She hesitated, knew the answer must be utter truth. Looked down at their faces and into her memories. Joyous Denal, shy behind a bouquet of flowers. Emotionless Brennan, hungering for the feelings that were stolen from him.
And now their lives. This was her cost.
Will you let Conlan know that I loved him?
She bowed her head, ignored the tears streaming down her face. The pain that shredded her heart.
She nodded.
Said the words out loud, needed to hear them. A promise. An offering. A solemn oath. "Yes. I offer myself for these men."
The water spiraled up from the floor, out from the walls, and down from the ceiling. Cushioned Riley and the two warriors in its curling caress.
Somehow, she knew to hold out her hands.
Somehow, she knew what appeared in them.
Shining with the glare of a dozen suns, the image of the Trident coalesced across her palms an instant before she felt the weight of it.
A fierce luminosity spread from the Trident across Riley's body to encompass first Denal, then Brennan. Quickly it grew so bright that she was unable to see them, had to shut her eyes against the glare. But she felt their still forms next to her.
The water turned to fire, and it seared across her back like the lash of a flame-tipped whip, driving her down, screaming, falling, burning.
As the blackness came, she welcomed it. Her life for theirs. Her final thought was of her sister.
Hey, Quinn. You'd be proud of me. Took me dying to do it, but I'm finally part of your revolution.
Even as Conlan fought to raise his head, the Trident had disappeared in a blaze of color and light. Reisen and Alaric had screamed as they were thrown back by an explosion of power that blew out every light in the building.
By the time Ven and the others had gotten their wits back enough to pull out the flashlights they carried, Conlan had jumped up on the wooden stage to find Alaric.
He knelt beside his friend, relieved beyond measure when he heard the priest still breathing. In the light shining from Ven's flashlight, Alaric was dead white. Alaric's eyes opened, and the fiery green glow in them burned up at Conlan. "The Trident?"
A rasping voice came from behind him. Reisen. He whirled to protect himself from the danger he'd ignored like a fool in his fear for Alaric.
But Reisen was no threat. If anything, he looked worse than Alaric. Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes and from his nostrils. "It's gone," he gasped. "That voice-in my head-talking of death. Then the Trident blew up in my hands."
Reisen dropped his head in his hands, not paying the slightest attention to the half dozen swords, daggers, and guns aimed at him from close range. "It's gone. What have I done?"
"You heard her, too? You heard Riley in your head?" Conlan grabbed Reisen's arm, shook him. "You heard her call?"
"We all heard her, brother," Ven said. Conlan scanned the group, registered the nodding heads.
Leapt to his feet, then took to the air. "Then she needs us. Denal, Brennan-they all need us now."
And he transformed to mist, soaring across the room to the window that would lead him to the outdoor air and back to Riley.
Calling out to her with his emotions as he did.
Praying, when he felt only blankness, that it wasn't too late.
Reisen opened his eyes. The power drain had taken him under, probably for a while, if the stiffness of the arm bent under his body was any indication. He struggled to sit up, looking around the dim room. The moonlight through the windows shone the only light on the devastation.
Bodies, both human and Atlantean, lay scattered on the floor. Many were stirring even as he watched; not dead, then, but caught in the blast.
Then he realized what was missing. Conlan and the Trident were gone.
He'd failed.
Reisen closed his eyes as the impact of his failure crashed over him. He was out of options and should end his own life. His death would be marked as the passing of the traitor who had destroyed the honor of the House of Mycenae.
The shouts snapped him out of his indulgence of self-pity. Wave after wave of vampires flew in through the windows to land on his warriors and the defenseless Platoists.
A full dozen headed for him.
He smiled, unsheathed his daggers. At least he'd die as a warrior and take some of the infernal bloodsuckers with him.
"Bring it on."