The Keeper's Vow: A Chosen Novel (The Keepers Book 3)

by Meg Anne

  “I’ll find a way to bring you back, fledgling. Or I’ll die trying.”

  Chapter 2

  A low snarl echoed around the empty room as she pushed herself into a tight crouch. Thoughts were nothing more than fragments as Effie squinted into the darkness.

  Cold.

  Dark.

  Hungry.

  Safe?

  A tentative sniff confirmed that she was alone, but it did little to calm the echo of rage pulsing through her. There was another’s scent in the air. Faded, but distinguishable. An essence of midnight and musk.

  His . . .

  Guardian.

  A deep, wet rumble filled the room as her anger spiked. He was alive; had left her here. Likely to rot.

  Foolish male.

  A dark grin stretched across her face as she climbed off the bed and crawled across the floor.

  Never safe. Not from me.

  Coming for you.

  Pale light shone through a crack under the door, and she lowered her face down to peek out into the space beyond.

  Empty.

  A triumphant growl vibrated low in her throat.

  She slid a hand up the pock-marked wood, searching for a handle. Her smile faltered when her fingers moved over cool but jagged metal.

  Broken.

  Wood thundered as she pounded her fists into the flat surface. The door shook and trembled, but it did not open.

  Trapped.

  Scuttling backward, she pushed herself into a corner of the small room. Her prey would return. She could wait. A spider in her web.

  He loved this body. Would not harm it. But he would not be so lucky.

  Blood would flow free.

  And it would never be hers.

  Chapter 3

  “What do you mean gone?” Ronan snarled, his blue eyes bloodshot.

  “It’s an obvious enough statement,” Lucian replied in a low voice, not looking up from the dagger he was using to pick blood from his nails.

  Ronan let out a strangled sound that was a cross between a disbelieving laugh and a growl. “And you didn’t think to keep looking for her?”

  Lucian’s ire spiked. “I’m not the one who left her behind in the first place,” he said, eyes snapping up to pin the Shield in place.

  Twin patches of red bloomed in Ronan’s cheeks and he had the grace to look away. Lucian knew it was a low blow and that nothing Ronan could have done would have changed the outcome, but he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive him.

  “Did you find a body?” Reyna asked, placing her hand on Ronan’s back.

  “What do you think?” Lucian returned, his voice just barely on the side of sounding human.

  He’d anticipated the interrogation, but it did little to alleviate the bubbling anger inside of him. Each second they spent squabbling amongst themselves was another that Effie was left to deteriorate. He could not afford to let this carry on much longer, even if he was the one misleading them.

  “How many of us are left?” Lucian asked, twisting to face Kael.

  The Guardian’s green eyes were so dark they were almost black. “Just under thirty total; that includes the citizens and what’s left of the Keepers.”

  Lucian’s stomach dropped. “So few?”

  “Aye.”

  His eyes closed, a shudder working its way down his body. So many lives lost. They’d been ignorant fools, all of them; their faith in the citadel’s safeguards misplaced. They mistakenly believed their safety was assured since the citadel had never fallen before. Just because an attack had not come did not mean they’d always been immune. And now, due to their naivety, the Keepers had been all but exterminated and their town demolished.

  As a Guardian, Lucian should have known better, should have been prepared for this. As far as he was concerned, he was just as much to blame for this attack as the one who initiated it. These deaths were on him.

  Regardless of fault, or that the battle was over—for now—they could not remain here. Not when they were little more than sitting ducks waiting for the enemy to come back and finish the job.

  “And where will we go?”

  Lucian glanced at the hooded figure standing apart from the others. “Somewhere safe.”

  “The citadel was supposed to be safe.”

  The note of censure was unmistakable, and Lucian bristled at the less than subtle dig. “No one is ever truly safe from betrayal.”

  A slow nod was his only response.

  He spared the member of the Triumvirate a final hard glare before returning his attention to the bedraggled figures around him. Effie wasn’t the only one missing from their ranks. Kieran hadn’t been located either. Lucian wished he could muster some semblance of regret at the Dreamer’s apparent demise, but the worm had been nothing but a pain in his ass for years. Good riddance. May the Mother have better luck with him than they did.

  “The Broken Vale,” Lucian declared, the answer coming to him almost without conscious thought.

  “The Vale? It’s little more than a ruin. We’d be better off staying here,” Ronan protested.

  “Nothing is ever what it appears to be on the surface,” Kael said.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ronan snapped.

  Kael quirked a brow. “The Vale is home to many survivors, if one only knows where to look.”

  “You fucking Keepers and your vague platitudes,” Ronan groaned.

  “It’s a sound plan,” Kael said, ignoring Ronan’s grumbling.

  Lucian nodded his thanks. “It’s close enough that we won’t have to travel for long. If we leave tomorrow, we should reach the Vale within a couple of days.”

  “Do you really think your people are fit for that kind of travel?” Reyna asked.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Lucian replied. “The Kaelpas stones we still have aren’t nearly strong enough to move everyone, even with our numbers so diminished. Sticking together and caravanning is the only option.”

