Sweet Jesus, how had this become Grace’s lot? Or Leto’s? What kind of misery did this portend for his devoted sister, the spiritual one in his family?

Marguerite’s voice rippled through his mind. You have to help him. Marguerite stood away from the foot of the bed. He turned toward her but shook his head. He didn’t know what he should do.

Marguerite, however, widened her eyes pointedly then jerked her head in Grace’s direction. Thorne thought he understood but he didn’t want this for Grace, not the breh-hedden with Leto, or any other Warrior of the Blood.

He ignored his woman and turned to stare at Leto some more.

“Thorne,” Leto called to him, but his voice had a pinched quality.

Thorne moved to the right side of the bed, opposite Grace. “I’m here.”

“There are things I must tell you. About the … army…” But his body seized up on him. He grimaced, and it looked as though every muscle, in every limb, had decided to contract at exactly the same moment.

Shit.

The man couldn’t even open his eyes. He glanced at Grace but she shook her head. She then pressed her eyes closed for a long moment, maybe tossing up a quick prayer, then opened them. He always forgot how pale her lashes were above her green-gold eyes. She met his gaze. “He’s dying, Thorne. My blood will revive him, at least for a time, but he refuses to drink from me. Will you order him? Please?”

Thorne’s chest tightened. His gaze shifted to Leto. That familiar brotherly affection rushed over him, for the man who had battled beside him century after century. Leto couldn’t die, no matter what terrible things he’d done during his time with the enemy.

That big thing stirred inside him again, and a powerful intuition rose up strong and sure. Leto was critical to the terrible events soon to unfold—and his destiny was linked with Grace’s. Together they had work to accomplish.

He gave himself a shake. All fine and dandy, but how on earth was Leto to survive a permanent withdrawal from dying blood?

And to have him drink from Grace? It seemed like an abomination. Grace deserved better. Grace deserved someone pure, someone not associated with the war, someone who wasn’t a goddamn death vampire.

“I am not his commanding officer,” Thorne said.

Marguerite moved up beside him and nudged him. He turned and looked down at her, meeting her scoffing gaze. “What?”

“Don’t be an ass. Leto’s guilt is holding him hostage right now and we need him here. Even I can tell that he will obey you if you say the word and that’s not because I just had a special vision.” She did air quotes and rolled her eyes. “Issue the goddamn order.”

Shit. Fuck. Well, this was one thing Marguerite had always been able to do: clarify the situation.

“Fine.” He leaned over Leto’s face and said, “Take my sister’s fucking blood, you sonofabitch. We need you alive, not dead. Try to look at it this way: The creator has a good goddamn reason for pairing you with my Grace. As in maybe, just maybe, you need to stick around to save her life. I won’t be able to do it, not with the load on my shoulders.”

Leto’s eyes opened, just a slit. He lifted his left hand and Thorne grabbed it, holding tight. Leto’s lips almost curved as he said, “You were always … such a prick.”

Thorne chuckled. “Well, at least that’s something we agree on. Now drink. Just wait till we can clear you some privacy.” He took a deep breath. “Will you do that, Leto? Please?”

Leto searched his eyes and his fingers tightened on Thorne’s. After a long moment, he nodded.

“Good. Good.” Thorne’s eyes burned, dammit.

Movement near the door caught his attention. He shifted his gaze and saw that Diallo was waiting for him. Thorne had asked to see him for a few minutes so Diallo had folded in from the sister-colony in Florida One. He looked back at Leto. “We need you, brother. Marguerite’s right. I can feel it as well. We need you here. And we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Leto nodded.

Thorne released his hand.

He turned to Grace. “Will you be staying with him?” The moment he spoke the words, however, he knew the question was unnecessary. He understood her spirit and he could see her resolve. In fact, her chin almost looked mulish, tilted up as it was.

She nodded. He rounded the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. Shit, that earlier burning had put a wet sheen over his eyes. He squeezed, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. She stayed in that position for a few seconds.

After a moment, he met her gaze and sent, Are you all right?

Again, she nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m very much at peace. This is my path.” She put her fist against her chest.

Thorne cursed under his breath. Goddamn the Convent. That bitch, Sister Quena, would have taught submission above all things, but it was just so that she could wield her spiritual hammer over the devotiates.

