The Marked Son (Keepers of Life) (2 page)

The crunch of gravel stops me from saying something that would push her over the edge. Grandma’s within hearing range, a look of suspicion on her face. “What’s going on, Addison?”

“Addy,” Mom says on a sigh as she turns to face Grandma. “My name is
Addy
. And nothing is going on. This is my son. Dylan.”

“Your son?” The news is definitely a shocker for her. “But he’s… How old is he?”

“Seventeen,” I say.

Grandma appears dazed and more than confused.

“Yeah,” Mom blurts out. “Do the math. Sixteen and pregnant. Daddy would’ve freaked—
I
freaked—so I left.”

“What? Your father—”

Mom throws her head back and sways side-to-side like a nervous hen that’s been pegged for Sunday dinner. “You know I’m right,” she hollers at the sky.

Shadows flit into Grandma’s eyes. “He would’ve been angry, yes, but that was no reason to leave like you did.”

Mom’s chin trembles, but she regains control. She looks toward the house and into the woods beyond, like she’s searching for something. “Well, we can’t change the past.”

“No. We can’t.” Grandma glances at me. I can tell she wants to move closer for an inspection, but manners—and most likely shock—keep her back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dylan,” she says.

Her gaze lances through me. I get this feeling like I should apologize, but I can’t think what I’ve done wrong, exactly. I don’t especially like the feeling. So instead, I thrust out my hand and throw her a smile laced with sarcasm. “Hey there,
Granny
.”

There’s a sudden void of sound, like the whole world stops for a millisecond, shocked by my rudeness. It whispers on the wind, “She’s your grandmother. Have a little respect.”

She blinks, and then her mouth cracks open into a wide smile, followed by a sharp laugh. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’re your mother’s child, all right.”

I stiffen. She has no idea how deeply she’s insulted me. Or maybe she does, because the sunlight suddenly splinters in her eyes, and her fingers squeeze mine.

Mom’s fixated on the car, and she’s as jittery as a crack addict. “Can we unpack, now?” she whines, and lights up a cigarette, sucking so hard the tip burns quickly into squiggly ash.

Grandma lets go of my hand to cup my face. There’s an analytical slant to her stare—a “who’s your daddy” look. I can see her mentally click through the slim White Pages of her acquaintances, searching for the culprit. A shadow of suspicion flickers before she gives my cheek a gentle pat. “You’re a handsome boy, Dylan. I bet your girlfriend is still crying over you leaving.”

Girls have been giggling and sighing over me since I hit the sixth grade. I won’t lie. I like girls, and I like the attention they pour on me. A lot. But as soon as I get attached to one, we leave. Over the years, I’ve learned to adapt. To play the field. Life is less complicated that way.

I shrug and look at Mom. “I’m not strictly a one-woman guy, right, Mom?”

She blows out a thick stream of smoke before pitching the spent butt on the ground and grinding it out. “No, you’re not.”

Grandma’s eyes twinkle. “A Romeo, huh?” When I start to pull away, her fingers intertwine with mine, and she leads me back up the dirt road toward the house. “Trust me. A time will come when one special person is all you’ll want.”

Mom snorts and lights another cigarette.

God, I hope not. The last thing I want is to become like Mom; chasing
the one
and always slinking away with the taste of burnt ash in my mouth.

Forced Behavior

In Kera’s opinion, there was nothing worse than being forced into a corset and yards of expensive fabric. She looked like a fragile china doll. No one understood her desire to be free, to walk where she wished, to dress as she chose, yet, the traditional mindset of her people made change nearly impossible.
You risk too much
, her father always said, but he didn’t stop her from scampering off to Faldon’s home, where she learned about the ways of the world outside her staid, dried-up sphere.

Faldon, her tutor, taught her everything from alchemy to self-defense. He talked of places so secret, even her father would gasp at his daring. The old sage treated her as if she had a purpose far greater than being the perfect daughter of a nobleman.

It was because of Faldon that she knew the extent of the violence sweeping her land. Teag was struggling, steeped in a hidden battle for control. And the prize for the victor? A magic so powerful, few had dared to grab it in all the years it had lain in wait for its next host. Now, the warlord Navar, the boldest of those seeking that power, silently crept along the land, spouting the virtues of tradition. Of isolation. Of elitism. Dredging up the Lost King’s dreams of a perfect society.

