“Sir?” asked a surprised guard, standing at attention as they rode past when the gate open. “I wasn’t informed you were expected tonight.” The guard looked at the group dubiously. “Is everything . . . all right?” he asked.
“Nothing to worry about,” Ashby said. “Some unexpected guests.”
“This is a bit irregular. Please allow me to consult my superior, sir.” He nodded to three guards who stood behind him. They immediately took positions blocking their path.
“That won’t be necessary,” Ashby tried to argue.
“Just following procedure, sir. My apologies,” the guard said as he disappeared inside the control booth.
“Sounds like you’re just a figurehead foiled by procedure, your highness,” Greg piped in.
Ashby squeezed the ATVs handles, wishing he could crush something. However, he managed to rise above once more, and remained silent. The guard’s superior also found the situation “out of the ordinary,” and wanted them to wait until he arrived. Frustrated, Ashby ordered the guard to fetch Portos while he was at it. The Sorcerer would set things right.
* * *
They all stood in the entrance hall, waiting. Logs burned on a large fireplace at the center of the imposing room. Tall tapestries depicting colorful spring fields hung to either side of the hearth. Majestic stone columns and marble floors adorned the otherwise-empty room. Ashby squeezed Sam’s hand for reassurance.
“Portos will clear things up,” he whispered in her ear.
The High Sorcerer, wearing a silk robe and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, looked disapprovingly on the whole group. He shuffled into the room, looking less than dignified and quite annoyed.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “What in God’s name were you doing out there at this time of night? Or should I say dawn? Have you lost your mind?”
“I did what was necessary, Portos,” Ashby explained. “My mother forbade me to—”
“That’s exactly right,” Portos interrupted, his raised voice echoing across the hall. “The Regent forbade you to try anything on your own, and for very good reason.”
“It was perfectly safe,” Ashby shot back defiantly, sick of being treated like a child. “And as you can see, I managed just fine.”
Shaking his head with irritation, Portos looked at Sam and Greg. They were too taken in by their surroundings to fully follow the conversation.
“So she has finally morphed,” Portos observed, looking at Sam up and down.
Put off by the old man’s attention, Sam inched closer to Greg, looking like a scared mouse.
“It’s okay,” Greg told her. “No red flags yet,” Ashby heard him whisper.
A pang of jealousy hit Ashby in the chest. He tugged her hand, irritated that she should look to the Keeper for comfort.
“And who is this?” asked Portos, looking at Greg.
“He is—” started Ashby.
“I’m her Keeper,” Greg cut him off, pronouncing each syllable as to leave no room for interpretations.
Ashby shook his head. The brute has no manners.
“Keeper?!” exclaimed Portos. “She has a Keeper? But that means she must be . . .” He stopped. His mind seemed to suddenly go in a thousand directions.
“She must be what?” Ashby asked. He didn’t like the trepidation in Portos’s tone.
“This is most grievous! Your mother must know.”
“What’s wrong?” Greg demanded.
“We should see the Regent, right away!” Portos turned to leave.
“Now? But she’ll be furious,” Ashby said.
“I told you we should sneak in, but you wanted to waltz in like a hero,” Perry put in under his breath.
“You had better keep your mouth shut, Perry.” Portos shot an angry eye at his apprentice. “Your disobedience will not go unpunished this time.”
Ashby peered at Perry and imperceptibly shook his head, trying to tell him he wouldn’t let him be punished. Perry cocked an eyebrow and scoffed. He didn’t have any confidence in Ashby’s ability to keep him out of the hot cauldron this time. While Portos walked ahead, Ashby took the chance to lean into Perry and whisper in his ear.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he said, trying to prove he could keep him from the Regent’s rage. “Why don’t you go back and work those spells on Sam’s family and everyone else? Make sure they don’t think she’s been missing these past two weeks. She can call them and explain everything later.”
“Yes, boss. That sounds great!” Perry said, making a military salute. “I’d rather not see your mother turn blue again.” And with that, he stepped into a side passageway, leaving Ashby behind with a half-smile.
