In researching the world she’d snagged Em’s soul from, she’d briefly come in contact with the idea. So she knew what it was. She was just surprised that Loki had gone to the trouble to get his hands on it.
“What can I do for you, little sister?”
Loki’s drawl was particularly annoying that day and she fought not to scowl.
She loved him, but she wanted to strangle him sometimes. The goddess of peace knew better than anyone that sometimes it took a bit of upheaval to create a peaceful outcome (though that was not her first choice as it usually wasn’t the best choice).
“I need your help.”
She explained the situation. How Umbra had made a promise to the Prince of Cyrin, how the other god had danced around her promise to the bloodline of Wyn, and the problem she was having with the connection of a single soul.
With all her connections, promises, and responsibilities, she simply could not sustain that connection for much longer on her own.
He hadn’t taken off the VR helmet the entire time she talked.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you help me?”
She waited, but he didn’t answer her right away. Swinging his arm to hit a virtual tennis ball and score a point.
“Loki!”
“I’m thinking.”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Aware that the child’s tie between bodies was dimming even as she was talking to him. It wasn’t in danger yet, but it made her nervous.
Finally, he finished the match (victor, of course), and slid the helmet off his head.
“What do I get out of it?”
She scowled. “What do you want out of it?”
It was just easier to ask than to offer. For Loki. Any other god (besides Helios) she could’ve come up with some sort of offer.
It made her feel helpless.
He tilted his head to the side and studied her. That day he was wearing his most charming face, and he had used it to smile at her.
“A favor. Where and when I ask for it.”
That was some time ago.
The tie had been strong since then, no longer relying on her to maintain it. In fact, its strength had reassured her to the point she’d momentarily forgotten to check in.
After all, she couldn’t actually make choices for Em or anyone else. All she could do was smooth a few stones out of their path.
Whether their interference helped her keep her promise to the Wyn bloodline, or if they made choices that resulted in failure, she had kept her word as far as she could. There would be no divine retribution so long as she’d done her best with what resources she had.
It made her sad.
She understood her divinity wasn’t a guarantee of success.
How aggravating.
Because she’d taken a step back, what she found when she checked in startled her. Swooping down to earth, she found Loki had not only maintained the tie, but had also chosen a solid form and was actively interacting with the child.
Em was in the middle of a lesson on cleaning wounds when Felice appeared in the infirmary.
Neither the child nor the physician was aware of her presence. But the little slime shifted to ‘look’ at her. Loki probably saw her just fine, even though his current form had no eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Are you annoyed with me, little sister?”
She rubbed her fingers across her forehead then jabbed one into his jelly.
“I said to keep the connection strong. I don’t want you anywhere near her.”
He giggled and Em glanced at him. Deciding his interruption wasn’t important, she went back to cleaning blood off another man’s arm.
“But it’s fun here!”
“If you mess this up-”
“Don’t you trust me?”
She let out a long, looong sigh.
Humans thought of ‘peace’ as being some sort of simple emotion. A lack of turbulence in the soul.
That was both true and far from the truth.
Often, that sense of being centered, could only happen after a storm. Peace could not exist without storms. Not that she caused the storms, it was just her essence to find quiet and balance when they occur.
Though annoyed, her mind was busily looking for ways to resolve the emotion. And find balance with Loki.
And not trusting him when he’d agreed to her favor was a sure way to kick up more dust.
However, living with the disquiet was also not an option. There was no peace in that.
“I’m not one to hold a grudge, but you’ve yet to prove yourself trustworthy.” She folded her arms. “Why are you here?”
He giggled again and wrapped himself around Em’s neck. That giggle grated Felice’s skin.
Em, who was used to him adjusting like this, simply pulled his wobbly tentacles free from her neck. Then transferred them to the strap across her chest. She was intently watching the physician as he talked her through stitching up a wound while he did the job.
“Nothing that will interfere with your goal. I’m just amusing myself.”
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. It was beginning to ache. It shouldn’t be possible. She was a god.
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Her priestess would be appalled at having her expectations dashed.
“Was the connection to the boy on purpose?”
“I told you before it wasn’t.”
“Did you find out what’s causing it?”
Felice wrapped her arms around herself, bouncing on her toes. She didn’t know that Loki was watching her sharply, drinking in every movement.
“I have some theories. But every time I track them, they fizzle out. It makes little sense.”
“Is it a problem?”
She bit her lip, bouncing harder. It was a side of her she could never show a priestess. They would be unable to reconcile this child-like posture with their great god.
“Not… really. No. In fact, I think its helping.”
“Then stop worrying about it.”
“Loki,” Em hissed. “Stop moving or I’m going to put you in that bucket over there.”
He made a mewling sound, startling the physician.
“It’s almost as if it understands you.” The physician chuckled. Then patted the patient’s arm. “You can go now, sir. Keep it clean and you are forbidden to pick up a sword until it heals.”
Felice watched the humans. Smiling.
It was peaceful here. The men and the child were getting along, the weather was closing in on autumn and was nearly perfect.
Even Loki wasn’t bothering her right now.
She was unaware of the way his eye-less gaze lingered on her. The way he looked at the light radiating at the center of her being.
Aware of the deadness at his own center and bitterly wondering why.