For her people, Navar’s offering was as seductive as the most beautiful woman. With each stop on his campaign, the man successfully secured a false sense of well-being. Of being special. And his campaign, his every step, every signed decree, was killing those Kera loved.

At the sound of company, Kera glanced up from the piano’s keyboard and out the manor’s parlor window to see Navar’s well-appointed carriage. It slashed through the rain and up their graveled drive, his black horse tied behind it. It was just like him to arrive unannounced.

Kera rose from the bench so abruptly, their dog, who had been lying peacefully by the fireplace, jerked awake. She heard the butler order a room prepared and saw the housekeeper fly by the open door toward the kitchens to make sure their evening meal would surpass even Navar’s jaded tastes.

Why had he come? Lately, something about him had changed. She couldn’t put her finger on what it could be, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. At least he still talked, which he often did, without expecting her to offer an opinion, which she never did.

She couldn’t stay and listen to him carry on his one-sided conversation. The far door offered an escape, and she kicked the multi-layers of skirts out of the way. If she were quick enough, she could leave without him knowing she’d ever been in the room.

She’d barely taken a step when her father snapped his fingers, stopping her, and pointed to the piano bench.

She reluctantly sat. “What is
he
doing here? And why must I stay? It’s gloomy enough outside without having to entertain the likes of him.”

“I would guess he comes for my counsel, and you must stay because you’re this home’s mistress.” Her father stood, presenting himself in fine clothes to match his dignified bearing. He was a scholar, brilliant even by their people’s standards. He folded his spectacles and tucked them into the breast pocket of his jacket.

That simple action said it all. No need to invite the appearance of weakness in front of their future king. Kera concentrated on flattening the pleats in her skirts. “I would rather be this home’s master and bar the doors.”

“Kera…”

She let out a long, venting sigh. “I’ll behave.”

Her father didn’t understand her reaction to Navar. Most thought him handsome, with his dark good looks and perfect soldier bearing, but the more Kera learned about him, the less attractive he became. Her father believed his guidance would cure Navar of his self-centered ways.

Kera didn’t share his optimism.

As soon as Navar strutted into the parlor, his clothes painstakingly pressed and shoes polished, the cheerful mood in the parlor evaporated like water in the desert. His dark eyes found hers and wouldn’t let go. Not a drop of rainwater had dared to fall on him, yet he moved to their empty fireplace, waved his hand, and wood appeared, along with a crackling fire. The air turned unpleasantly hot. Her day dress smothered her skin, and the tight stays pinched her torso. No amount of comfort could be had in the man’s presence.

She produced the required nod to his crisp bow and returned to her music, her fingers searching out the keys to a well-known song. Sadly, there wasn’t a lively enough tune to block out the deep, aggressive staccato of Navar’s voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sit in a nearby chair, put ankle to knee, and rub a non-existent spot of mud from his shoe before settling in.

Kera let loose a weighty sigh and turned the page of sheet music. She’d die of boredom if she were made to stay put much longer. Her father’s quiet voice became lost in the drone of Navar’s egocentric comments, which were accompanied by the slap of his riding gloves against his knee, an annoying punctuation mark to his words. To those who looked, he was a lord in waiting. A king in the making. A conqueror in the flesh. Only she saw him for what he truly was.

A danger to all.

The thought sent a chill through Kera. She abandoned the piano and paced the edges of the room. Still, Navar’s eyes followed her. She lifted a book from a table and hid behind its pages. Navar’s gaze never wavered.

Irritated, she returned to the piano, clutched her necklace and muttered a tiny spell. A rank odor engulfed Navar, sending him out of his chair. He glared at the aging dog lying oblivious by the fireplace, before moving away.

Much better. She resumed playing.

He paced, then stopped and faced her. “Is everything well with you, Kera?”

Kera’s fingers froze on the ivory keys. To anyone listening, Navar’s inflection held just the right dash of interest without any real concern. She didn’t want to answer him. Didn’t want to encourage a new custom of verbal intercourse. A quick glance at her father told her she had no choice.

Staring sightlessly at her sheet music, she said, “I’m fine, my lord.”

She was always fine. It lent an air of banality that had kept him at a distance, so far.