They followed Portos down the winding, stone corridor, and soon found themselves in the Regent’s grand hall, waiting for her to appear. The high arched ceilings and marble columns flanking every wall made the hall seem cold, in spite of the warm lighting. Moon light broke through the stain glass window above the dais and six white marble statues watched over them, three at each side. Ashby felt ill to his stomach, and halfway wished he had listened to Perry. However, this was inevitable, and the sooner everything was out in the open, the sooner he could marry Sam.
“Regent . . .”
“Mother . . .”
Portos and Ashby spoke at the same time as Regent Danata entered the hall through a side door. She looked none-too-pleased to be disturbed at such hour. She held a silencing hand out as she climbed onto the dais and took a seat on a large, solitary chair. Her robes were as red as the velvet upholstery on which she grumpily settled herself, making her blend almost perfectly with the chair and appear like a floating head. Ashby hated that she chose to conduct business from such an elevated place, as if she were some sort of ancient queen. When he became Regent, he would do away with the stupid, throne-like set up.
His mother icily surveyed each of the people before her. When she came to Ashby, her severe gaze descended down his arm until she found his hand interlaced with Sam’s. Her eyes moved up again, this time following Sam’s arm up to her pale and anxious face. There, her attention lingered, and an expression of surprise softened her features. She quickly blinked, as if to disguise her scrutiny of the foreign girl, and set her disapproving gaze back on her son.
“I think I can guess what is happening here.” She looked to the accompanying guard. “Please leave us.” The men did as ordered. “I don’t understand,” she scoffed, looking at Portos, “why you have deemed it necessary to disturb my sleep for such a trifling matter.”
“It may appear so, but I would not have disturbed you if it wasn’t important,” Portos paused, waiting for the Regent to say something. When she didn’t, the High Sorcerer continued. “Ashby blatantly disobeyed your orders and took it in his own hands to retrieve his Integral, disregarding any risk to his person.”
“I can deduce that for myself, Portos. He will be suitably reprimanded for his disobedience, but it can certainly wait until tomorrow.”
“Indeed,” Portos answered with a slight bow. “However, as you can see, his Integral is not the only one he brought back with him.”
His mother’s attention moved to Greg. She examined him as if she beheld a dirty farm animal. His jaw firmly set, Greg held the Regent’s gaze with defiance. Ashby had gotten to know Greg, if only a bit, and at that moment, his countenance revealed more than just the stubbornness of not admitting his proper station. Fear, distrust and a righteous anger also clouded his features.
As Ashby had seen his mother do repeatedly, she inspected Greg through half-lidded eyes. When she was done, she frowned quizzically, as if her examination had revealed something unexpected.
“I assume you speak of this lad?” the Regent disdainfully remarked.
Accustomed to Greg’s emotional declarations, Ashby expected him to say something rude, like pointing out he was the most amazing Keeper to ever walk the earth. However, Greg remained silent, hovering near Sam, never taking his eyes off the Regent. Ashby did
n’t like this one bit.
“Yes, the lad claims to be the girl’s Keeper,” Portos said, looking glad to finally deliver the news that had compelled him to bother the Regent at the break of dawn.
Revealing absolutely no emotion, Danata regarded Portos with a measure of contempt. “Indeed he is,” she said, unsurprised.
Stirring uncomfortably on the spot, Greg stepped impossibly close to Sam.
“Can someone please explain the crux of the matter?” Ashby asked irritated. “So Greg is Sam’s Keeper. I read he’s supposed to protect Sam from danger, but what other significance is there?”
Portos shook his head. “The ignorance of today’s youth is appalling.”
“We need to get out of here,” Greg whispered out of the corner of his mouth, leaning his head toward Sam’s until they almost touched.
Sam shuddered. Her eyes shifted questioningly to Ashby’s. He tried to appear reassuring, even though he, himself, was feeling more and more uncertain. He smiled and winked nonchalantly.
