The Keeper's Flame (A Pandoran Novel, #2) (23 page)

My stomach turned, and my forearms started hurting.

“One for the bowl.” The headmaster held the tip of the dagger over Orindor’s bowl. Danton’s blood trickled down the blade until it bubbled at the tip and dropped onto the red gems.

“And one for the stone.” The headmaster took the blade to the unity stone and holding it over until a drop of blood fell upon it. But rather than slide down the side, the unity stone absorbed the blood and pulsed with red light.

A small flame appeared, hovering in Orindor’s iron bowl, rising from the red gems, and as I watched, fire-gold letters burned along the rim, just below “Orindor”:

DANTON MARCELL PONTEFRACT

As fast as they had appeared, they faded and were gone.

But the flame remained. The keeper’s flame. So that was what Thad had been talking about.

The headmaster nodded at Danton. Danton pushed down his sleeve and rejoined his father in the crowd.

“Ehren Venia of the Arborenne.” Headmaster Ambrose moved to the next iron bowl—the one with Arborenne etched along the brim.

The headmaster repeated the ritual for each contestant, and each time he stepped to the appropriate gem-filled bowl. The angry half-sized boy named Kenley, then Vera, and Steerforth. Steerforth even winked at Isla Justine, who was standing near me, while the headmaster dug into his arm.

Five flames burned in their respective bowls.

There were only two left: Valdon and Pendel. Which really meant I was the only one left.

“Prince Stefan Regius of Valdon.”

Part of me screamed to run. Run away from this room, these people. Anywhere but seal myself to this fate.

“Prince Stefan Regius,” the headmaster repeated, a little sharper this time.

Dad nudged me in the side.

With a deep breath, I walked to Valdon’s bowl, feeling every eye on my back.

“Your arm,” the headmaster said coolly.

I extended my forearm. The cool metal touched my skin and I winced. With the softest pressure, the dagger’s tip made a dimple in my skin and, with a sharp prick, blood pooled at the cut. The headmaster pulled the dagger away and added my blood to the emerald-like gems.

He moved to the unity stone and let a drop of my blood fall. As soon as my blood touched the surface, a surge of power exploded through the room, and with a stiff breeze the candles died.

All but for the flames in the bowls.

The crowd whispered as their confusion surrounded me, and then a flame rose from the deep green gems in Valdon’s bowl.

It was tiny, much smaller than all the other flames, and unlike the other contestants, no name appeared outside the bowl. The headmaster studied it, perplexed, and glanced at me, searching.

Letters began to appear, the same fire-gold that had appeared on every other bowl for every other contestant. But this name didn’t begin with an “S”.

It began with a “D”.

Oh, no.

My heart thudded and the crowd’s curiosity slammed into me, nearly knocking me down.

“Daria Pandor Regius?” whispered someone in the crowd. “But how…?”

The headmaster’s gaze seared and sweat began dripping down my temples. The king stepped forward, eyes narrowed at the bowl, mouth twisted in fury.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

My dad stepped forward, furious. “There has to be some mistake.”

Headmaster Ambrose glowered at Dad. “The Keeper’s Fire cannot lie.”

“I know,” Dad exclaimed, “but you can see as well as I…Stefan?” He watched me with a terrified look on his face, and my body started feeling…strange. My skin tingled all over like it was going numb and my insides felt bubbly and warm. After a few seconds, the sensation passed and it was followed by a sharp gasp from the crowd.

The king’s eyes widened, and I knew.

My disguise—the potion. It had worn off.

Chapter 15

From Bad to Worse

D
ad jerked me from the room of angry people faster than I’d thought possible. It didn’t, however, prevent me from hearing all the comments and accusations. “I knew she had magic!” “King Darius did this on purpose!” “They’ve been lying to us all along!”

But the most painful comment came from my dad, once he had me safely out of the room and into a mostly empty corridor. “What is
wrong
with you?”

My throat tightened.

His gaze burned. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He was so angry, little droplets of spit flew in my face when he spoke.

