Shadows of the Keeper

by Karey Brown

  And he watched her as well.

  The bastard who caused this journey. Never did he inquire if she minded his continued interference, and now, he dared look anguished. Pain over her loss? Or saddened it hadn’t been his weapon bringing down her beloved?

  Pendaran.

  He called to her. As did several more voices, void of faces. Did they seek to offer comfort? Reassurances? Answers? She had none. They would all be returning home to someone they cherished.

  Home.

  Her hands rose high above her head. Momentary delight warmed her frozen heart, sudden perception crossing Pendaran’s face. This time, she would be in control of destiny—not the eternal druid.

  Head falling back, one thunderous clap of her palms . . . Emily vanished.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Her mind immensely enjoyed pausing and rewinding her memories. Forever, it dwelled and exhibited Dezenial’s last breath.

  Rewind: Dezenial closing his eyes.

  Fast forward: His bloodied hand, slipping into the snow.

  Rewind: “Hold me in your memory . . .”

  Fast forward: Vanished.

  Never again would his eyes burn crimson with fury; azure with deep passion. She curled tighter into fetal position, drawing comfort from her own arms banding tightly around her legs.

  Dead.

  Her mind decided now an excellent time to debut its ability with animation, her wrenched heart its greatest audience. She’d teased he was too cautious, for a Lumynari. He’d succumbed to her goading. Catastrophic results always ensued followed by her Daemon lover grumbling about manipulations of women, and the fool male populace following with rings in their noses.

  Her choked laugh gave way to anguish. A bitter, cold, despair filled the caverns of her empty soul. Never again, would he laugh. She covered her face with trembling hands and succumbed to the agony of her loss. No one would clutch her hair, smother her with fierce kisses while fabulous arms held her close, barring the world. So secure, her head nuzzled against his chest, his heart pounding a cadence that matched her own.

  Emily whimpered for a long, long time.

  At last, she’d garnered his permission to attend market. Heavily guarded, she’d teased over how they now drew more attention to themselves, giggling when he scowled over her reasoning. She’d ran the entire way, much to the vexation of her guards forced to keep up. No matter his location in a crowd of varied beasts and beings—which reminded her of what a Hollywood set must look like during lunch break—vying for his verdict to their presented issues as she haggled over delightful treasures, she’d look up and find him staring at her. Owned. Cherished. Others had glanced between the two of them, back and forth, smiling with knowing. Love. Something rarely, if ever, witnessed down here amongst Lumynari.

  Dezenial commanded every aspect of her being; made her feel it was just the two of them inhabiting the world.

  He’d held her at birth; she’d held him in death.

  Tears trumpeted their return. Her babies would never know the feel of being held by their father. Fusion had bonded them for life. He’d saved her. She failed to reciprocate. Fresh waves of sobbing convulsed her. She’d been powerless. Powerless! Powerless! Powerless! The mantra shouted over and over until she screamed and screamed into her pillow.

  Emily awakened, engulfed in darkness. For mere seconds, she thought she was back in Balkore. A nightmare. No, wait. Turning her head slightly, topaz glow on the wall—street lights. Once upon a time, darkness terrified her. Now, it reminded her of Balkore; offered comfort. Change. That’s what she needed. Change of scenery, surroundings . . . self. I’ll cut my hair, sell the house—

  Not one strand, Keer’dra. You are forbidden!

  Grinning played hide and seek at her imagined response of her musings.

  Grin lost.

  A long life lay ahead of her to never hear the cadence of his voice in her head.

  Emily rolled back into her pillows, the bit of will she’d had, now evaporated.

  Rose petals curled inward, shivering in the winter breeze. Dying, they exhibited a delicate beauty. If only all things passing on could be serene to look upon. Emily stared for a long time, feeling one with the single flower, its struggle against a power it was doomed to surrender to. She’d never planted roses. A wild seed? Settling, taking root, blossoming, withering.

  Like her.