Portos donned his scholarly voice, as he had countless times before. “Very few people throughout history have ever required a Keeper. Perhaps you’ll remember statesman Benofoix, who fought for the momentous reform that spelled the end of the totalitarian Regency that had ruled Morphids for centuries. He personally rallied many of the cause’s strongest supporters, finally overcoming harsh opposition. It is to him we owe our current form of leadership. However, he couldn’t have done it without his Keeper, who saved him from assassination attempts innumerable times.
“There was also Derfrine Rovenspear who, as a Keeper, was more famous than the person she protected. She sacrificed her life in a duel in order to defend General Mujehn against the High Sorcerer of the old . . .”
“Enough,” snapped Danata. “Let us not jump to any conclusions about these two . . . outsiders. We know absolutely nothing about them.”
Ashby’s mind was reeling, trying to understand what Portos had said. He didn’t remember any of the people the old man had mentioned, except for Derfrine Rovenspear. Everyone knew she traveled disguised as a man, hiding her fiery curls and smooth features under a heavy helm just to remain by Captain Mujehn’s side. But Ashby had always heard that Derfrine was the General’s lover. Nothing more. What was the old man trying to say?
Ashby had to ask. “Portos, are you implying that something momentous lies in Sam’s future, that she might be fated to do something that will change the course of our history?”
“Yes, the likelihood is—” started Portos.
“I said enough,” Danata repeated, striking the arm of her chair and rising to her feet. “These conjectures are of no use at this moment. Summon Veridan and two of the guards,” the Regent ordered a young attendant who stood quietly in a corner. He jumped to attention and hurried out without making a sound.
Sam’s grip on Ashby’s hand tightened. Her eyes darted around the room, as if looking for some hidden exit. Greg moved to stand in front of her and looked around, too.
“Why must you summon them?” Ashby was puzzled.
“Keep quiet, Ashby. I’m terribly disappointed in you.”
From experience, Ashby knew that, at moments such as this, arguing with his mother was useless. However, he’d dragged Sam into this situation, whatever it may be. He couldn’t just stand idly by.
“Mother, I don’t understand. This is my Integral, for God’s sake. My future wife! Please, I—”
“Such insolence from my own flesh and blood,” boomed Danata. Her face was now red with fury. She seethed, and was about to launch into a tirade when the two summoned guards walked in.
“Did you call?” Simeon asked. He was accompanied by Omar, who looked small next to Simeon’s gigantic frame. Both wore dark suits and sour expressions on their faces.
“Take these two to the southernmost guest room and keep them there until you receive further instruction,” the Regent said.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the guards walked toward Sam and Greg. Ashby blocked their path. In the past, he had commanded both these man in training exercises. Now, he tried to defy them with the same mastery. The men stopped and looked hesitantly back at the Regent.
“Mother, this is ridiculous. They are my guests. Must you treat them so . . . callously?” Ashby protested.
“Would you rather I sent them to a cell?” The Regent’s voice was full of barely-restrained venom.
The southern guest rooms were windowless and austere, reserved for minor visitors, but they were certainly better than the musty dungeon. Ashby hesitated, unsure of what to say or do.
“Do as I said,” the Regent commanded the guards. Her harsh tone erased all hesitation. They brushed Ashby aside and none-too-gently took hold of Sam and Greg’s arms, ushering them toward the exit.
At a loss for words, Ashby decided that the least he could do was keep them company. He started to follow.
“You stay here,” his mother ordered.
Ashby stood torn between showing solidarity and finding out exactly what was happening. Finally he opted for staying, desperate to understand his mother’s behavior. Knowing Danata, she might even take it out on Sam if he stepped out of line, just to teach him a lesson. With one last glance at Sam’s long brown hair, he swallowed his impotence and chose to play the Regent’s game.
Chapter 34 - Sam
Sam clutched Greg’s arm with apprehension as they were herded down semi-dark corridors. After exiting the great hall, the guards released their grip and allowed them to walk in the front, barking directions when they needed to turn down certain passageways. The palace was a strange combination of medieval and modern-looking touches, unlike anything she’d ever seen. Ancient oil paintings hung on the walls, interspersed with colored photographs. Strange sconces, glowing dimly like night lights, barely beat back the darkness of the empty halls.
