awaits us...but there’s something else we need to discuss.”
Archer snorts. “Tell him he sucks.”
I laugh and say, “Not bad.”
“Thank you.” Clay wipes a tear from my cheek. “I hunted you down to deliver a bit of good news. Kayla’s awake, and she wants to see us.”
* * *
While half of the Sanatorium is in perfect condition, the other half is destroyed. Triage tents have been set up around the rubble, Healers doing everything they can to save the injured.
Kayla has a gurney in back of the tent farthest from the others. She’s propped up on a mound of pillows. The enclosure holds fourteen other patients, some missing limbs, some thrashing in pain.
War is never pretty.
Levi beat us here. He’s sitting in a chair next to her bed, holding her hand. The two haven’t noticed us; they’re too focused on each other.
“Did I...did I lose my citizenship?” Her voice trembles. There’s a bandage between her eyes, hiding her wound.
“No, Miss Brooks. You didn’t lose your citizenship. You simply lost your way.”
The words surprise me, even though part of me expected to hear them. Levi is the epitome of the Troikan way of life. He doesn’t tell us the path to walk; he shows us. And this...this is what changes people for the better. Unconditional love.
A sob bubbles from her. “I’m so stupid. I never should have believed—” Her gaze lands on me, and she sobs again, sobs so hard she can no longer speak coherently.
Levi stands. Though his dark hair is in complete disarray, he’s wearing a clean shirt. He pats my shoulder as he passes me, and says, “Give compassion, receive compassion.”
Then he’s gone. I take his place at Kayla’s bedside, and to my amazement, it’s not resentment or anger I feel but pity and compassion. I could just as easily have been the one to turn on my friends. The only difference is, I placed my trust in someone deserving; she didn’t.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she chokes out.
“I forgive you,” I say, and not because she’s apologized. I forgive her because I refuse to give hate a place in my life. Hate carried Victor to his disastrous end. Hate drove Myriad to attack a realm where innocent children played.
She only sobs harder.
On the other side of her bed, Clay pulls up a chair. “Enough blubbering like a baby.” His tone is stern and unbending. Un-Clay-like. “You made a mistake. Who hasn’t? Use the mistake as a tutor, learn from it, and move on.”
“P-people died.” She wipes at her tears with trembling hands. “I helped kill... I’m a murderer.”
“Yes,” I say. “You are.” It’s true. There’s no denying it, no coating it with sugar. “But don’t stay in here and wallow. Get out there and help the people you hurt.”
Reed joins us, squeezes my hand. “Victor and the other Myriad supporters would have found a way to attack us even without you.” A bandage covers his left eye and there’s a gash on his neck. “I just wish you’d come to me, told me what you were planning. I could have talked some sense into you.”
She sobs again. I let her cry it out, and as the minutes turn into hours, I doze on and off in my seat. I’m aware of people coming and going, but don’t snap to full attention until Deacon peeks his head through a slit in the tent. Our gazes meet, his expression grim; he motions me outside. I stand a little too quickly, bid the others a hasty goodbye and rush out.