He didn’t have time to wonder because Em suddenly collapsed. Taking him with her.
“My lady! You, go get the Marquis. Now!”
***
She couldn’t breathe.
The world was full of confusing sounds and colors. Movement. But she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see properly.
Vaguely she heard the monitors. Were they always that loud?
And the pain.
How could she not feel it in the dream world?
It tore at her, twisted her, gnawed at her. So intense it should have made her pass out. Instead, it kept her hovering just below consciousness.
Someone cursed, but she wasn’t sure if it came from the arena (where Asher stood in his yellow and pink uniform) or from the doctor bending over her. She was aware of both places but could only concentrate on one at a time.
In a desperate attempt to get away from the pain, she focused on the arena.
It didn’t help.
With a whimper, she fell to her knees on the arena floor.
She couldn’t breathe.
In that moment, Asher was at peace. Centering himself for the fight.
But instead of turning to his opponent as the fight was announced, he turned to where he thought the radiating presence was.
“Angel?”
Asher didn’t have time to investigate the fleeting sensation that crossed his soul before the match started. He barely had time to raise his arm and block the first attack, his opponent determined not to give him an inch.
A shock of agony ripped through Em, and her vision doubled. Suddenly, she could see both her room in the ICU and the arena at the same time. The images overlapped each other like a double exposure.
Another shock ripped through her body.
They were trying to restart her heart.
But she was conscious!
It hurt.
She wept, holding her chest and rocking.
Asher tumbled over Em. For a second, there was a jolt of recognition between them. Then he lurched to the side as a weapon sang through the air. It hit the ground with a resounding clang, sparks erupting from the stone beneath Em.
She didn't feel it. Thank the gods!
I’m dying.
This time, I’m really dying.
Suddenly she was gripped with an insane, desperate desire.
She never saw Maddie. This world wasn’t real. This dream wasn’t real. And she couldn’t fight her own sick and damaged body any more.
But… she couldn’t die so meaninglessly and without a fight.
Any fight.
Her legs collapsed under her again and again as she stumbled toward Asher, who was now half a dozen yards from her.
He was fast and strong. Stronger and faster than a fifteen-year-old should’ve been. Especially one who’d spent the last three years in slavery and under abuse. She was vaguely aware of magic pumping through him, filling his veins and keeping him upright.
He was better trained, better prepared, better… she had no reason to be worried for him. She should just focus on her own pain…
But his opponent was desperate.
He hacked at Asher with no mercy in his eyes. Even when Asher got him first and blood streamed from a half dozen wounds (one of which would be fatal if left untreated), he still roared and hacked.
Em stumbled to her knees under a wave of agony. Which momentarily blackened out the second image of the ICU.
At the same time, Asher was struck squarely on the arm.
His sparse armor deflected some of the blow, but not all of it. It crumpled under the weight of the other man’s weapon, pushing inward.
Rendering Asher’s sword arm useless.
The pain disoriented him, and he didn’t avoid the next blow. It hit his shield with a crunch and flung him backward.
“Ash-”
She couldn’t finish. Despite her efforts, his fight and her own condition had kept him out of reach. She wouldn’t make it before the next blow severed his head from his neck.
At Em’s dying body, in the background of frantic doctors and nurses, the heart monitor had buzzed for too long on flatline.
The second image of the ICU completely vanished from her sight.
In that moment, the pain suddenly… stopped.
She saw the cord Loki had showed her before. Bright and golden. And vanishing at an alarming rate as it sped toward her. A smaller cord, one connecting her to Asher, appeared. Looking like a tiny wire compared to the umbilical cord.
She grabbed the wire and pushed everything she had into.
It lit up.
So bright she dazedly wondered how the audience didn’t see it.
Someone saw it.
Asher’s wounds closed up instantly under the rush of Em’s push. He rolled out of the way of the next swing and tripped his opponent. As the man stumbled back to regain his balance, Asher frantically looked for the light.
The line of light only burned for three seconds. Just three. He almost missed it.
Beyond the light, beyond his opponent who was raising his arms menacingly, he saw a crouched, dark shadow.
The shape was too vague to tell him what he was seeing.
Abruptly, the line of light and the shadow both exploded in a confetti of darkness. And he nearly lost his head again as he desperately returned to the fight.
Later… later… he’d have time to think about what he saw…
Later.
When he would have time to cry.
Because he was sure someone had died for him… again.
***
No one knew why Em didn’t wake up.
She didn’t have a fever. There was no sign of illness at all. And unlike last time, this episode hadn’t started with strain or emotional distress.
That anyone noticed, anyway.
For three days, she moaned and tossed on her bed. Racked in nightmares. Tracy sat on the other side of the bed, holding her hand. Talking to her. Singing.
Along with the physician, every day Kimball Rune checked on her, too.
He had to remind Flint over and over that no matter how many times he examined her, if there was no magic involved, he would not detect it.
And no matter how much mana Kimball or other mages poured into her, nothing changed.
She neither worsened nor got better.
When she hadn’t woken up after the first night, Flint pushed most of his work onto Ralph and sat by her bedside. He sat military still, more like a statue as he stared at the opposite wall with his arms crossed.
Listening to distressed noises he couldn’t save her from.