  Emily pushed away from her upper window. A Realtor needed to be contacted today. If she remained busy, and put into action her plan, maybe she could hide from her grief. City life held zero appeal. The noise, even cocooned in this private neighborhood, cloaked within these brick and wood walls, deafened. And that phone! What the hell possessed me to ever own one? Day two of life without Dezenial, she’d ripped the non-stop ringing contraption from the wall and thrown it.

  It lay beyond resurrection.

  Like her heart.

  She floated downstairs. Had anyone passed by, they’d have sworn a phantom now resided within. A white slip was the solitary piece of clothing she could stand against her skin. How could she have forgotten how hot Texas was? Did they really consider this to be winter? Nourishment for the twins needed to be seen to. Cianna would be quietly slicing apples, knowing her early morning penchant—what had become of Cianna? Jeeze, how could I have not thought about her grief? She and Dezenial had been close for several millennia. Emily visualized the willowy woman grieving just as much as she herself was. Her forever-tinkling anklets always reminded her of gypsies. Arms folded, Emily’s mind danced with memories of all the lessons her one friend in Balkore had patiently been teaching her from healing herbs to poisons killing simply by dusting against the skin. A deep sigh of longing escaped. Again, the dying rose pulled her, the kitchen window offering a closer inspection of its struggle. Who in this realm would understand the culture she must teach her twins? A smile flitted. How long before they were shadow-jumping? Making her berserk with their vanishings? Would they inherit their father’s false temper? Need to dominate? What of her penchant for pranks . . . if they inherited that with the ability to shadow-jump—gah, she was going to be in a world of trouble with these two! She doubted even their fathers’ fire temper and bellowing would cower these two into obedience. They’d probably figure out early on that he was all hot air. His uncanny ability to reside within their minds, hear all their thoughts . . . secrets would fail. Lying would be obsolete. Kendara’s first kiss would probably get the poor boy decapitated.

  As effective on the imps as it had been on their mother.

  Emily’s eyes pricked over his imagined response; the echo of his rich, deep voice. How she always imitated it with his accent. Now, her mind was tomb silent. Thoughts were solely her own. Emily looked down, swiping tears with clammy fingers. Almost, she laughed out loud, spying her hospital white countertops. Once upon a time, Saturdays had found her bleaching and scouring the white grout of the old fashioned tiles. What a clueless idiot that woman had been.

  She vacated her kitchen.

  From deep within the long neglected garden, a large raven lifted from its perch. Wings caught a draft and swept higher and higher to a ledge just outside an upper window where it continued its watch over the woman within.

  Public endurance, Emily mused, would have to be practiced. A deep, shaky breath shuddered from her. Stale, dry cereal could only sustain a person for so long. Fluttering, her hand splayed her abdomen, a sad smile as she looked down. Her babies seemingly agreed. Several jeans heaped upon her bed. None would zip. “Thanks, you two.” Another flutter. It would seem, like their father, her sarcasm would not be tolerated. Her amber eyes smarted, tears running a gamut down her face. Store. Food. Home. Then cry. She inhaled hitched breaths. Splotchy faces resulted in strangers staring and speculating. And if anyone asked if she was okay, her tears would drown them both. Emily sat heavily, heedless of the clothes strewn everywhere. Left behind in Balkore were long skirts Dezenial had ordered fashioned for her. The heavy skins were softened similar to suede
.

  Memory slammed.

  Dashing around the bed, tall black boots were plucked from the floor. She nuzzled them as if crazed. A daily ritual he was adamant not to break from, Dezenial would hunker down and place them on her, lacing the ties until all the way to her thighs. Deeply, she breathed in their aroma.

  And for a minute, could swear his scent wafted, caressing her.

  Emily doubled-over, boots clutched tightly against her chest, and began rocking, nuzzling the suede. Something from him. Something he’d touched. Something from him . . .

  There would be no outing today.

  The composer scratched his thatch of white hair, flustered. He thought he was frustrated? She was the one sitting here, minus her pants! Wire rims slid down his reed thin nose, the old fashioned lenses trying to abandon his face. A thick forefinger dashed the wayward silver frames back to their bridge. Papers shuffled. He attempted to show he was being kept waiting. He waved his hand at her to try again. How long would she sit here and jingle these stupid little bells? And where the hell were her pants?! Didn’t anyone even notice?

