The Keeper's Flame (A Pandoran Novel, #2)

by Barbara Kloss

  “Do not push me, Thaddeus,” Lorimer growled. “Don’t think that because you are an Aegis of Valdon that you are exempt from common law. The king will hear of this and I’ll make sure you are punished accordingly.”

  Thad looked at Lorimer like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Uh, why not just let him punish me now?”

  Lorimer pushed the sword closer, and Thad held up his hands. “All right, all right,” Thad said, “I’ll stay.”

  Lorimer held his sword there for a moment and, at last, shoved it in its sheath. Thad rubbed his neck looking quite annoyed, and glancing back at me, mouthed, “I’ll find you later,” nodding at the castle.

  Lorimer wrapped a thick hand around my arm and squeezed so hard I cried out.

  He glared at me, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “I’d grab the boy if I were you.”

  I grabbed Fleck’s trembling hand and squeezed gently as Lorimer escorted us away from Thad, back to the castle.

  “And just where did you think you were going?” Lorimer growled.

  “That’s none of your—”

  Lorimer turned on me so fast I almost fell. His eyes were dark with contempt. “I don’t care that King Darius is your grandfather. I don’t care that you claim to have no magic.” The smell of tobacco was heavy on his breath. “You are a liar and a thief, and I will do everything in my power to ensure Gaia knows that.” He nodded towards Fleck. “Do we understand each other?”

  I set my mouth and held his gaze.

  “Good,” he said, and kept walking.

  He didn’t say another word as he escorted us through the marketplace—people turned to stare and whisper—back up the hill to the castle, all the way to the king’s private study.

  The guards took one look at us and pushed the doors in.

  I’d never been in the king’s study before, although I’d walked past it countless times. It was the king’s private study, which meant if the room was occupied at all, it would be with the king, and I didn’t particularly enjoy his company.

  The room was tall and perfectly round, and all along the walls were tapestries—beautiful, intricately woven tapestries. Landscapes and cathedrals and forests and sunsets. If these were what that man at the marketplace had been trying to sell, his were a poor imitation. There was a sort of energy pulsing through them, through each knot, each thread, as if the power of each and every fiber had been strengthened by the one beside it.

  The floor was made of marble but patterned and, as I studied it, I realized it wasn’t just any pattern. It was a large map of the world, a giant mosaic of Gaia. Small, silver tiles represented the borders between territories, while smaller, colored tiles depicted trees and rivers and lakes. There were even small mosaic flags embedded within each territory, similar to the flags I’d seen at the marketplace.

  And what at first glance appeared to be simple wooden sculptures were actually figures of horses, standing on hind legs with knights poised on their backs. Exactly like the knight on a chessboard. At the end of the room was the king, my grandfather.

  His white hair hid his face as he sat, leaning over a small table, deep in thought. Sensing us, he glanced up. His pale eyes were blank at first, and he observed Fleck coolly, but then his eyes moved to me and his anger bubbled inside of him.

  He already knew.

  He stood and clasped his hands before him, his black robes cascading over his withered, yet able frame and pooling on the marble floor. “Lorimer.” The one word filled the room. “What brings you behind the wall?”

  “Sire,” Lorimer bowed. “I found these two trying to escape.”

  The king was silent. His eyes were cold and empty, but his fury was like an inferno blazing inside of him, burning everything in sight. The candles in the room flickered and burned hotter as his gaze fixed on me. His voice was dangerously calm. “And just where were you headed with my Daloren, child?”

  “He’s not your Daloren,” I said through clenched teeth.

  A shadow passed over the king’s face until, at last, he moved his gaze to Lorimer. “Thank you, Lorimer; you may return to your station,” the king said.

  “But sire,” Lorimer continued, “I thought you might want to know Thaddeus—”

  “That will be enough, Lorimer.” The king sounded like he might breathe fire.

  Lorimer looked away and nodded. I felt his fury as he glanced back at me, and then he left through the door.

  When I turned back, the king was walking slowly towards us. How a man so cruel and so arrogant could give birth to such a loving man like my father, I would never understand. It was as though my father was his antithesis and Gaia’s apology for creating the monster before me.

  I squeezed Fleck’s hand in mine and stood firm.

  You did this. Stay strong—at least for him.

  The king stopped a few feet before us, his face still unchanged despite the rage boiling inside of him. At last, he opened his mouth and said, “Headmaster Ambrose.”

  The headmaster stepped into the room, his blood-red robes dragging on the ground. His eyes were dark and empty as though they lacked a heart, and his face was hollow and sharp as though he lacked a soul, and seeing him now made me very, very afraid.

  “The Daloren must be moved at once,” the king said, not moving his gaze from mine. “He’s coming in to his powers, and it is no longer safe for the princess to be in his company.”

  I stood there, stunned, until Fleck hid behind my legs, shaking. “He’s not going anywhere,” I said, “and he doesn’t have any powers…”

  “Do not try me, Daria.” The king’s eyes narrowed. “I know what has been happening with the boy—in great detail—and he is no longer your concern.”

  He knew? But how could he? The only people I’d told were Thad and…

  Stefan.

