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

by Meg Anne

  Lucian shook his head, using his power to connect a length of chain to the piece that ran between her ankles. Once that was complete, he started raising it along the back of her legs, until his hand hovered just beside her wrists.

  “I’m going to need you to adjust your hold so I have room to work,” he muttered.

  Ronan did as he was told, watching silently as Lucian repeated his trick with the chains around Effie’s wrists. Although she was now fully bound, Ronan did not let go of her.

  Lucian braced himself, taking a deep breath before rounding her and staring down into her sneering face.

  “I hate you,” she spat.

  “Likewise.” And it was true. Lucian despised the being that had taken residence inside her. He could not wait to destroy it. “Which is why I’m going to enjoy this.” Grasping the bit of cloth in his hand, Lucian grabbed her jaw and pried it open, holding her in place as he shoved the gag in her mouth.

  “Without something to tie around her head, she’ll eventually find a way to spit that out,” Ronan murmured.

  Lucian nodded, eyes already searching the floor.

  “Can’t you just waggle your fingers and make something appear?”

  He raised a brow. “I don’t make things appear, Shield. I change the nature of something that already exists.”

  “Oh.”

  Not seeing anything that he could use, Lucian’s eyes lifted to Ronan’s single braid. Not waiting for permission, Lucian simply grunted, “Sorry.”

  Ronan’s eyes went wide as Lucian grasped the bottom of his hair and severed a chunk of it. It wasn’t much, but Ronan bellowed as if he’d been burned. By the time Lucian’s hand was held up between them again, the red tuft of hair was a long piece of fabric in the same color.

  “You going to cry over a little haircut?”

  Ronan glowered at him. “At least warn me first.”

  “Why, so you can try to talk me out of it?”

  The other man silently seethed, nostrils flaring as he sucked in angry breath after breath. Finally, he looked back at Lucian. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to grow that out?”

  Lucian rolled his eyes. “Stop pouting. Consider it your contribution to the task.”

  Ronan sighed. “Not much I can do about it now.”

  Although silenced, the fiend that was Effie had no trouble communicating the depth of her hatred for him. She stared up at him, brows low and nose scrunched in a silent snarl. Unable to withstand looking into that face for long, Lucian tied off the second piece of fabric, and moved to the side.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  At first, Effie refused to budge, but Ronan had no issue tugging on the length of chain and threatening to drag her. Begrudgingly she fell into shuffling step behind him.

  Lucian kept his eyes trained ahead, not wanting to add this to the other images that were already seared into his memory. He had more than enough of them to keep him awake at night. No use adding to the nightmares.

  “What caused this?” Ronan asked after they’d taken a few steps.

  “Shadow bite.”

  “But . . . when?”

  “Before you arrived.”

  “Her scar.” Ronan sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you telling me this whole time—”

  Lucian gave a terse nod. “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. How could we not know?”

  “Remember Tinka?”

  Ronan took a shuddering breath as he connected the dots. “We mistook the symptoms, explained them away, when in reality . . .” Ronan took a couple more steps before speaking again. “But that still doesn’t explain how this is even possible. Rowena created Shadows by feeding off the souls of those she turned. That required Spirit magic. How in the name of the Mother are the Shadows replicating that? No one else alive, save Helena, has any claim to the Spirit branch.”

  It was Lucian’s turn to fall silent, turning over the question in his mind. “Some of Rowena’s initial spell must still run through the ones she personally turned. Like an echo . . .”

  Ronan scrubbed his free hand down his face. “Are you telling me that the Shadows have access to Spirit magic?”

  “No,” Lucian said slowly, processing the answer even as he gave it. “I’m telling you that whatever tainted magic she used to turn the Shadows left a stain on those who remained after her death. That is the source of the corruption and why it continues to spread.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Lucian was only barely starting to understand himself. “Rowena fed off of her victim’s souls. Since she is the source of all of this, it’s my assumption that the corruption creating the Shadow-touched works in the same way. In order to take hold, it must first tear through its host’s soul, unable to fully claim them until the entirety of their humanity is destroyed. That is why some take longer than others to turn. The stronger they are, the purer their essence, the harder it is for the corruption to take root. Unchecked, eventually it will win.”

  “Lucian, if her soul is gone—”

  “It’s not gone. Not entirely.”

  “But how can we save her if—”

  Unable to stand hearing the words uttered out loud, Lucian cut him off again. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

  “Lucian.” Ronan’s voice was soft, filled with an emotion that only stoked the anger and pain Lucian was trying so hard to ignore.

  “Stop,” Lucian said, the word a threat.

  Lucian should have known it was futile. The Shield never backed down from a fight, he only altered the nature of his attack.

  “If we don’t find the answer in time . . .”

  White-hot pain erupted in Lucian’s chest, but his voice was devoid of emotion when he replied, “Then we do what needs to be done.”

  Chapter 6

  The world tilted on its axis and Kieran groaned. He had no idea how long he’d been out this time. It could have been six minutes or six hours. Everything had become a blur, which meant he could just as easily be losing entire days now.

