The Keeper's Flame (A Pandoran Novel, #2) (9 page)

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 wrapped 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.

“What do I do with these?” I gestured to the pile.

“Leave them,” he said. “The servants will gather them.”

I stood, unwrapped my hands—I felt something like pride from Sir Armand—and joined him at the door.

He hesitated there, staring at the flowers. “It is a painful thing, having one’s outward defenses stripped away, but it’s necessary. Only then can one learn to trust what it harbors inside, and then it can shine brilliantly.”

He met my gaze, then, and gestured for me to leave.

Sir Armand didn’t say another word as he led me down the halls, back to my corridor. The castle was quiet and judging by the darkness of the windows, the night had ruled supreme for hours. Sir Armand stopped before my door.

“Your father wanted to get you, but he was detained,” he said for only me to hear.

I nodded slowly, understanding. Dad had been forbidden by the king to come and get me.