  Kael shot him a pointed look. Lucian ignored it. He’d deal with how to move Effie when he had to. For now, they had other things to worry about.

  “We need to salvage what we can,” Lucian said, rubbing the back of his neck as if it could do something to relieve the vice-like tension that had settled there.

  “Is it even safe to comb through the wreckage?” Ronan asked.

  “Probably not, but we have to risk it. Millennia’s worth of prophecies will be lost if we don’t try.”

  “They will be lost regardless.”

  Lucian scowled at the man hidden within the scarlet robes. “Would you rather we didn’t bother?”

  “By all means, search, but much has already been lost. The little you are able to recover will be less than a drop in the ocean.”

  “But it will still be more than nothing at all,” he ground out, not appreciating his decision being questioned. If he had something to say to Lucian, he damn well knew better than to air it publicly. The Triumvirate and the Guardians were supposed to be a united force. How could they expect these people to put their trust in them when they seemed divided?

  The robed figure shrugged. “For all the good they’ve done us.”

  Lucian clenched his teeth. The bastard wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make him right. “If we abandon them, then all of this,” he held out his arms and moved in a slow circle, “has been for naught. What was the point?”

  “Perhaps we’ve placed too much importance on the prophecies and not enough where it actually matters.”

  It was too much. After all that had been lost, to be told that what he’d spent the last few centuries of his life safeguarding wasn’t actually worth anything after all . . . Lucian’s fragile hold on his temper snapped.

  He crossed the short distance between them in two swift strides and grasped him by his robe, pulling his cloaked face forward.

  “You want me to strangle you, is that it?” he snarled.

  “Try.”

  “Your runes won’t protect you from me,�
�� Lucian bit out, slamming him against what was left of a bookcase as if he weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

  “Perhaps not. But your vow will.”

  Lucian let out a roar of frustration that bounced around the few remaining walls.

  “Luc, let him go,” Kael murmured, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

  Lucian shrugged him off. “Why should I?”

  Kael’s answer was immediate. “These people need a leader they trust now more than ever.”

  “What good have any of the Triumvirate ever done for anyone?” he asked, lifting him a little higher off the floor.

  “We have always done what we needed to.”

  “Luc,” Kael said again, his voice firm.

  “Or have you forgotten?”

  Blood pounding in his ears, Lucian lifted his other arm and slammed his fist into the bookcase. The last of the wood boards exploded into dust as Lucian pulled his hand free of the wall. “I have forgotten nothing.”

  Letting go of the man’s robe, Lucian spun and stalked away.

  “The Triumvirate and the Guardians will present a united front. Together we will lead our people to safety.”

  Lucian’s shoulders tensed as he heard his early thoughts thrown back at him, but he did not slow down. He needed to get away. There were too few of them left for Lucian to risk anyone being the next thing he hit. Because the mood he was in? Whoever he hit wouldn’t survive the blow.

  “Luc? Where are you going?” Kael called after him.

  “Do not follow me.”

  He didn’t let out the breath he was holding until the sound of footsteps behind him faltered. His chest was so tight it felt like someone was currently using it as a hilt for their sword. The pressure didn’t lessen as he moved away from the citadel’s pavilion and back out into the devastation of the city.

  The sky was black and orange, the few lingering flames casting their grotesque light on the thick clouds of smoke. A few of the Chosen gifted with Air and Water were doing what they could to bank the last of the fire and push the smoke away, but it was a task for many and there were only a handful of them still standing.

  Lucian moved slowly, still not wholly able to process the extent of the destruction. Just a couple of days ago, he’d walked down this street with Effie on his arm. Now it was almost impossible to tell where the street had even lain. If he hadn’t walked this path so many times before, he may not have been able to find his way now.

  He wasn’t aware he’d had a destination in mind until he came to a halt outside of the little art shop where Effie had fallen in love with his paintings. Desda, the shopkeeper, had been the one to convince him to put his work on display. For Lucian, art in all its various mediums had always been a way of purging the soul. There was so much he’d seen that he couldn’t speak about. Art gave him the voice to tell his stories, no matter how dark or terrible.

  With a sigh, he opened his eyes and stared at the smoldering shop. It hurt to see that part of him destroyed, but not as much as the thought of Effie locked away. He’d never had the chance to tell her he was the one who had made both the castle deck and the small leather-bound journal she’d fallen in love with. Or how much it meant to him to see something he’d created so lovingly cared for by another. Now he might never be able to see the look of shock on her face when she learned his secret.

  Lucian’s fingers skimmed the small pack he’d tied around his waist. He’d made a point to grab the deck and Effie’s journal before joining the fight. Just in case. He hoped he’d have an opportunity to return them to her.

  He started to turn away.

  “Lucian! Thank the Mother you’re okay.”

  He spun as Desda stepped around the corner.

  “Des . . .”

  She rushed over to him as fast as her bowed legs could carry her. Tears shone in her eyes as she pressed her gnarled hand to his cheek and grinned. “Guess the Mother didn’t want these old bones just yet.” Her smile dimmed as she eyed her shop. “I’m so sorry about all of your beautiful work, Lucian.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I’ll just have to rebuild,” she said wistfully.

