Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Ashby?” Sam whispered as they came to stand next to him. Shaking visibly, he managed to look up. “What’s going on?”

  “Samantha, dear,” the Regent said before Ashby could get a word out. “I want to apologize for my reaction early today. I was roused out of bed quite suddenly, and my nerves aren’t what they used to be. I could hardly form a coherent thought.” The Regent’s tone was conciliatory and overly cordial. Its phoniness set Greg’s teeth on edge. He only hoped Sam could see through it as well as he could.

  “I trust you will forgive my . . . rudeness,” the Regent added, raising her eyebrows. For a few seconds, she waited for an answer, but Sam gave none. The Regent’s mouth twisted in displeasure for only an instant. She continued undeterred. “I also hope you’ll understand if my wariness hasn’t been relieved, even after talking to Ashby. I still have many questions about your . . . background. As a mother, his well-being is my biggest concern. Furthermore, it is my duty to look after the welfare of our kind. Given that my son is the future Regent, there’s much I need to understand before I can allow a match to take place.”

  Greg cast a glance toward Ashby, wondering how the guy could just stand there without a protest. It wasn’t as if there were a choice in the matter. Sam was Ashby’s Integral. Fate had decided that. Danata couldn’t change that even if she wanted to. But maybe things were different here. Maybe the Regent or her Sorcerers had the power to alter Morphid fate. Suddenly, Greg found himself wishing Sam didn’t meet the Regent’s lofty standards.

  Sam’s head swiveled back and forth between Ashby and his mother. Clearly, she was also wondering why her beloved Companion didn’t say something to help. Ashby managed a glance in her direction. His face was red, his mouth trembling. It looked as if he was burning to speak up . . . but couldn’t?

  “Well . . . ?” the Regent said, noticeably put out by Sam’s lack of response. “Are you at all able to speak . . . girl?”

  Greg was about to come to her defense when Sam took a step forward. To his surprise, she no longer appeared frightened. Instead, her face was darkened in a cloud of anger and injury.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to say,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “I have no interest in your tribulations as a mother or as Regent. I’m only here because I have no choice.”

  It was Ashby’s turn to look injured, and he gaped at Sam in quiet disbelief at her words. Sam gazed up at the Regent, unblinking and unabashed. The Regent, in turn, regarded Sam with curiosity, as if she were a rare specimen never encountered before.

  “I see,” Regent Danata said after a moment. “Choice isn’t something most among our kind have the luxury to enjoy, or even consider. I suppose you grew up believing you possessed free will, but alas.” The Regent laughed disdainfully and exchanged a conspiratorial glance with the hooded man at her side. “Be that as it may, this doesn’t change our current dilemma, does it, my dear?”

  Regent Danata stood, smoothed her robe and stepped down from the dais. She walked toward Sam, wearing a sly smile. “I wish for nothing more than my son’s happiness. Sadly, he won’t be able to attain it if he cannot be with his Integral.”

  A strangled grunt escaped Ashby’s throat. He was sweating profusely and shaking on the spot, as if waging an internal battle. Greg then realized that Ashby had been magically gagged. The Regent ignored her son’s muffled protest and continued.

  “For that reason, I will ask a favor of you,” the Regent continued in her most beguiling tone. “It’s a simple thing that won’t harm you in the least.”

  Greg knew a lie when he heard one. “No,” he snapped. “She’s lying, Sam. Whatever it is, don’t believe her.”

  A grin containing zero amusement curved the Regent’s lips. “Just a little white lie, perhaps,” she admitted. “Let me explain. You see, I wish for my Succeeding Sorcerer to divine you. That means,” she continued, noting the look of puzzlement on Sam’s face, “he shall look into your mind to try to find out who you truly are, and whether you’re . . . fit to enter our family. People who live in exile, as you have, do so to escape from justice, to escape for their crimes. I can’t be taken in by allowing you to become part of the Rothblade family without knowing if there’s something in your past that may taint our name.”

  “Don’t do it, Sam,” Greg said between clenched teeth.

