The Crystal Keeper BoxSet

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Jayson raised his right hand off the bed. The movement took far more effort than it should have. He had to focus on willing his shoulder and arm muscles to contract. And when they obeyed, pain erupted from where his neck met his collarbone and snaked down his arm. Jayson dropped his hand, now shaking beyond control, onto the mattress. What had happened to him?

  With his left and slightly more obedient hand, he pulled his tunic down past his shoulder. He was sure he’d find a burning knife burrowed in his flesh, it hurt so much. But instead he found his entire upper body swaddled in cloth, much like his arms.

  So it hadn’t just been a blow to his head. And the bandages on his arms, he hadn’t thought to ask Agnora why they were there.

  Again with his left hand, he clumsily searched for the end of the bandage, which he discovered tucked beneath a layer near his hand. He loosened it and began to unwrap his trembling limb. As the layers peeled away, he became more anxious, his heart beating rapidly. Letting the stray bandage collapse in a heap beside him, Jayson soon came down to the final, thin layer. Carefully, he began to remove it but found that it had adhered to his skin in places, and it hurt immensely when he tried to pull it free.

  He picked up the end of the bandage and soaked it in his water cup then dabbed it against the stuck spots. The moisture released the bandage, and soon Jayson dropped the last of it onto the bed.

  He held up his arm, though every fiber of it protested in pain and shaking. The skin from his wrist to his elbow was a deep, ugly red. Parts of his skin had been burned away, and the flesh was raw and exposed. Jayson swallowed. He could not take his eyes off the burn. He thought of the image that had come to him. The fire. The screams.

  He tried to rewrap the arm but found the task too difficult to manage with his left hand. Instead, he lay his damaged arm across his chest and closed his eyes. As he fell asleep, the same slices of memory replayed themselves over and over in his brain until even in his deepest dreams, he found himself screaming to be free of them.

  7

  Brommel stabbed his meat with a knife, cut off a chunk, and popped it into his mouth. He had spent the past several hours helping the refugees from Hestoria move into their new accommodations. Shortly after their arrival, the families were taken in by the citizens of Dokur and housed throughout the city. One was put up in the Seafarer by royal command.

  “Four extra mouths to feed and not a coin among them to pay for it,” grumbled Mrs. Peagry, the Seafarer’s matron, as she divvied out the night’s meals in the kitchen. She not only had all her paying guests to serve, but now she had the bedraggled visitors as well. “And what’s brought ‘em here?” she asked with a huff. “There ain’t a single province in all of Hestoria where they can call home?”

  Her husband, Master Peagry, took the first round of plates and set them on a large platter balanced on his arm. “Looks to me like they’re survivors of a war. Though no news of any war has reached these shores in years.”

  Brommel took another bite of his own meal, and then took up a second platter and loaded it with food. “No one’s explained what happened?”

  “Not as far as I know,” said Master Peagry. “They’re all tight-lipped. A secret scroll was presented to Lord Fredric, and he hands down a command to take ‘em all in. No questions asked. The least he could do is offer to provide us with a little money to help ease the extra burden.”

  “Well, never mind about that now,” said Mrs. Peagry. “Take those upstairs before those little ones faint from hunger. Doubt they’ve had a decent meal since before they left the mainland.”

  Brommel and Master Peagry arrived at the room that had been set aside for the refugees. Brommel rapped on the door. A moment later, the wary face of a man appeared. When he saw Brommel, a fellow Hestorian, his expression relaxed, and he opened the door wide to admit him. To Brommel’s surprise, he found his own son and Mouse, sitting on the floor with the two Hestorian children evidently caught up in some kind of game. The children, he was glad to see, were smiling and giggling.

  “Can’t thank you all enough,” said the man, taking the platter from Peagry and setting it on a table.

  “No trouble atoll,” said Peagry. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

  When the innkeeper took his leave, Brommel remained behind. “I see you’ve met my son, Rylan.”