“Dad, I—”

“I can only imagine
why
you did it”—he gripped my arm tighter—“to save Fleck. But to go to this extreme…this is foolish, Daria. Not even I can save you from this.”

I glanced away, trying to hold myself together. It was difficult enough going through with this, let alone having my own dad act like I was marching myself straight to death.

“Did Stefan agree to this?” he snapped.

“No,” I whispered.

He gripped my arm tighter. “Where is he?”

“My room.”

Dad’s understanding surged and he jerked me after him, down the hall toward my room. The guards looked very confused as we approached, then looked at my door like it might start growing legs.

Dad shoved the door in.

Stefan was sitting upright on my couch, staring absently at a pendulum sitting on my coffee table, while it click-click-clicked.

“Stefan,” Dad growled, but Stefan didn’t turn around. He sat there, watching the pendulum swing.

“Please tell me you’re not fighting tomorrow.” Stefan’s voice was weak.

Dad glared at me. “She is.”

Stefan’s anger swelled, but he did not turn around.

“I expect you both to wait here while I help your grandfather convince a room full of enraged citizens that this entire thing wasn’t a setup,” Dad continued. “Stefan, when I return, I expect you’ll find your voice.”

Stefan didn’t respond.

Dad’s lips formed a line and he turned to me. His anger bubbled but his eyes were sad. Sad about what I’d done, how I’d lied…sad that he expected to lose his only daughter. Then he left, slamming the door after him.

The room was quiet.

I took a few steps toward Stefan. Stefan was as still as a statue.

“Stef?”

He all but jumped to a stand and started pulling at his hair. “ARE YOU MAD?”

I stepped back. “No, but—”

“Do you have any idea—any!—what you’re up against?”

“No, and I’m sorry. I—”

“You’ll be killed in two minutes!”

Not what I needed right now. “Stef, please, I—“

“How can she survive—and without magic?” Stefan wasn’t talking to me, now; he was talking to the air, pacing the room and still pulling at his hair. “This is completely mental! Even with magic she’d never make it out alive, not without someone that really—and I mean REALLY—knows magic. What is she thinking?” He paused in his pace.

“Stef—“

“I mean—” he resumed pacing again “—I knew she was desperate for freedom, but she might as well lie down and take a nap on the chopping block, and now I have to explain myself to Grandfather…” He winced.

“Stef—“

“Maybe I should just kill myself and be done with it.”

“Stefan—“

“WHAT?” He stopped and looked at me. There was this wild look to him, all bug-eyed with worry and his hair sticking out all over the place. I half-expected him to start foaming at the mouth.

“Stop, you’ll pull your hair out.”

He let go of his hair and collapsed in a chair, laying his head in his hands. “What did I do to deserve this?”

I took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? You show up here with a shattered foot the very day before the ceremony, then Thad—”

Stefan sat erect, eyes narrowed. “Him.”

“Sorry?”

“Thad,” he hissed, jabbing a finger in my direction. “He’s the one that talked you into this. He’s always—”

“No, this was
my
decision,” I said.

“But he talked you into it; he gave you the disguise. I’ll wring his neck.”

I took another step forward. “But I took it, Stefan, leave him out of this.” Besides, it was more likely Thad would win
that
battle.

Stefan dropped his head in his hands and moaned.

“I know you’re angry and you have every right to be, but I need you right now. There’s an entire room full of people down there who are furious and want to see me fail, and if I have any chance of making it out alive, I need your help.”

“No,” he said, voice weary. “You don’t want anyone’s help but your own. For all you complain about Grandfather, you’re just like him. All you care about is yourself.”

****

I awoke with a start.

Even half-asleep, my conversation with Stefan was still fresh in my mind. He thought I was going die in the games, and everyone else seemed to share his sentiment. Including my nightmares.

The candle burned beside my bed, but my room was otherwise dark. The castle was quiet; it had to be well past midnight.