  The Regent’s eyes wandered over the hall, never alighting on Greg. She sure was going out of her way to pretend he was invisible. Jutting her chin up in the air, she said, “Divination can sometimes cause . . . harm, but it’s rare. I assure you. Problems occur only when the mind has been tampered with. I doubt, however, this is the case with you. According to my son, you’ve lived in exile since you were quite young. So I doubt anyone tampered with those early memories.”

  “I see you have no problem putting her in danger,” Greg pointed out.

  “Quiet,” the Regent said angrily, finally looking at Greg, eyelids at half-mast. She held a shaky hand up as if ready to strike him. Her hand trembled in midair, as if she were reaching for something. To Greg’s surprise, the simple gesture gave him an overwhelming sense of dread. He took a step back, expecting his magic to surface, but . . . the Regent wasn’t threatening Sam, was she? A feeling of doom and despair enshrouded him. After a moment, Danata’s hand lowered, and she opened her eyes to their normal size. The hair on the back of Greg’s arms stood on end. How could the threat of a simple slap make him feel as if everything precious to him would be lost?

  After a deep inhale, Danata said, “I really hope you can make your own decisions, my dear Samantha.” Danata’s voice shook. “Otherwise, you’ll make a lousy council member. Try to remember, he’s just . . . a servant.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” Sam replied, surprising everyone in the room.

  “Excellent.” The Regent smiled with satisfaction and walked back to the dais.

  “No, Sam. Are you crazy?” Greg said.

  She turned to face him and spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I don’t really have a choice, do I? They’ll do it anyway if I refuse.”

  Greg knew she was right.

  “This is where Fate has brought me. I couldn’t stay away, even if I tried,” she said, with an odd mixture of passion and resignation. “And who knows? Maybe they can help me figure out who I am.” She smiled sadly.

  “What if they fry your brain? Have you thought about that?”

  Sam shrugged. She looked so despondent, so given over to this Fate crap. He opened his mouth to protest, but Sam placed a finger on his lips. “Please, Greg. It’ll be best for all of us if we go along.”

  “No, that’s—”

  “I’ve made up my mind.” Her tone was harsh and final. At that moment, he could still hear Danata’s voice echoing the word, “servant” in his mind. “Fine!” Greg said angrily, resenting her decision and her ability to cut him out so easily.

  Sam whirled and took two steps toward the dais. “I’m ready,” she said.

  The Regent smiled and nodded at the man at her side. The hooded figure stepped down from the dais, striding toward Sam.

  “Remove your hood. I want to see your face,” Sam demanded.

  Slowly, the man lowered his hood, revealing unkempt, blond hair and green eyes. Greg and Sam exchanged a quick glance. Not the same Veridan, after all. Disappointment and confusion mingled in Greg’s mind. He’d been so sure!

  “What are you—?” Portos began, but was abruptly cut short by the Regent.

  “Portos! My son doesn’t look well. Can you please take him to his room and make sure he is cared for?”

  The old man shifted his attention to Ashby and—finding the boy close to collapse—he promptly put an arm around the young man’s shoulders. Ashby struggled weakly, eyes swiveling desperately, shooting an admonishing glance at Sam.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked, concerned.

  “Perhaps all that travel has affected his nerves,” the Regent suggested with mock concern.

  Sa
m walked up to Ashby and whispered something in his ear. He went very still at her words. After a moment, Sam said, “I want him to stay. He’s the reason I’m here, and if he goes, I don’t see why I should comply with your demands.”

  Regent Danata shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.”

  As if Ashby were a child, Sam brushed hair off his forehead and kissed him lightly on one cheek. The gesture was tender and oddly private. Greg bit his tongue and looked away. His eyes stumbled into the Regent’s, who smirked knowingly, making Greg feel like an open book, like she knew exactly how he felt for Sam.

  Sam returned to Veridan and looked him in the eye.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

  Chapter 36 - Sam

  As Veridan approached, Sam’s whole body went rigid. The aura of hatred emanating from the Sorcerer was tangible, and his presence felt strangely and hazardously familiar. She looked to Ashby, who stood there tongue-tied. They had done something to keep him from talking. She was certain of it. If they could do that, what could they do to her while they sifted through her mind? What could they do to Greg if she didn’t agree to go along with it?