  “He’s still alive,” an unfamiliar voice drawled.

  Kieran tried to force his eyes open, but they were crusted shut. Somehow he managed to make his right eye open into a narrow slit, but the light was blinding after being cocooned by the dark, and the mysterious shape above him was indistinguishable.

  “Leave me alone,” Kieran said. Or tried to. It came out as an indecipherable slur. His voice was dry and cracked.

  Voices continued to speak above him, but he could only make out fragments of what they said. It was too hard to concentrate for long.

  “. . . dehydrated . . .”

  “. . . do with him . . .”

  “. . . get . . . base . . .”

  He felt hands grab him by the shoulders, and a survival instinct he didn’t realize he still had flared to life. Kieran had been waiting for death to claim him. Had been hoping for it. At least it would put an end to his misery. So why was he attempting to fight off the potential means of his death?

  Weakly, he swiped at the hands that gripped him. The world shifted again, and Kieran’s stomach rolled with it.

  “Leave me,” he tried to protest, but the words were lost.

  The movement proved too much excitement in Kieran’s current state, and oblivion claimed him once more.

  The ground bounced and swayed, jolting Kieran back to consciousness only long enough for his face to slam into something hard. A pitiful whimper managed to escape as he curled into himself, arms lifting to protect his head.

  “There now. Just a bit further and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  “Sydney!” a harsh voice snapped.

  “He’s in pain,” the first voice protested.

  “Until we know who we’re dealing with, you’ll stand clear, do you understand me?”

  There was a muffled grunt of assent and then a hushed, “Sorry.”

  Before Kieran could dwell on why the voice was apologizing, something soft scraped aga
inst his leg and lightning sang through his veins. Kieran’s body bowed off the ground as the burn consumed him, robbing him of consciousness.

  When Kieran woke next, he was in a room the color of the desert at night. Soft grays, dark greens, and deeper blues enveloped him, making him feel like he was lying beneath the stars, the last week a distant and terrible dream.

  The complete absence of pain was the first thing he noticed. The second was the lack of dirt.

  Kieran abruptly sat, looking around more closely. Where am I? More importantly, how did I get here?

  The last thing he remembered was searching for the gate. He’d thought he’d found it the last time, but it had only been another of the Vale’s many tricks. A mirage to torment an already broken man.

  Fate was a cruel bitch. Promising him something, dangling that promise before him for centuries, only to snatch it away once he finally thought he’d found it.

  First with Effie. Then with the gate.

  Kieran swore softly under his breath, eyes drinking in everything while his thoughts raced, trying to piece together the fragmented memories that were beginning to surface.

  There had been voices, which meant people. He’d been rescued? Or was it captured . . .

  Standing slowly, Kieran walked around the room, his fingers trailing lightly over the dove-gray walls. It doesn’t look like a cell.

  It was just an ordinary room. Plain. Unobtrusive. Like it was used for guests, or perhaps waiting for an owner to claim it and give it personality. There was one small table beside the bed he’d been lying on, a braided rug on the ground, and an empty bookcase standing against the opposite wall. That was it.

  Kieran spotted the door and moved swiftly, hand reaching for the doorknob. Locked.

  Prisoner it is, then.

  The breath left him in a whoosh, although he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed by the discovery, or relieved. It wasn’t exactly like he had anywhere else to go.

  With nothing else to do for now, Kieran turned back to the bed, his eye catching something he’d missed before. His belongings were folded and sitting on the ground beside the bed. They’d been washed, and the small pack he’d been carrying was lying on top of the pile. His weapons were nowhere to be found.

  Definitely a prisoner.

  Retrieving the small bag, Kieran opened it and peered inside, mild surprise flowing through him when he saw that nothing else had been taken. The few coins, stolen prophecy book, and journal the Keepers had given to him were still inside.

  Kieran remained bowed over the belongings, his fingers stroking the ancient leather mindlessly before he plucked the book from the pack. He didn’t know why he’d kept it. Wasn’t like the damned thing had been useful in the end.

  Standing, he let the pack drop back to the ground with a soft thud and made his way back to the bed. Sitting down, he opened the book, rifling through the pages without really seeing any of them.

  The book fell open to a familiar page and Kieran scowled as his eyes landed on the string of words that had haunted him ever since he’d first discovered them.

  The TMJ prophecy.

  He never had figured out what prophecy those letters referred to. Or, if in fact, they were somehow tied to the Shadow Years and their markers.

  Kieran slammed the book shut, frustration and anger overtaking the other mess of emotions within him. The taste of failure was like ash in his mouth. After everything he’d done, all in an attempt to win the heart of the woman he’d spent his life loving, he’d lost. None of it had been enough, and worse, he’d destroyed the only home he had left in the process.

  Try as he might, Kieran could not ignore the tidal wave of guilt and pain that lanced him. At least if he’d died out there he could have found some measure of peace. It would have been a relief to be free from the burden of feeling everything, all the time, all at once.

  Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes falling shut. But even that path was closed to him.

  Not even death wanted to claim him.

  Chapter 7

  Ronan made a better partner than Lucian cared to admit. Between the two of them, they were able to keep Effie hidden from the rest of the survivors—not including the Triumvirate who knew everything. To that end, either Lucian or Ronan would take turns guarding the wagon, while Kael remained at the head of their caravan, leading the way into the Broken Vale.

  The time was swiftly approaching when he’d no longer be able to keep her existence a secret. He would not place the people of the Broken Vale at risk by bringing one of the Shadow-touched into their city. Not without their consent. He only hoped that when the time came, they would not turn her away.

  The Keepers were well into their third day of travel, the humid jungle giving way to arid desert the day prior, and Lucian was ready for a warm meal and real bed. He’d roughed it before, countless times, but never had the emotional toll of his mission had such an effect on him. He was beyond exhausted, sheer force of will was the only thing keeping him moving.

  “You look like shit.”

  Lucian didn’t bother hiding his scowl as he turned to the robed man beside him. “On my worst day, I am still a far cry better looking than you.”

  The sound of rustling leaves swirled around Lucian, which made him frown harder. He’d been trudging beside the Triumvirate member Effie referred to as Mirror Two for the better part of an hour. If his patience was frayed before, it was non-existent now.

  “So touchy, Guardian.”

  “Is there a point to your commentary or are you merely seeking to annoy me? I should warn you; it’s working.”

  The rustling sound swelled.

  “If you mistook that for anything other than a warning to tread carefully, then you are a greater fool than you realize,” Lucian bit out.

  “You need to sleep. You’re of no use to anyone in this state, least of all your charge.”

  “I’ll sleep once we are safely arrived.”

  “You know as well as I that it could be days before the members of the Valen Council accept our request for entry into their city. You go on like this much longer; you won’t survive the summons.”

  “Did I ask for your opinion?”

  “It’s fact, not opinion.”

  “Don’t recall asking for that either.”

  Lucian could feel Mirror Two’s sigh like a gathering storm. The air between them grew heavy. It did little to calm the tempest already raging within Lucian. He was doing his best to keep it leashed—to protect the citadel survivors from the backlash—but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

  “How is our daughter, by the way?”

  “Stop talking. Now.”

  “Or what? You going to strike me, Guardian? And how would that look?”

  “Ask me if I care,” Lucian hissed, staring straight ahead.

  “We must keep up appearances, dear Lucian. You know how important it is, especially in times of crisis.”

  Lucian ground his teeth so hard, he could swear the other man heard it. He had more important things to do than worry about standing on ceremony.

  “That’s what you’re for.”

  “You cannot forget your role in all of this. After all—”

  “I am perfectly aware of my role.”

  These games he was forced to play grated. Yes, they served a purpose, perhaps even an important one, but any possible benefit to such games paled in comparison to what he would lose if he failed in his current mission.

  Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

  He had to find a way to save Effie.

  “Are you? When was the last time—”

  “Shut. Up.”

  The air grew thick once more, and it was difficult to draw a breath.

  “You are not the only one who resents the weight of the chains that bind you.”

  The mention of chains brought Effie to mind, and Lucian’s hand spasmed around the hilt of his sword. He didn’t recall reaching for it.

  “
Do not forget your vow, Guardian.”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing.”

  “See that it stays that way.”

  Lucian glowered at Mirror Two’s back as he picked up the pace and moved ahead to torment some other unsuspecting soul. He may have gotten the last word, but it didn’t matter. Lucian had made three formal vows in his lifetime. The first when he became a Guardian. The second when he took his post in Elysia. And the third only days earlier.

  Of the three, only the last one meant anything.

  “How long are those assholes going to make us wait?” Ronan asked, not for the first time as he took another bite of his meal.

  “Don’t you remember what happens when you enter someone else’s land without invitation?” Reyna chided lightly.

  Ronan’s lips tipped up. “Hard to forget the day I met you.”

  Kael gave the pair an amused grin before answering Ronan’s question. “They will make us wait as long as they want. The secrets of the Vale are almost as closely guarded as those of the citadel.”

  “You say this Council must decide whether or not they’ll take us in?”

  Kael dipped his chin in a nod. “The Valen Council.”

  “We’re hardly a threat in this condition. What’s the holdup?”

  “Speak for yourself,” Kael said.

  “Is it a requirement of the Guardians for your arrogance to know no bounds?” Ronan asked, biting off the last of the meat on his skewer.

  “Enough,” Lucian said, interrupting the verbal pissing match before it could go any further. “This is their land. It will take as long as it takes.”

  “Don’t those hooded bastards have any sway?” Ronan asked, craning his neck around as he searched for a sign of the Triumvirate.

  “Where do you think they are right now?” Kael asked.

  Lucian shot Kael a pointed glare. Kael ignored it, his smile stretching wider.

  “They’ve been gone since we got here. Doesn’t seem to be doing any good,” Ronan muttered before reaching for his canteen.