I slipped from my bed, my feet landing on the cold stone floor. I needed to move. For all its empty space and cold air, my room felt cramped and stuffy. I padded to my dresser, slid into my leathers, shoved my daggers in my belt, shrugged into my cloak, and creaked my door open.

The hall was dark except for a few burning torches. There were no guards outside of my door. Instead, they were at the far end of the hall, leaning against the wall.

Very carefully, I stepped into the hall and closed the door behind me, trying not to make a sound.

The guards didn’t move.

I slipped into the shadows, away from them, and turned a corner.

The castle might have been sleeping but the wind was not. The windows all along the corridor rattled and groaned against the air outside. There was no moon tonight, just darkness.

Like the darkness growing inside of me.

What I wanted was to go back to Earth, back to my boring life in Fresno, where there was no magic, no king. No guild, no lords…no Gaia.

I’d thought I’d had it so rough there, with Cadence as my only companion. What I wouldn’t give for that life now. Where it was just Dad and me on weekends, riding through the fields whenever I wanted.

No real responsibility. No real threat.

I’d been so eager for a change—for freedom—but I’d been too ignorant to realize freedom came with responsibility. And this wasn’t a responsibility I could handle.

And somehow, being in a castle housing hundreds, I felt more alone than I’d ever felt living in Middle of Nowhere, California.

That had to have been years ago—decades ago.

Thad was the only person in this entire world who thought I had a chance in the games. I snorted to myself. Who was crazier? Him for suggesting it, or me for believing?

Voices sounded up ahead, muffled and hushed. I paused. The whispers continued and moved away from me. I hurried to catch them, sticking to the shadows of the hall.

“—better, actually,” whispered a voice around the corner.

“How?” whispered another. “Everyone will be watching her like a hawk now.”

I stepped forward; the voices were moving farther down the corridor.

“My father says she’ll be more vulnerable this way. Don’t you see? It gets her out of the castle.”

Once the voices were far enough away, I stepped around the corner. Three distinct figures were at the opposite end of the hall, turning the corner. They passed through the golden halo of a torch, and I clenched my fists.

Denn, accompanied by his lapdogs.

What were they doing wandering the halls at this time of night?

Whatever it is, it probably isn’t good and you should probably go right back to your room.

I waited a moment and crept after them.

“—vulnerable this way,” Denn continued.

“But what if it’s true? What if she really has power?” another asked.

Ah, yes, come to think of it, that one sounded like Laird.

“It won’t matter,” said Denn. “Father says everything is in place, and with the princess entering the games, things are better than they could’ve planned.”

I peered around the next corner; it was a dead end. The three of them were huddled against a wall. What were they doing?

Denn glanced around and I ducked behind the corner, my heart pounding in my ears as I held my breath.

The hall turned quiet. Too quiet. Slowly, I peered back around; they were gone. I stepped into the empty hall. Had they gone through one of the two doors? I crept to each one and listened.

Nothing.

Where…?

Curious, I walked to the spot I’d seen them huddled. It was just a stone wall with a large portrait of a castle built in a mountainside.

A powerful gust of wind rattled the windows, and I felt a slight draft…from the painting.

I reached out and slid my fingers along the frame, reaching behind it, and my fingertips brushed against a small knob. I pushed it in, heard a soft
click
, and the left edge of the portrait disengaged from the wall.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching and tugged on the portrait. It swung outward like a door without sound, and beyond was darkness except for a faint golden glow, growing fainter by the second.

They were down there.

I climbed through the portrait, onto another stone floor, and closed the portrait behind me. The hall I stood inside of was just wide enough for one person, dark and dusty with a very low ceiling. It veered sharply left, and turned into a tight, descending spiral staircase.

I followed it down, trailing my hand over the cold stone walls. Round and round I went, careful to keep my footsteps soft. The air turned colder and damp, and I shivered inside of my cloak.

The staircase ended into a small, wooden door.

I pressed my ear to the door and, once I was satisfied they weren’t standing right behind it, I grabbed the handle and slowly turned.

Cold air engulfed me, mixed with damp spray, as I stepped out into the night.