  Tight-lipped, Veridan stood before her. “This won’t take long.”

  “Just get it over with,” she said, feeling her resolve slipping away quickly.

  “Very well. Stand right here.” The sorcerer pointed at a pentagram on the floor.

  Sam hadn’t noticed the inlay of a five-pointed star etched into the marble floor. Black obsidian, she guessed, artfully outlined the pentagram’s contour in flawless lines. It must have taken countless hours of carving and chiseling to make such a perfect design. The surface of the pentagram was smooth, as if generations of feet had polished it into its glossy state. She tried not to think of how many people had stood there and for what purpose, every single one of them just as scared as she was, as she stepped inside.

  Without preamble, Veridan stepped inside the pentagram with her. The outer lines were big enough to accommodate two people, but not enough to stop Sam from shuddering at the violation of her personal space by this menacing man.

  You have to do this, Sam, she told herself. You couldn’t live without him even if you tried. She looked at Ashby. His world. His rules. You have to learn to live by them. How horribly helpless it was to be a Morphid. How robbed of her own essence she felt, and how full to overflowing at the same time.

  “Close your eyes,” Veridan said. She did, shutting Ashby, Greg and everyone else away.

  A puff of breath from Veridan’s sudden incantation reached her nostrils. It smelled of mint candy and something else that was also pleasant, totally incongruous with the unkempt man. Sam shuddered. The Sorcerer’s words were gibberish, yet they seeped through her mind like sand through an hour glass, filtering through the cracks of her subconscious. There was a gentle pressure against her thoughts that felt kind and reassuring. After a moment, Veridan’s words, although still foreign, started making sense.

  Relax, he said inside her mind. Let me in.

  Sam’s limbs became heavy and warm. It was oddly comfortable. She was in a safe place, dark and moist. A cocoon, she realized. A moment later, she was fainting by her car in the school parking lot, aching with the realization that she would lose Greg. As if from a distance, she felt her body quake with the intensity of her feelings of loss. Suddenly, she was yanked from the parking lot, and she was kissing Greg at his apartment, her body flush with passion. Her heart quickened. She was there with him. It was real. Desperately, she tried to hold on to that moment, but things were speeding up, falling through the dark pit of the past. This time, she was transported to her school library. She shook Greg’s hand. An abrupt jolt of electricity ran up her arm. Next, she was naked in her bathroom, answering the phone call that saved her life.

  Greg, Greg, Greg. It was all Greg and their feelings for each other. The images sped up, like the pages of a book being thumbed through by an expert librarian. There were only flashes now, some of which didn’t even seem familiar—a pink bike, a skinned knee, mean words and loneliness. Sam trembled, feeling cold, abandoned, unloved, so unlike her most recent memories.

  Unexpectedly, the warmth from earlier returned, and the onslaught of images gradually slowed down. There was something of interest here, something unforeseen. She felt happy, loved once more and treasured beyond words. Bouncy curls and chubby cheeks on a small ornate mirror that someone held in front of her face. She lifted a hand to grab the beautiful object, but it was taken away. She started crying, but the mirror was replaced by a face that made her forget her disappointment.

  She giggled, and with pudgy arms, reached out to touch the beautiful features that glowed with immense tenderness and pride. Mama, she babbled. Loving arms picked her up and hugged her. Isn’t she precious? Her mother asked to no one in particular. Yet an answer came, More precious than all the jewels in this world and any others. A man stepped into Sam’s field of vision and wrapped his arms around her and her mother.

  Wait, Sam thought. Let me see your face! The man was too close to distinguish more than a few strands of his long hair. She felt his warmth, smelled his sweet scent and felt his scruffy beard rubbing against her baby skin. She yearned to see his face.

  Who are you? She screamed desperately, trying to lift her arms to push the man’s face away from hers. But these arms belonged to the past, and would only hug her father tighter and tighter. She had to see his face. Yet she couldn’t.

  Forget, a voice gently suggested.

  No.

  Forget, came the voice once more. This time it was an order, but she refused it again.