  Emily’s eyes snapped open.

  Fisted in her hands were blankets as if hanging on for dear life. Sweat saturated her. Even awake, she could still hear faint echoes of little bells—shushing?

  Agility and silence were needed now, as she slipped from the bed. Someone was in her house! Had Shadow sent henchmen realm crossing? She would be that desperate, especially with Dezenial now dead! Emily paused. Would the goddess really be so foolish as to temp Hades’ wrath by attacking his daughter in law? Dezenial had said she was most treasured by Hades, his father having warned he would tolerate no cruelty befalling her by way of Shadow. Crouched, tense, she listened. Downstairs still? Was that the crazy dream she’d been having of bells and conductors?

  Words. Muted. Male. She scanned the room for a makeshift weapon. What she wouldn’t give to have Blade with her right now. Dawning ignited. Lethally rising, her chin jutted. She was half Lumynari, and the granddaughter of a goddess. A really vicious goddess who turned men to stone. And, if she really wanted to push her luck, some Keeper of old fools having failed to save—her heart clenched and she chased away fresh pain.

  Right now, intruders were in her home. Mounds of clothes. Sweats? Anywhere? Something shattered! They were in her kitchen! Growling. They’d brought a dog? Male monotone voices resumed. Good God! Who breaks into a house with a mutt—

  Emily bolted from her room. She leapt down the stairs by twos.

  Couldn’t be!

  She sailed over the final four. Just couldn’t! No way!

  Running through her foyer and through the living room—claustrophobic compared to her home with Dezenial—she slammed open her kitchen door.

  And nearly bowled over.

  “Your sire possesses bizarre humor.”

  Idiotically, Emily nodded.

  “Everything she cooks, I’m to sample first.”

  “If . . . you die?” Shock kept her immobile.

  “It is my sincerest hope you would avenge my death.”

  “Sh-shouldn’t I save myself or something?”

  Eldaryn pondered this for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I do believe your father said something to that effect.” One of the hound’s heads swiveled to resume watching Cianna. “I told you, the green stuff was not for consumption. It is used for cleaning. Humans are fond of washing everything they own.” He looked to Emily. “She poured your soap into a glass to add to the fruit she’s sworn oath you crave,” Eldaryn rolled all four yellow eyes. “I had to knock it from her hand.”

  “You did say you were sampling everything,” Cianna whispered.

  Both heads swiveled, sniffing Emily’s one true friend. “I don’t smell sarcasm.” He licked the side of Cianna’s head. She shrieked and whacked both his skulls with Emily’s wooden spoon so fast, both human and beast were stunned by her actions. The beast recovered first and crouched.

  “Eldaryn!” Emily choked out. Her hand splayed her throat. The woman had smacked a lethal beast taller than she as if they were siblings. “How is it you come . . . to be here?”

  “Your father sent us.” His expression clearly indicated she was dimwitted. “This is the clothing for your world?” He licked his chops. “Your legs could use more meat.”

  Emily glanced down at herself. “I wasn’t planning on being a meal, Rover.” The white slip whispered high on her thighs. Her clamped lips imprisoned a sob. Her eyes rivered. No matter how many times she blinked, more tears welled. When last she’d called him Rover, she’d been wrapped in mindless assurances that she and Dezenial had forever, her only complaint: exhaustion.

  Stupid girl.

  Swishing glided for seconds and then glided again. Emily turned around. Her sliding glass door closed with a quiet thud. She dashed her eyes, disbelieving the sight they beheld. Her bottom lip took on a life of its own, quivering. She looked down, softly shaking her head.

  Another bizarre dream. Has to be.

  “Lass, I ken yer’ garden is passing through winter, but ‘twas mi’ intention ta’ fancy yer tray a bit,” Broc whispered, cut flowers grasped gently in his hand.

  He swam in her mire of tears.