  The man smiled. “Yes, he and the girl have done wonders for my two boys. They’ve been so frightened, thought they’d have no one to talk to, yet look at them now.”

  At the sound of his father’s voice, Rylan glanced up. “Hi Papa. Mouse and I made friends.”

  “So I see,” said Brommel. “But it’s time you two came down for your supper. Perhaps you could invite the boys to join you in the dining room later tonight after the patrons all leave.”

  Rylan and Mouse said goodbye to their new friends and then followed Brommel downstairs, Mouse running on ahead to the kitchen.

  “So, how did you get on with your new friends?” asked Brommel once he and his son were alone. “They seem like nice boys.”

  “Oh, they are, Papa,” said Rylan. “Only their mother and father seem afraid of everything. When you knocked on the door, the father jumped like he thought something scary might come in.”

  “They seem to have gone through something traumatic. I suspect that is why they’ve come to Imaness, so they could feel safe.”

  “That’s exactly why,” said Rylan. “The older boy, Tam, told me that they lived with a lot of other people on a big farm. He was happy there, but then one night, soldiers came and set all their homes on fire. Tam’s family escaped and they decided to come here. Others stayed in Hestoria but are hiding.”

  Brommel listened carefully to his son. If these peoples’ attackers were soldiers, they had to have been sent by the Vatéz. And the Vatéz were only interested in destroying the Guilde.

  “Did Tam mention anything about the Guilde?” he asked, realizing that Rylan would not understand what the word meant. But Rylan shook his head, which confused Brommel even more. Who else might the Vatéz be threatening, and why?

  “But Tam did tell me,” said Rylan after a moment of thinking, “that his father is a Guardian, but then he took it back. He’s not supposed to tell anyone because it’s a secret. You won’t tell him I told you, will you, Papa?”

  So this man was a member of the Guilde, a Guardian of the Seer. He was right. The Vatéz apparently had increased their violence, trying to root them out. But once again, they had failed to destroy them all. Brommel’s old hatred of the Vatéz burned inside him. He decided that he would help Tam’s family. He would help all the families who had fled Hestoria. But then another thought came to him. As Guardians of the Seer, perhaps they knew something about Ivanore’s current whereabouts. He considered the mental state of Tam’s father. It was too soon to discuss Ivanore or the Vatéz with him. And he did not want to betray Tam’s trust in Rylan. He would have to find some other way to get the man to open up to him.

  Brommel patted his son’s head. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “I promise. Now, hurry along and join Mouse in the kitchen for your supper. Later, we’ll invite your new friends downstairs for some of Mrs. Peagry’s cake and games.”

  Rylan clapped his hands, thrilled at his father’s suggestion. Then he ran down the remaining stairs and dashed through the kitchen door.

  Brommel stood for a long time on the bottom step, his hand gripping the rail. It had been four years since the Vatéz killed his wife and daughter, four years since Jayson had paid for Brommel and Rylan’s passage to Imaness, giving them a second chance at life and ensuring that they were well out of reach of the Vatéz. The thought that others had suffered while he was here enjoying a relatively peaceful life made him sick. He had done nothing more than abandon his own people. He was not a Guardian, but he respected them. And he respected Jayson’s connection to them. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending as though the Vatéz were no threat to him. As long as they were in power, they were
a threat to everyone.

  8

  Sweat beaded on Ivanore’s skin, drawn from the physical and mental exertion of seeing. Since the day she had been taken from Ashlin, she had done little else than try to reach out to Jayson, to connect with him in her mind’s eye. If only she could catch a glimpse of him, even for a moment, it would prove that he wasn’t dead. She knew what she had seen that day, the memory of it would not release her from its grip. But she could not bring herself to believe Jayson was gone. Something inside of her refused to believe it. She knew he lived, but was it really knowledge or just her own desperate desire for it to be true?