You have choices here, Grace.

But at that, she lifted her chin a little more. “I know the difference between when to fight and when to relinquish control. I do know the difference.”

He released her and took a step back. Her voice held resonance, even vehemence. Did he really know his sister? But then for the past hundred years he’d only seen her, only related to her, in the Convent setting. Now here she was, staring him down. “Fine,” he said at last. “Understood.”

Grace straightened her shoulders. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

He inclined his head but all he could think was, Oh, God, what now?

Grace took a deep breath, which lifted his blood pressure another notch. “It would seem I’m … obsidian flame, the blue variety, though I don’t know yet what that means.”

Thorne blinked. He couldn’t have heard her right. Grace was the third member of the obsidian flame triad? How was this possible? He glanced at Marguerite, but she inclined her head.

Leto turned in Grace’s direction and tried to rise up on his elbows, but failed. When he landed against the pillow, he said, “You’re … obsidian flame?”

“I am. And the power I possess, which is what brought you out of Moscow Two, seems to come from the earth. I’m not sure of the implications.” Here she glanced at Marguerite, then back to Leto. “In fact, I have no idea what this is or what it will mean for the future.” She shifted her gaze back to Thorne. “Casimir made it clear that Greaves will want to destroy obsidian flame above all things. Both of you need to be prepared for that.”

“Grace,” Thorne whispered. He could sense it was true but he felt suddenly very sad. “I would not have wished this on you.”

Grace tilted her head. “But it is on me and I’m welcoming this new power. I don’t fear it. I have been praying for a very long time to be of use to my world, and now perhaps I can be. Do not pity me. There is nothing here to feel bad about.”

All Thorne could do was nod several times in a row. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He was way too angry about everything right now. That his beloved sister had essentially just been dragged into the front lines of the war started splitting something inside him very wide. The only thing that held him together was the fact that she seemed to desire what had come upon her.

Fine.

What-the-fuck-ever.

One last glance at Leto. “I’ll bring Endelle by tomorrow. You’d better still be alive.”

Another faint smile touched Leto’s lips. You know, he sent, you look like you could chew nails right now. Or spit fire.

A familiar, leading comment.

In former centuries, Leto would have offered a remark like that, Thorne would have responded, then Leto would have perhaps asked a pointed question and drawn him out, part of all that mentor bullshit.

But those were former times and though Thorne might have at one time sought counsel from Leto it was not something he could do now. And it wasn’t just that a hundred years had passed with Leto serving the monster of Second Earth. No, something was changing within Thorne’s heart. Right now the only counsel he trusted was his own.

He turned to Marguerite and held out his hand. She was still at the foot of the bed. She stared at his hand and lifted a brow.

“Are you gonna give me trouble, too?” he asked.

“Hell, yes,” she responded, but she rounded the bed and put her palm in his.

Thorne turned away from Leto’s bed and shifted to put his arm around Marguerite’s waist as together they crossed the room.

He had to let the situation go. Grace was right: There were times you just had to relinquish control. That Grace was now linked with Leto made this one of those times. This was her path, not his. His path, on the other hand, was running her thumb up and down his palm and working him up. Her rose scent was increasing, too, which meant she had something very specific on her mind. Given all that had happened, and all that he had just learned, the idea of taking Marguerite to bed really appealed to him.

When he reached the doorway where Diallo waited, the leader of the rogue colony turned into the foyer, let them walk past, then closed the door to the infirmary behind them.

Thorne was grateful. The last thing he needed to see or hear was his sister offering up her blood to Leto. He shuddered at the thought of it.

“Thank you for returning to speak with me,” Thorne said.

“Of course. You would not have summoned me for a trifling reason and I promise you, Warrior Thorne, I will always do my best to come when called. That is my promise to you.”

His words held a kind of weight that Thorne didn’t quite get. But it was clear that Diallo trusted him, which was a good thing.

In short order, Thorne explained the events of the last few hours. He spoke of the battle, the shifting mist, the involvement of a Fourth ascender, and Brynna’s role in helping Marguerite to achieve pure vision.

Despite the fact that he left out the very significant point about Marguerite coming fully into her obsidian power, Diallo turned toward her then met and held her gaze. “Your power has expanded significantly since I last saw you. I can sense it in you.”