  You will forget. There was terrible force in the command. It came on like a ramrod against the fragile constructs of her mind, tearing and ripping through the precious memories, through her reason, threatening to tear her sanity apart.

  No. No. No. Her lament echoed as if through a cavern, while she desperately tried to hold on to the shreds of happiness she’d glimpsed. But they were torn like shreds of brittle paper, while she fell down a black hole of oblivion. Her thoughts scattered, leaves in a violent, cold wind.

  Could she ever gather them together again?

  * * *

  “Sam, please wake up.” It was Greg’s voice.

  “If she doesn’t wake up, I’ll make you pay.” This time it was Ashby. He sounded terrified and irate at the same time.

  “That’s a bit melodramatic,” Sam heard Regent Danata reply.

  “She’s fine,” Greg said. “I stopped him as soon I sensed he was trying to hurt her. She’s fine. She’s got to be fine.” He caressed her temple. “I think she’s coming around.”

  As soon as Sam became aware of her surroundings, she curled up into a fetal position. She felt cold and desolate, as if there was no happiness left in the world any longer.

  “What happened? Why are you crying?” Ashby asked, almost hysterical, pulling her hands away from her face. “Sam, what did he do to you?”

  But she couldn’t speak. Even if she could, she couldn’t answer his question. All she felt was a ravaged void where there had been . . . something, something that she’d owned for only a few precious seconds. Ashby stepped away, and his face was replaced by Greg’s.

  “Did you find out what you wanted?” Ashby was screaming at the top of his lungs, making Sam pull her legs tighter into her chest. “Answer me, you bastard! Why do you look this way?”

  “That’s quite enough, son,” Danata said. “Behave yourself, or I’ll have you—”

  “Or what?” Ashby sounded on the verge of madness. “You’ll render me mute again? Cripple me beyond repair, so I can’t get in your way?” There was a short pause. The tension in the room crackled. “Isn’t that . . . isn’t that what you did to Akerman and Uncle Bernard and—”

  “Enough insolence,” the Regent snapped. “The girl’s fine. Look at her. She’s getting to her feet, now.”

  Greg had silently pulled Sam erect. She was so cold, and his arms were so wa
rm and inviting. Her knees wobbled, but Greg held her up and pressed her tight against his body.

  “It’s okay,” he assured her. “You’re okay.”

  “Ashby,” Sam murmured. He was walking in her direction, arms outstretched, ready to receive her. Reluctantly, Greg let her go. She fell into Ashby’s arms with more zeal than she believed possible. Was her link with Ashby strengthening? They embraced almost desperately.

  “Sam, I’m sorry,” Ashby said, squeezing her so hard that she could hardly breathe. “I didn’t condone any of this. I didn’t know they would . . . we shouldn’t have come.”

  “It’s okay. I know it’s not your fault.” It felt good to be in his arms, just as good or better than being with Greg. Tears were still spilling down her cheeks, but she forced herself to breathe and tried to look around through hazy eyes. She gave a little gasp when two ribbons of light floated in front of her. Remembering her gift, she desperately followed one of the links and confirmed it was attached to Ashby as she’d guessed. She scrutinized the others in the room, but no one else seemed to be linked as she was. She wondered if her gift was limited to seeing herself and her Integrals.

  Just when she was almost convinced her talent was useless, Sam noticed a luminous ribbon floating indolently by the door. It rose from behind heavy drapes and ended abruptly in a ragged tip. A feeling of despair and utter sadness washed over her at the sight of it. Something was wrong, but what? She stared, feeling weak with anguish.

  There was a bulge behind the drapes. It squirmed, as if it could sense her watching. Out of the corner of her eye, Sam noticed the Regent stand from her chair. Sam whispered in Ashby’s ear, “I think there’s someone hiding behind the drapes.”

  Regent Danata followed Sam’s gaze. “Bernard!” she cried in anger.

  The shape behind the drapes quaked. And who wouldn’t? Sam trembled every time the harpy just looked her way.

  “You two,” she ordered the guards, “get that fool out of here.” Simeon and his partner headed for the drapes without hesitation.