  She stood in the center of her room, her mind closed to everything around her. From the depths of her soul, she summoned her strength to reach all the way to Ashlin where she had once seen Jayson working in the fields, wandering through the forests. The visions had come so easily then. They had kept her alive, fueled her hope. But now the fields of Ashlin were barren. Someone had gathered the bodies of the Guardians and buried them in graves now marked with simple stones, likely nearby villagers. Or perhaps the survivors had temporarily returned to complete the task. She knew there were survivors. She could see each one of them, scattered across Hestoria, living among those who were sympathetic to their plight. Others she saw on a ship, traveling who knew where.

  Arik had been right about one thing: most Hestorians hated the Vatéz, hated him. There was a growing sense of animosity toward his rule, talk of rebellion. She hoped they did rise up to destroy her brother, his armies, and the Vatéz.

  Each day that passed, Ivanore searched every village, every corner of Hestoria for Jayson. But after weeks of effort, she had met failure after failure. Either the connection between them had been completely severed, or he was dead, like Arik insisted he was.

  Ivanore broke off her see and drew in a sharp, exhausted breath. She felt completely drained of energy. She had reached so far, seen so much, but Jayson was nowhere to be found. As if his mind had simply ceased to exist. Maybe it had. But still, she could not believe he was gone. He couldn’t be. If he had died that day, then why did she still feel him? Why could she still smell him and taste his lips on hers? How could she still feel his body pressed against hers? Her ache for him grew stronger each day.

  There was a hesitant rap on the door. Ivanore swiped away the tears from her eyes.

  “Enter,” she said. Saying that always seemed futile. She had no power to allow or prevent entry. The door remained locked until someone from the outside turned the key.

  The lock clicked. The door opened.

  Erland stepped into the room. He wore simple clothing today, soft leather boots, trousers, a loose-fitting tunic open at the collar. No sign of his Captain’s uniform. The only symbol of his position was the small dagger at his waist in an open scabbard.

  On seeing him, the familiar hatred reared up inside her.

  “Go away, Erland,” she said weakly. She had no energy to shout at him, and he likely wouldn’t listen anyway. She had not seen him since he’d stolen her away from Ashlin, when she’d attacked him, and he’d thrown her into the dungeon.

  “I know you don’t want to see me,” he began with an apologetic tone. “But Arik has requested that you be taken out to the courtyard. And I’m the only one he trusts to take you.”

  “I don’t want to go outside. I’m fine right here.”

  Erland came further into the room. Ivanore rolled onto her side and faced the wall.

  “Ivanore,” said Erland. “It’s been three weeks. You’ve eaten next to nothing. You’ll get sick if you stay in here any longer. Come outside with me.”

  “How is the wound I gave you?” Ivanore asked in response. “Obviously, not deep enough.”

  Erland tried again. “Ivanore, you have every right to hate me. But I want you to know that I hadn’t—” Erland’s voice broke off. A few moments passed before he continued. “I never intended any harm to come to Jayson. The soldier who was responsible has been executed.”

  Ivanore closed her eyes. Another death at the hands of her brother. As if the Guardians’ blood, Jayson’s blood, was not enough. Ivanore swallowed back more tears.

  “I know what happened to him,” she said. “He was just a boy, Erland. Did you know that? The soldier. He was barely seventeen. I watched him die.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  This was too much for Ivanore. She sat up and glared at Erland. “How could you possibly think such a thing? How could you believe me capable of feeling pleasure or satisfaction at anyone’s death? You sicken me, Erland, with your valor and loyalty to the Vatéz. You’re nothing but a murderer.”

  Erland flinched, and seeing the hurt in his eyes hurt Ivanore. But she would not take back her words because they were true.

  “You don’t understand,” he said at last. “How could you understand? You’re a woman, not a soldier.”

  Ivanore gritted her teeth, trying to restrain her fury. “I do understand,” she said. “Don’t forget I am a king’s daughter. I grew up watching his soldiers march across our city, listening to my father discuss military operations. I stood by while his men killed innocent Agorans, forced them off their own land, and colonized it with humans. Why do you think I never wanted to be heir to his throne? Yet Arik lusts after the very things I detest. Well, let him have them then. I don’t care anymore.”

