Page 22 of Only Cold Depths
I stared down at the rippling sapphsidian, my reflection weak, watery, and wavering, just like my seer magic. More frustration scorched through my body, and I whirled around and stormed away. The silver light around the nexus abruptly vanished, like a moon that had been eclipsed by a sun, but I kept going, trudging through the darkness.
A minute passed, maybe two or five or even ten. I could never tell how long I had been in here or how much time had passed out in the real world. I was probably still lying on the medtable, but right now, I yearned to wake up, no matter how painful the robotic needles stitching my arm together might be.
Finally, I stepped out of the darkness and back into the round room of my mindscape. I stopped and looked at all the vines, flowers, and eyes, but just like the nexus, none of them did anything—
A door to my left threw itself open and banged against the wall.
Esmina’s snide voice drifted out of the opening.You’re the weak link, destined to be broken.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I muttered, even though it was just a memory.
As if my words were a command, the memory rewound and started playing again, stuck on that one sound bite like an old-fashioned record skipping on the same spot again and again.
You’re the weak link, destined to be broken . . .
A growl erupted from my throat, and I stomped toward the spiral stairs. I had never tried to leave my mindscape before, but everything in here reminded me what a failure I was. Even worse, Esmina’s mocking declaration from earlier today mixed with Nerezza’s sneering insult from long ago, creating a cackling chorus of derision.
You’re the weak link . . . useless child . . . destined to be broken . . . useless child . . .
I ground my teeth and walked faster.
In the distance, a loud chime sounded. The voices cut off, and the images in the doorways flickered and faded away.
“Treatment complete. Injuries healed. Life saved,” the smug feminine voice of the medtable rang out.
Startled, I blinked and left my mindscape. My eyes snapped open, and I found myself staring up at the medtable’s polyplastic bubble.
The table chirped out a few facts about how much of my skin it had repaired and replaced, as if it was giving itself a verbal pat on the back for a job well done. Then the plastic detached itself from one side of the medtable, arched up, and vanished back into its hiding spot.
I slowly sat up, swung my legs over the side of the table, and examined my right arm. No traces of the ugly blaster burn and deep puncture wound remained, and my skin was pink and smooth, as though I had just sloughed it clean with a fancy spa scrub.
My body might be whole again, but my head and heart were still pounding with anger and frustration, and Esmina’s and Nerezza’s snide voices echoed in my ears.
Even worse was the knowledge that they were right. Until I figured out what my psionic nexus did or meant or how to fully use my seer magic, Iwasthe weak link, destined to be broken—and in danger of dragging Kyrion down with me.
Stillhauntedbymyturbulent thoughts, I went into the bathroom and took a hot shower to wash away the blood, sweat, and dirt of the fight with the bounty hunters. Then I changed into some clean clothes and went in search of Kyrion.
He was in the library, glaring down at the holoscreen embedded in the table like he wanted to smash it to pieces with his fists.
“What happened? Did the local gossipcasters realize we were on Tropics 44?”
“No, nothing like that.” Kyrion sighed and raised his gaze to mine. “Zane contacted me.”
Shock swept over me in a cold, numbing wave. “When? How? Why?”
“While you were getting healed. He used a private channel that was part of an old Arrow mission.” Kyrion hesitated. “I recorded our conversation. You can watch it—if you want.”
More of that cold, numb shock swept over me, even as my heart hammered in a quick, painful rhythm. I jerked my head in agreement. Kyrion hit a few keys, and Zane popped into view.
I watched my brother carefully, cataloging and analyzing his every word, breath, twitch, and gesture, but Kyrion’s conversation was similar to the one I’d had with Zane in his tower library a few weeks ago, and I didn’t glean any new information from his taunts.
Kyrion waved his hand, cutting off the recording. His shoulders were tense, and the sticky cobweb in my mind pulsed with anger, worry, and more than a little dread.
“Don’t pay any attention to Zane,” I said. “He’s all bluster and bravado. We’ve heard all his threats before, and no doubt we’ll hear them all again—and again and again, thanks to the gossipcasts. Sometimes I think he’s the only reason they have enough ratings to stay in business. They might as well renameCelestial StarstheZane Zimmer Adoration Channel.”
Kyrion smiled a little at my dark humor, but the expression quickly vanished. “Zane is right about one thing. We can’t run forever. Sooner or later, someone is going to get the drop on us. And when that happens, I’m afraid . . .”
He paused and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was much lower and rougher than before. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you and that you’ll get hurt again—or worse, end up in Holloway’s clutches.”
