Dominion Read Online Free Page B

there was a risk involved, because to explore she had to open herself up, and that left her vulnerable. She could not examine without being examined in turn. About that much, at least, Meia and Paul had been correct.
    Nevertheless, Syl was furious at them for interfering, and for treating her like some kind of child. They didn’t understand what was happening to her, or how she was growing and changing; they didn’t realize that she was only beginning to tap her new potential. But then again, how could they, when Syl herself didn’t entirely understand what was happening either, and a small but very real part of her was absolutely terrified by the increase in her powers. She found herself again holding on to the little amulet that hung around her neck, the little item of jewelry that had once belonged to Elda—sad Elda, brave Elda, dead Elda—and from which she now drew a kind of consolation. Back on the Marque, the home of the Sisterhood, Elda had been seen as little more than a drudge, but ultimately she had been so much more—a spy, a freedom fighter—and her discovery had led to her inevitable death at the hands of the Gifted, Syrene’s most vicious Novices, which made her a martyr too.
    With a weary sigh, Syl activated the nictitating membranes over her eyes. It was the closest thing she had to eyelids. She didn’t envy human beings much, but one aspect of their physicality that she would gladly have spliced into the Illyri DNA was the gift of eyelids. If nothing else, they enabled humans to shut out most visual stimuli, bright light apart, and send a signal to others that any disturbance would be unwelcome. In the absence of them, the semitransparent membranes would have to suffice.
    Syl had felt different ever since the events at the palace at Erebos, when she had been forced to unleash herself on the Gifted. At the time, she had experienced a kind of surge of exultation and energy as she had brushed aside each of the young Nairene Novices. Initially she had put it down to anger and adrenaline, and—perhaps—the secret joy of at last being able to test herself against worthy opponents. On Erebos, Syl had killed, and she was troubled by how little guilt or regret she had felt at taking the lives of others.
    They made me do it, she reminded herself over and over. The Gifted had murdered unarmed Illyri, and had been about to kill Paul when she intervened. Had Syl faltered, even for a second, they would have murdered her too. They had given her no choice.
    But—and here was the terrible truth, the secret dark stain that could not, must not, be revealed to anyone, not even Paul—Syl was glad that they had forced her to act. She hated them—Sarea, Xaron, Mila, Nemeine, and, most of all, Tanit—and their viciousness had given her an excuse to act on that hatred. They had been dangerous, but Syl was far more lethal than they could ever have imagined.
    Now, in the tense quiet of the Nomad ’s cabin, Syl re-created those moments, and felt again those bursts of elation, like lightning flashing through her system, and realized that they had been strongest when she caused the death of one of the Gifted. It was as though in dying they had released their essence, the thing that gave them their psychic abilities, and it had immediately transferred itself to Syl, seeking to earth itself in her. Each time one of the Gifted breathed her last, Syl’s powers had grown. But even that could not explain the leap in her abilities since she had passed through the Derith wormhole. These were powers on an entirely new scale: to be able to escape the physical, to escape the confines of the Nomad , to roam across the void and touch an entirely alien consciousness, sensing its mood, its intentions, however primitively at first. And she would get better at it, oh yes, of this she was certain. And while it scared her, the possibilities made her almost breathless with excitement.
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