  “Come outside, Ivanore.”

  Had he heard nothing she said? She stood up, but the weakness in her body threatened to overwhelm her. Erland was right. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of food since she’d been brought here, despite the fancy meals carried in daily on trays by the servants. She had no appetite.

  She took several deliberate steps toward Erland and stopped only once her body was touching his. One more step and they would be pressed together, like she and Jayson had been. Ivanore felt Erland’s pulse speed up, his breath grow faster. She knew she had that effect on him, and somehow having even that little control over someone so powerful gave her a rush.

  Ivanore rested her palms against Erland’s chest, his heart beating like a galloping horse. He gazed down at her, confusion in his face. She raised her eyes to his.

  “I’ll go to the courtyard with you,” she said. “Forgive me for being so difficult. You must understand.”

  “I do,” he said.

  “Come back in half an hour,” Ivanore continued. “I want to change my clothes.”

  “That’s not necessary,”

  “Please. I need a little time to prepare myself.” She slid her hands down to his hips. She felt his body responding to her presence. His face reddened with embarrassment, as she forced a reassuring smile. Finally, she dropped her hands to her sides.

  “I don’t blame you,” she said finally. “Like you said, you were only fulfilling your duty.”

  “I was, Lady Ivanore. I would never have hurt him. Please believe me.”

  Ivanore gave a solitary nod. Then she stepped back. “Give me half an hour,” she said again. Emotion burned her throat. The lies tasted like bile on her tongue. How she wished that the blade had found it’s mark that day in the courtyard when her hatred had overtaken her senses. She should have killed Erland then, but what good would that have done? Maybe she could muster enough magic now to kill him. But if she succeeded, she would be no better than Arik, and her anguish would not be soothed.

  She kept her expression calm as Erland left the room and turned the lock into place. For a moment, Ivanore stood there alone, her eyes on the door. She would have to act quickly, before he returned for her.

  She raised her right hand and stared at Erland’s dagger clenched in her fist. He’d been so stunned by her closeness, he hadn’t even noticed she’d taken it. Ivanore turned the dagger until it glinted in the sunlight. Then she laid the point of the blade against her wrist and, with deliberate swiftness, sliced open her own flesh.

  9

  Snow had fallen during the night. Jayson sensed the absolute silence
in the air before he even opened his eyes. Snow had a way of muffling all sound, and with his sensitive Agoran hearing, the difference was huge. He pulled the covers to his chin and shivered. The air in the room was brisk.

  Jayson had spent another week in bed, relieving himself in a pot, assisted by Agnora. It was the most humiliating act he had ever performed, but Agnora showed no sign of disgust or annoyance, or even pity, as she carried out her duties. And he appreciated the calm, unemotional way she handled his needs. It allowed him to pretend that this situation was normal routine. But Jayson had tired of his dependence on Agnora.

  The chill morning found him alone in the cabin. Agnora had gone hunting again, and Jayson felt a desperate urge to urinate. The pot Agnora used for him, different from the one he had been given to vomit in, was within reach. He could have taken it and positioned himself in the bed. He could have set it on the floor when he was finished and waited for Agnora to return and empty it as usual, but today he decided he would prove that he was not an invalid. He was a man. More than that, he was an Agoran, with strength beyond any man’s. How hard could it be to walk out the cabin’s door and piss in the dirt?

  Jayson folded back the covers to expose his body. His arms, still wrapped in cloth, protested against this simple command. It wasn’t just the pain that latticed his muscles, it was that his muscles would not bend to his will. But with focused mental coaxing, his fingers had finally grasped the edge of the blanket and guided it free. Next, he had to sit up. He had done this plenty of times over the past few days, though only with Agnora’s help. It wasn’t until he attempted to tighten his abdominal muscles that he realized how much he had relied on the woman’s strength to do this simple task. He pressed both his fists into the mattress and pushed himself up, grunting from the effort. Sharp pain stabbed through his upper chest and shoulder, but he ignored it.