Page 13 of Shattered Jewel

And our answering silence backs up his point.

“It’s nothing we haven’t endured before,” Kaspian says while swirling his drink.

He’s right, damn him. We’ve all been on the receiving end of the Sovereigns’ brand of “motivation”—it’s how we all ended up here in the first place.

I’m saved by agreeing with Kaspian, maybe even changing my plans, when Wilder throws back his head and laughs, coarse and hard.

He says breathlessly between laughs, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You want to blackmail them?”

Kaspian sets down his glass and rises, straightening the lapels of his blazer. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No, no, go ahead, use that as your bargaining chip. They own everything we have and everyone we’ve ever known. But sure, give the Court the one thing we’ve kept for ourselves. Make sure to spread our legs for them, too, so they can fuck us fully.”

“Wilder,” I start to say, but his laughter cuts off and he looks directly at me, his gaze fierce.

But the flint in his eyes is fueled by something else entirely. Elara’s introduction into our lives has brought his loss of Teagan back to the forefront, the two women becoming the same person: one he can’t save.

It’s consuming him from the inside out.

Giving the Sovereigns Elara’s necklace, or exposing Maverick’s brief possession of the whole Heart, means leaving Elara vulnerable, ensuring the Sovereigns’ continued interest in her, perhaps bringing her to their chambers and doing god knows what until they discover what she knows. Even then, they might keep her out of pure, vindictive enjoyment, exactly like we do.

Save for our willingness to keep her whole.

My lips stiffen. Twist. Turn bloodless and feral.

Wilder has a true and striking point.

They can’t have her.

“We hold on to all of our information for now,” I say with surprising calm against the spreading wildfire in my head. “Including the necklace. Until we’re certain it won’t backfire on us.”

Kaspian doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods, understanding the hierarchy and that I’m in charge, which is also shocking. I have to believe he’s come to the same conclusion—presenting Maverick on a silver platter means that Elara will be the Sovereigns’ dessert.

“I can access Maverick’s encrypted files, given some time,” Kaspian says. “The bastard was good at tech, I’ll give him that. Or he knew someone, but I guarantee you they won’t be as good as me.”

I say to Kaspian, “Find more about what Maverick knew, take us to where you discovered this flash drive, and we’ll go from there.”

“What are we supposed to do about the summons?”

At last, Axe creeps from the shadows after asking the question, his face pale and angular from the play of dark and light against his features.

I set my jaw. “Leave the Sovereigns to me.”

Exhaustion gnaws at my brain as I lurch down the underground tunnel leading to our ritual chambers. I need to rest, but the thought of Elara fuels the thrashing tension within me. My body rebels against the distance from her, every muscle straining in her direction.

But in order to return to her, the Sovereigns have to be satisfied in some way tonight.

My gaze slants to Axe, his hulking frame mere inches from my right shoulder, a sentinel poised to intercept any threat. Wilder prowls to my left. His movements are fluid and predatory, a jungle cat stalking its prey. Kaspian guards our rear, his keen eyes scanning for any anomaly.

Our fighting circle was trained in us at a young age. Indeed, it was ingrained in us the instant we were torn from our beds after the Court’s invitation, which conveniently did not list a date or time to arrive.

How old were we when we had to audition to become initiates? Thirteen?

It’s a branding iron that has left an indelible mark on my psyche. Torn from our privileged homes, thrust into a world of violence and brutality, molded into the weapons the Court desired. The training, the torture, the endless trials designed to break us, to reshape us into their twisted image.

As legacies, our parents expected the abduction, but didn’t warn us. They didn’t get a heads-up, so why should their offspring?

We should be thankful we were legacies, which meant our invitations were inherited but not our membership. Those scouted and chosen, the random selections around the globe, were taken with a lot less grandeur and much brutality.

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