  No, he wouldn’t.

  “And,” the king continued, “it is obvious he can no longer be trusted in your care.”

  Ambrose led Fleck toward the door, and Fleck started to cry. His big eyes shimmered, sad and pleading and afraid. The king might as well have ripped my heart out of my chest and shredded it in front of me.

  I tried to run forward but an invisible force held me back. “Where are you taking him?” I yelled.

  “That is not your concern,” said the king.

  “Not my concern? He doesn’t have anywhere to go! I am the only family he has!”

  Darkness danced in the king’s eyes. “The child has no family.”

  My breath caught.

  I saw it in his eyes, in the lines of his face, the tightness of his lips. He’d known about Fleck all along, who he was and where he’d come from. He’d realized who his parents had been, what had happened to them—what he’d done to them—and he had been biding his time, waiting for the day when Fleck would show his power.

  And he’d been using me to find out.

  My own grandfather.

  My breath came out shallow, my limbs trembling with rage. “You can’t do this!”

  Fleck’s tears spilled down his cheeks. “Lady!” His voice shook as he reached for me.

  “Fleck,” I shouted, “remember my promise…what I gave you!”

  Headmaster Ambrose pulled him through the door, and he was gone.

  I was so mad my entire body shook, and when I looked back at the king, he stood with his lips curved in satisfaction. If there hadn’t been an invisible wall holding me back, I would’ve attacked him. I clenched my jaw. “I hate you.”

  If he felt anything, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned his back to me.

  “Do you hear me?” I screamed at him. “I hate you! You are cruel and heartless and all you care about is power and—”

  “Enough!” he shouted and my windpipes were suddenly cut off.

  I tried and tried but I could not breathe, as though invisible fingers had reached inside my throat and squeezed so that no air could pass through.

  He vanished into a vapor and then materialized before me.
His eyes narrowed into slits and his fury seethed from every orifice. “You are a fool. From the moment you stepped foot in this castle, you have done nothing but fight against me, your king—the very king who has done everything in his power to keep you alive. The very king who has sacrificed his reputation and the lives of his personal guards—lives worth much more than yours—all to make sure this world is safe for you, a small, insignificant, ungrateful, child.”

  I struggled to breathe against an invisible grip, while he continued in a low and threatening whisper. “Did you not stop and think what could’ve happened had you fallen into the hands of the dark rider? Did you not consider what a man like that might do with the power of a Daloren in his hands? No, I suppose you did not, for you are ignorant and selfish. You do not consider the impact your inane actions have on this world—my kingdom—and your ignorance puts the safety of its citizens at risk. I will not stand for it.”

  He let go of my throat, and I collapsed to the ground, choking.

  “Sir Armand!” the king commanded.

  The door opened and Sir Armand de Basco stepped inside. His eyes flitted to me and for a brief moment I felt his pity, but when he looked back at the king, his face was without expression. “Yes, sire?”

  “Escort the princess to the lower library and ensure she stays there.”

  Sir Armand nodded. “Yes, sire. Shall I have her ready for the dinner this evening?”

  “No.” The king’s gaze was like ice. “She won’t be attending the Aegis dinner tonight because she’s not feeling well. Get her out of my sight.” He turned away from us and sat down at his table.

  Sir Armand came to my side and gently grabbed my arms, helping me to my feet. I wanted to scream—scream and yell and run away someplace where no one could find me.

  The king couldn’t take Fleck away. Fleck was so small and vulnerable, and there was absolutely nothing I could do but give him empty promises of protection.

  My eyes stung as Sir Armand led me silently down the hall; he glanced sideways at me but said nothing. We rounded another corner, and Stefan was walking straight at us.

  He smiled, and my blood burned.

  “You!” I screamed, trying to jerk free of Sir Armand’s hands. “How could you?”

  Stefan looked utterly nonplussed and backed away fast, tripping over a chair in the hall. “D, what…?”

  “You told the king about Fleck!”

  His eyes widened with understanding. “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Stefan,” I growled as Sir Armand restrained me.

  “Daria, I’m sorry,” he replied, exasperated, “but he asked me flat out…what was I supposed to say?”

  “You promised!”

  “But I was worried! I can’t just sit back while—”

  “That’s all you ever do,” I cut him off. “Sit back while other people take the risks. The only thing you’re worried about is what everyone else thinks. You’re nothing but a coward.” I bit the inside of my lip so I wouldn’t cry.

  Stefan’s gaze dropped to the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but at the last second, he closed his lips, excused himself, and slipped past us.

  My eyes stung as my throat clamped down.

  I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t let the king see that he had won.

  In silence, Sir Armand led me all the way down to the lower library. It was in the basement of the castle, built inside of the hill. People rarely came down here because it was cold and dark and, despite its name, it housed an eclectic collection of artifacts, not books.

  Torches hung along the walls, and Sir Armand stopped before the door with an iron dragon in the center, holding an iron ring in its teeth. He pushed the door in and it creaked open.

  An old candelabra flickered to life, hanging from the ceiling, and I glanced around. It looked like someone had taken the entire contents of a museum and shoved it all in this one room. Objects of all shapes and sizes were everywhere, stacked on top of each other in leaning towers, in heaping piles, lying across the ground. I could hardly see the stone floor.