  “You know we can’t stay here.”

  Desda shrugged. “So I rebuild somewhere else. The world needs to be reminded of the beauty and wonder that surrounds us. Especially after such terrible times.”

  Lucian shook his head at her unflappable optimism. “What people need right now is a roof over their heads.”

  “And I’m sure you already have a plan to make sure they get one.”

  “I might.”

  She squeezed his hand. “So where will we go?”

  “The Broken Vale.”

  Desda’s eyes widened, and she crossed herself.

  Lucian lifted a brow. “I didn’t realize you were so superstitious.”

  “Everyone knows it’s a cursed place.”

  “Right now it’s our best shot at survival.”

  She fell silent and looked around them. Straightening her shoulders, she gave a little nod, as if coming to some sort of decision, and glanced back up at him. “If you say this is our path, I trust you.”

  “Gather up what you need. We leave at first light.”

  Desda held out her arms and gestured to her singed boots and threadbare dress. “This is all I have left.”

  Frowning, Lucian removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “That will have to do until I can find you something more suitable.”

  She tightened his cloak around her frail body and smiled up at him. “I could not love you more if you were my own flesh and blood, boy. Your mother would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

  Her praise shamed him. He didn’t deserve it. Not after such a spectacular failure. If he’d done his job, she’d still have her shop and all her earthly possessions.

  “I’d be so lucky,” he murmured, his voice gruff.

  Desda pat his cheek again. “In every way that matters, Lucian, you’re my family. I will follow wherever you lead. Now, let’s go. Best we focus on building our future instead of crying over our past, hmm?”

  Throat thick with emotion, Lucian nodded. “Best plan I’ve heard all day.”

  She smirked at him. “You’re not the only one with brains in this family, boy-o.”

  Lucian laughed, the sound foreign and rasping, but no less real. “I’m starting to see that.”

  “Better late than never.”

  Lucian shook his head and held out his arm. “Careful. I might just put you in charge.”

  Desda grinned. “You couldn’t handle it.”

  “Is that so?” Lucian said, helping her navigate the rough terrain.

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t bother myself catering to fragile male egos. It’d be too much honesty for you lot to swallow.”

  More laughter rang out and Lucian felt some of the pressure in his chest ease, just a little. If he could still laugh, perhaps things weren’t quite as dire as they seemed.

  Perhaps there was still hope.

  Perhaps.

  Chapter 4

  Kieran spat out a mouthful of sand and wrapped the torn pieces of his tunic more firmly around his nose and mouth.

  “It must be here somewhere,” he muttered, eyes frantically scanning the horizon for something other than the yellow dirt he’d been wandering in for the past two days.

  Since he hadn’t planned on an extended trek through what was essentially a desert, Kieran didn’t have any of the supplies that would have made such a journey tolerable. Namely water. Or food.

  He’d gathered what he could find in the jungle before he’d crossed the border between the two lands, but it ran out on his first day, and he lost sight of the Mother’s Tears—the river that bisected Elysia—around the same time.

  Now, half-starved and beyond thirsty, Kieran was officially losing his mind.

  The hallucinations were the worst of it. Tricking his eyes into seeing what couldn’t possibly be there. Trees. Shelter. People.
Time after time, he stumbled up another sand dune, only for the thing he’d been chasing nowhere to be found.

  Once a bustling center of trade, the Vale had been a desert oasis. Bordered by both the river and the sea, it had been a hub of learning, a place where the Chosen could gather and share their goods and their knowledge. Now there was nothing left of it, save a few crumbling ruins and an endless sea of sand.

  Jealousy was a cruel mistress. She couldn’t abide others having what she coveted for herself.

  A few centuries ago, war tore the Vale apart. What had once been a beacon of life and learning, gone overnight.

  The irony of his situation wasn’t lost on him. If Kieran was one to believe in karma, he might even say he’d deserved his fate, to wander lost in the remains of a city destroyed because of his inability to accept his lot in life.

  But Kieran knew what very few did. The Broken Vale wasn’t just home to dust and dirt. It was also home to the sole gate in all of Elysia. The same gate he’d come through twenty-five years earlier.

  The fact that the gate had been destroyed and that only a Gatekeeper had the magic necessary to open the door between worlds didn’t matter. Kieran was certain that if he could only find the gate, he’d figure out how to get back home.

  “It has to be here,” he said again, a slight whine threading its way through his words.

  He couldn’t accept any other possibility. There was nowhere else for him to go.

  His memory of his travels through the Broken Vale were spotty at best. He’d been too blinded by the hope that he’d finally find the woman from his dreams to pay much attention to his surroundings, but he knew the trip to the citadel had only taken three days. That meant he had to be somewhat close to the gate’s remains.

  Spinning in a slow circle, Kieran squinted in the distance, eyes straining to make out something—anything—in the endless yellow.

  He almost missed it, his eyes passing over the broken arch only to fly back and widen in disbelieving delight.

  Heart stuttering in his chest, Kieran let out a watery laugh. He’d found it. His lips were cracked and streaked with dried blood, but he didn’t care. He barely felt the painful tugging as he smiled in sweet relief.