The clock on the mantle chimed. Quarter past five. Dinner was
hours
away. Would this day never end? Navar’s appearance had already ruined her afternoon plans. After a lesson about the aspects of using the earth’s energy to perform magical feats, Faldon had planned to let Kera practice archery.

She sighed. If only they could refuse Navar their hospitality.

An idea formed. A deliciously evil idea that had Kera smiling despite herself. She rose, sweeping the bulk of her heavy skirts behind her, and crossed the room to a clear ball the size of a dinner plate. She stroked it and brought forth the image of their housekeeper.

“Agnes,” she whispered, “add another layer of cotton to Lord Navar’s mattress. You know the kind. We wouldn’t want him to suffer unduly tonight.”

Agnes grinned. “I’ll stuff it nice and tight, my lady.”

“Thank you.” She lifted her hand and the image disappeared.

Installing him on the lumpiest mattress should see him off soon. She turned and encountered her father’s questioning gaze and smiled. “Lord Navar’s accommodations are progressing nicely.”

Her act didn’t fool her father, but before he could corner her and beg her to be civil, Granel stormed into the parlor, his eyes bright with triumph. “My lords.”

Though Granel tried to appear commanding, his clothes always leaned toward dishevelment, which pointed more toward a common man than a courtly one. The stocky lieutenant-at-arms shoved his hat beneath his arm and bowed, displaying a tiny patch of baldness on top his head. Kera waited for him to acknowledge her, but he purposefully ignored her. Nothing new there, and highly desirable as far as she was concerned. The more invisible she became, the sooner they’d leave.

Navar scowled. “Well?”

“You were right.” Granel offered up a too-wide smile, more disturbing than any frown. “In the woods, not four leagues from where we stand.”

Navar slapped his gloves on his thigh again and stood. “Excellent.”

Kera’s father rose, a wary expression on his face. “What brings on such good humor?”

“We’ve found one of the tainted.” Navar peered at her father. “In
your
woods.”

Her father’s face reddened at the suggestion. “I thought you said the last of that plague was eradicated months ago.”

Kera moved to join them, but her father caught her eye. She could see the warning behind his calm gaze, could almost hear it.
Stay put.

Navar pulled on his gloves. “Some will always fight their fate.”

“Are you sure it’s one of them?” Her father’s probe was a risk. If he pushed too hard, Navar could easily become suspicious. It was his nature.

Navar tossed Granel a questioning look.

The little toad croaked on cue. “She’s been tested.”

Her father leaned out the door and called to their butler, “Barton, my horse, and bring me—”

Navar cut him off. “There’s no need, Hadrain. We shall attend to this and be back before dinner is announced.”

Navar strode to Kera, grabbed her hand, and lifted it to his mouth. The wetness of his lips repulsed her; it was all she could do not to pull her hand away. His dark eyes, so beautiful yet so hate-filled, peered into hers, completely unaware of her disgust. “Make sure your dinner setting is placed next to mine, Kera.”

Her stomach soured. She hadn’t missed the threat of impending intimacy. Without waiting for a reply, he dropped her hand and left, cutting a grand figure that would have many women swooning at his feet. Not her.
Never
her.

Kera gripped her father’s arm, her fingers wrinkling his sleeve. “What should we do? Tell me it’s not too late.”

His face had grown haggard, as if the weight of the moment would tear him apart. He cupped her cheek and sighed. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

“How can you say that? They are our friends. They’re counting on us to protect them.”

“I know the extent of this problem better than you. I’ll go to Faldon. If anyone can help, he can.”

Kera followed her father to the door, her fingers crushing the fabric of her skirts. “My tutor? He is a seer who conjures nothing more than tricks to delight a child.”

“There is more to him than he lets you see, Kera.” With his hand on the door, he turned and leveled a serious gaze on her. “Be at peace. There’s nothing you can do.”

He leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and left.

She stood, mouth agape, and watched him go.
Be at peace?
That was his fine counsel?

There was no time to change out of her restrictive clothes, not even to step out of the cumbersome bustle strapped around her waist. Kera took to the outdoors, not to follow her father on his empty quest, but to find Navar.

She would stop this madness herself.

Though what could be done once he was found, she didn’t know. Kera only knew she couldn’t stand by and let him harm a woman whose only fault was to be born of mixed blood.