  Sir Armand let go of my arm and disappeared behind one of the piles. I heard shuffling and then he emerged carrying a large, square cushion. He slapped the fabric—a cloud of dust rose in the air—and set it on the ground at my feet.

  “It isn’t much,” he said gently, “but it’s all I can find.”

  I nodded, staring absently at the pillow on the floor.

  Sir Armand hesitated a moment, and he walked past me but stopped at the door. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

  The compassion in his tone made my eyes fill with tears until one escaped, rolling down my cheek.

  He hesitated at the door a moment longer as if deciding whether or not to speak further, and at last he said, “Good night, princess.”

  Chapter 7

  Danton

  I walked over to a stack of boxes and kicked it as hard as I could.

  They collapsed in a loud crash, marbles exploding all over the floor. I was going to kill Stefan. I couldn’t believe he’d told the king, especially after how he’d lied to me this morning. But standing there, succumbing to my emotions, it was difficult deciding which I felt more, anger or pain, because they both swirled like a maelstrom inside of me.

  The boxes slowly settled and the marbles stopped rolling along the stone floor.

  What have I done?

  Stefan had told the king, but, really, did it matter? It would’ve only been a matter of time before the king found out anyway; I couldn’t have kept it from him for long. He just wasn’t supposed to find out until I’d figured out what to do about it.

  Now he knew, and I was powerless.

  Fleck’s face flashed in my mind, the fear in his eyes, the horror, and I remembered the story he’d told me about his parents. Fleck was a child and he depended on me, and I…

  I shut my eyes tight and slumped to the ground.

  I’d let him down. I’d delivered him right into the hands of the very man who had killed his parents.

  I was worse than my grandfather.

  My door creaked open.

  A servant poked his bald head in, noticed me and pushed the door all the way open. Servant after servant filed through the door, all of them carrying giant stuffed bags. They walked to a patch of floor space, set their bags on the ground, and then left—all except the first baldheaded servant.

  He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head with reverence. “The king has asked that you help prepare the decorations for the grand ball tomorrow evening.”

  The king wanted me to do…what? And what grand ball?

  The servant opened one of the bags and pulled out a long, thorny stem with a closed bud at the end. “You are to remove the thorns from each stem.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  The servant continued like I hadn’t spoken. “Once he feels you are ready, you’ll be escorted back to your room.”

  This was ridiculous. “And when will that be?”

  The man bowed his head. “Goodnight, princess.”

  “Hey, wait!”

  The door shut and latched.

  “Ugh!” I growled to no one.

  I couldn’t stay down here, picking thorns off of flowers. I needed to be with Fleck—I needed to find out what the king planned to do with him.

  The faster you get it done, the faster you’ll get out of here.

  Fuming, I glared at the bags and walked over to them. One had been left open, and inside was a pile of stems. I reached in and grabbed one.

  A thorn pricked my finger, and I dropped the stem and sucked on my fingertip. It felt like my finger had a heartbeat.

  These were supposed to be decoration for a ball? Just how sadistic were these people?

  I started searching the room for something that would help…gloves, pliers—anything. I lifted boxes, pushed aside furniture, and then I noticed a red cloth draped casually over what looked like a small painting.

  Hmm, maybe if I wrap
ped my hands…

  I pulled the cloth from the painting and froze.

  It was the man in the mirror, the one that’d looked like my dad, right before he’d transformed into that terrifying ghost. It was a portrait of him, sitting in a chair, with that same smirk on his face, like he had a great secret, a terrible secret, and the rest of us were about to suffer for it.

  But who was he?

  There was a golden plate on the bottom. I bent over to get a closer look.

  Eris Mordryck R—

  The rest had been scratched away.

  Even though it was just a painting, I felt like he was watching me, studying me. I picked up the portrait and turned it around so that it faced the wall. Whoever this Eris was, I certainly didn’t like being down here alone with him.

  After I’d wrapped my hands, I returned to the bags, pulled one free, and started picking off the thorns. The cloth helped some, but the thorns were like little daggers and there were so many of them that it was difficult getting a good grip without brushing against them. Once I had all the thorns removed, I glanced back at the other bags and sighed.

  It was going to be a long night.

  I pulled the next stem and went to work, and once I was done, I set it beside the other and paused.

  The one on the ground, the one I’d already de-thorned, had bloomed. What had been a bud a few minutes ago had been replaced by what reminded me of a dandelion weed, except these seeds were black with glittering silver tips, and it was absolutely beautiful. I picked it up, held it to my lips, and blew.

  Unlike the dandelion weed, these seeds stayed put.

  One by one, I pulled each stem from the bag, picked off the thorns, and soon had a pile of beautiful black and silver flowers. My fingers had suffered in the process and were so numb I wondered if I’d ever get my feeling back.

  I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I was at the bottom of the last bag when there was a soft knock on the door.

  Sir Armand stepped inside, glancing at my mountain of flowers before looking back at me, and he smiled. “Time to escort you to your room, princess.” I could feel that he was glad to deliver this news.