Weakly, he swiped at the hands that gripped him. The world shifted again, and Kieran’s stomach rolled with it.
“Leave me,” he tried to protest, but the words were lost.
The movement proved too much excitement in Kieran’s current state, and oblivion claimed him once more.
The ground bounced and swayed, jolting Kieran back to consciousness only long enough for his face to slam into something hard. A pitiful whimper managed to escape as he curled into himself, arms lifting to protect his head.
“There now. Just a bit further and we’ll get you taken care of.”
“Sydney!” a harsh voice snapped.
“He’s in pain,” the first voice protested.
“Until we know who we’re dealing with, you’ll stand clear, do you understand me?”
There was a muffled grunt of assent and then a hushed, “Sorry.”
Before Kieran could dwell on why the voice was apologizing, something soft scraped against his leg and lightning sang through his veins. Kieran’s body bowed off the ground as the burn consumed him, robbing him of consciousness.
When Kieran woke next, he was in a room the color of the desert at night. Soft grays, dark greens, and deeper blues enveloped him, making him feel like he was lying beneath the stars, the last week a distant and terrible dream.
The complete absence of pain was the first thing he noticed. The second was the lack of dirt.
Kieran abruptly sat, looking around more closely. Where am I? More importantly, how did I get here?
The last thing he remembered was searching for the gate. He’d thought he’d found it the last time, but it had only been another of the Vale’s many tricks. A mirage to torment an already broken man.
Fate was a cruel bitch. Promising him something, dangling that promise before him for centuries, only to snatch it away once he finally thought he’d found it.
First with Effie. Then with the gate.
Kieran swore softly under his breath, eyes drinking in everything while his thoughts raced, trying to piece together the fragmented memories that were beginning to surface.
There had been voices, which meant people. He’d been rescued? Or was it captured . . .
Standing slowly, Kieran walked around the room, his fingers trailing lightly over the dove-gray walls. It doesn’t look like a cell.
It was just an ordinary room. Plain. Unobtrusive. Like it was used for guests, or perhaps waiting for an owner to claim it and give it personality. There was one small table beside the bed he’d been lying on, a braided rug on the ground, and an empty bookcase standing against the opposite wall. That was it.
Kieran spotted the door and moved swiftly, hand reaching for the doorknob. Locked.
Prisoner it is, then.
The breath left him in a whoosh, although he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed by the discovery, or relieved. It wasn’t exactly like he had anywhere else to go.
With nothing else to do for now, Kieran turned back to the bed, his eye catching something he’d missed before. His belongings were folded and sitting on the ground beside the bed. They’d been washed, and the small pack he’d been carrying was lying on top of the pile. His weapons were nowhere to be found.
Definitely a prisoner.
Retrieving the small bag, Kieran opened it and peered inside, mild surprise flowing through him when he saw that nothing else had been taken. The few coins, stolen prophecy book, and journal the Keepers had given to him were still inside.
Kieran remained bowed over the belongings, his fingers stroking the ancient leather mindlessly before he plucked the book from the pack. He didn’t know why he’d kept it. Wasn’t like the damned thing had been useful in the end.
Standing, he let the pack drop back to the ground with a soft thud and made his way back to the bed. Sitting down, he opened the book, rifling through the pages without really seeing any of them.
The book fell open to a familiar page and Kieran scowled as his eyes landed on the string of words that had haunted him ever since he’d first discovered them.
The TMJ prophecy.
He never had figured out what prophecy those letters referred to. Or, if in fact, they were somehow tied to the Shadow Years and their markers.
Kieran slammed the book shut, frustration and anger overtaking the other mess of emotions within him. The taste of failure was like ash in his mouth. After everything he’d done, all in an attempt to win the heart of the woman he’d spent his life loving, he’d lost. None of it had been enough, and worse, he’d destroyed the only home he had left in the process.
Try as he might, Kieran could not ignore the tidal wave of guilt and pain that lanced him. At least if he’d died out there he could have found some measure of peace. It would have been a relief to be free from the burden of feeling everything, all the time, all at once.
Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes falling shut. But even that path was closed to him.
Not even death wanted to claim him.
Chapter 7
Ronan made a better partner than Lucian cared to admit. Between the two of them, they were able to keep Effie hidden from the rest of the survivors—not including the Triumvirate who knew everything. To that end, either Lucian or Ronan would take turns guarding the wagon, while Kael remained at the head of their caravan, leading the way into the Broken Vale.
The time was swiftly approaching when he’d no longer be able to keep her existence a secret. He would not place the people of the Broken Vale at risk by bringing one of the Shadow-touched into their city. Not without their consent. He only hoped that when the time came, they would not turn her away.
The Keepers were well into their third day of travel, the humid jungle giving way to arid desert the day prior, and Lucian was ready for a warm meal and real bed. He’d roughed it before, countless times, but never had the emotional toll of his mission had such an effect on him. He was beyond exhausted, sheer force of will was the only thing keeping him moving.
“You look like shit.”
Lucian didn’t bother hiding his scowl as he turned to the robed man beside him. “On my worst day, I am still a far cry better looking than you.”
The sound of rustling leaves swirled around Lucian, which made him frown harder. He’d been trudging beside the Triumvirate member Effie referred to as Mirror Two for the better part of an hour. If his patience was frayed before, it was non-existent now.
“So touchy, Guardian.”
“Is there a point to your commentary or are you merely seeking to annoy me? I should warn you; it’s working.”
The rustling sound swelled.
“If you mistook that for anything other than a warning to tread carefully, then you are a greater fool than you realize,” Lucian bit out.
“You need to sleep. You’re of no use to anyone in this state, least of all your charge.”
“I’ll sleep once we are safely arrived.”
“You know as well as I that it could be days before the members of the Valen Council accept our request for entry into their city. You go on like this much longer; you won’t survive the summons.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
“It’s fact, not opinion.”
“Don’t recall asking for that either.”