  He glanced her gown, his gaze swinging back to her face. She took stock of herself again. “I can’t fit into my jeans anymore.” Her hand gently splayed the growing soft swell of her stomach. “But, I haven’t finished going through all my clothes which . . . I probably need to take a shower and go to the mall and just buy maternity clothes, but then, I can’t stand the smell and all the people and the noise.” She looked back up at Broc. “Remember me saying how lucky you were to look upon the vastness of your mountains, miles upon miles, not a soul in sight? That’s what I want. I don’t want to see anyone, or deal with their lacking knowledge of what’s really out there and then there’s shoes and apples and I can’t stand the thought of going into a store, but I haven’t eaten in days, oh, except dry cereal but I really just want . . . raw. . .” Tears dripped from her chin and splashed her chest. “. . . apples and something spicy, which I think is because the twins are part Lumynari and the spicy food they—“

  “Emily.”

  She raised her face. He was but a blur.

  Flowers he clutched met their final resting place upon cold tiled floor as he charged her, sweeping her up into his arms. “Grieve as I watch over ye’, lass.” He squeezed her to him, nestling her in the cocoon of his arms. She burrowed deeply into warmth of his embrace, her heart pouring from her eyes and onto his neck as he carried her from her tiny eating area.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “Ye’ have neighbors poundin’ yer’ door several times a day.”

  “Feed them to Eldaryn.”

  Male laughter filled her bedroom.

  “I don’t feel well, Broc. Even a simple shower is taxing. I’m so tired, and sick . . . so damn sick. Do you know what it’s like to smell everything that is foul? I swear, I can smell the streets from in here!”

  “The odors are very ripe, I will agree,” Eldaryn announced, nosing open her door. Behind him, Cianna carried in a tray. “I thought after a week of being here, I would acclimate.”

  “A tea I’ve been assured will ease your sickness,” Cianna offered softly. Emily raised up a bit, the effort making her wobbly. Broc rushed over with the makeshift chamber pot, a small wastebasket lined with plastic bag, fearing she would be ill again.

  “I ken Maeve would be hovering with her brews of teas and coffees—“

  “Ugh. No coffee.” Emily shuddered. “The thought of it makes me ill.” She smiled weakly at Broc’s dubious gape.

  “You need not worry about finishing the contents. Its potency works in small doses.” Cianna passed the steaming brew to Emily, who sniffed it cautiously. “Your highness, I would never think to poison you.”

  “I was curious about the new smell. Spicy. Nutmeg, and . . . what?”

  “A few things I brought with me and a few things Urkani insi
sted upon.” Her friend smiled, bowing and backing towards the door.

  “Cianna?”

  Hesitantly, the woman glanced up from her prostrate position.

  “A different era. You promised you’d try. You’re my dearest friend, not my servant. And . . . I hope an aunt or godparent to my babies.”

  Cianna’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded several times before finally finding her voice. “You gift me with the highest honor. I am . . . flattered.” She blushed. “Forgive me.” She rose, and with head held high, nervous in the effort of breaking a long habit, Cianna did as Emily had days earlier requested: she walked with dignity, her back to the occupants, out the bedroom door. Emily smiled, though briefly, remembering Cianna’s small revelation. A dark time, Lumynari forever stepping from shadows to remind her of her position as a lowly servant. Never, could she reveal her true identity. Emily didn’t ask, sensing profound privacy in this woman. Prince Dezenial had never treated her with anything but kindness, but those dark times . . . until Lord Inzyr had forced the prince to return, had been unspeakable. Emily hoped one day her friend would confide all.

  She sipped her tea. “Did you sample this?”

  “Lapped from a bowl upon the floor like a common household pet.” Eldaryn winced. Broc snickered.

  “How’s the enchantress’s brew, lass?”

  “Warm and soothing. My insides are finally settling. Think I’ll even attempt a shower and something with my hair.”

  Eldaryn sniffed loudly, both heads partaking in this noisy chore. “A shower would be wise. You could alert the enemy where you are—“

  Emily fisted her hand then opened it quickly. Blue flame sparked. Rolling her fingers, flames grew and danced. Broc shifted uncomfortably. Eldaryn released a disgusted sigh, turned several circles at the end of her bed—