“Take a left,” the giant of a guard barked as the corridor forked in two.
When they reached the intersection, a dark figure appeared in their path.
“Who goes there?” the same guard asked, jumping to the forefront. The figure didn’t respond, but stood watching from beneath the hood of a heavy cloak, face concealed in shadows.
Almost climbing up Greg’s arm with fear, Sam peered into the black hole under the hood, certain she would find Veridan’s piercing black eyes. For his part, Greg remained calm, as if he knew this person posed no threat at all.
Slowly, the figure peeled the hood back. As he uncovered himself, the guards relaxed. Sam didn’t understand why they’d expected trouble within the castle. Maybe the presence of two strange Morphids and the Regent’s behavior had set them on edge.
“It’s just Bernard,” the smaller guard said. “What are you doing roaming the halls at this hour, you crazy, old fool?”
“Watch yourself,” the burly guard warned. “He’s still the Regent’s brother-in-law, even if he’s not quite . . .” he trailed off, twirling an index finger next to his temple.
“Roanna,” the strange man said, looking straight at Sam. “Roanna, is that you?”
Sam and Greg exchanged inquisitive glances. Like a ghost, the old man floated toward Sam, extending a shaky hand. “Is that you, my darling?” he asked, with an edge of terrible desperation in his voice. Abashed, Sam hid behind Greg, thinking the man must be truly bonkers.
“Easy, old man.” The burly guard placed a hand on Bernard’s chest.
“Who’s Roanna?” the other guard asked.
“His dead wife, the poor fool. He thinks she’s still alive and he roams around, scaring the boots off everybody,” he explained, as if the old man wasn’t there.
A surge of pity enveloped Sam. Poor old man. She stepped away from Greg’s side to get a better look. Examining his face, she found that he wasn’t old after all, maybe just middle age, like James. Nonetheless, the weariness of many years was etched across his face. A soulful tear rolled down the man’s cheek, making Sam’s throat tighten in pity. She wanted to reach out
and touch him, overwhelmed by the strange urge to console him, to somehow make his worries disappear.
“Bernard, old fellow, why don’t you go in the kitchen to see if they’ve baked the yeast rolls?” the burly guard offered.
At the mention of yeast rolls, Bernard seemed to forget his sadness. “Yes, yes,” he smiled. “I will bring you some back,” he added, looking at Sam. “You’ve always liked them.”
Bernard ran along, looking back at Sam with a big grin on his face. She was reminded of a child’s enthusiasm at the mention of candy. Her pity for Bernard intensified.
“Poor man,” she whispered as she watched him disappear at the end of the hall.
“Come along.” The burly guard pointed the way. “We’re almost there.”
After a couple more left turns, they were deposited into a crude, windowless room, furnished only by a small bed and armoire.
“The lavatory is through there,” the large guard said, pointing at a narrow door at the far corner, then closed the heavy wooden doors with a loud clunk.
Expecting an immediate, “I told you so,” Sam peered up at Greg. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked to the bed, sat at its edge, and stared at the wall, face strained as if a million ideas were flying behind his eyes.
“How bad is it?” Sam finally asked, sitting next to him.
He shook his head. “As bad as it gets,” he said, getting up and walking as far from her as the cramped room allowed.
“What does that woman have against me?” she asked to no one in particular.
“She hates you,” Greg said.
“Hates me? But that’s insane! She’s never met me.”
“Oh, she hates you, all right. Have no doubt about it. And it’s not ‘cause of your lowly pedigree. There’s something else. I can sense it,” he said.
“How can you be so certain?”
“I just know, all right? Makes my hair stand on end. It’s no idle hatred, either. She means you harm. The killing kind. Maybe not now, but soon.”
“I guess . . . I should’ve listened to you.” Sam said, clasping her head.
Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1) Page 24
