Page 42 of Keeper

Gabriel shoots me a withering look. “It’s not going to happen. The oracle is mistaken.” He takes another swig of wine, as if trying to wash the prediction from his mind.

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to get a rise out of him. “Stranger things have happened. Maybe she’ll finally thaw that icy heart of yours.”

“Not likely.” He passes the wine jar back to me. “I have no intention of marrying anyone.”

Only time will tell if the oracle’s words come true, though I know better than to wager against her. But if anyone can defy Fate, it would be Gabriel. After all, he’s managed to evade his father for many summers.

“I wonder if she will be pretty or plain.” I rest the jar against my thigh and glance over at him.

He scowls, his eyes narrowing as he folds his arms across his broad chest, as if armoring himself against my playful teasing.

“Will she be Bloodstone?” I continue, unable to resist needling him further.

He merely shrugs, his expression stony.

“I know,” I say with mock certainty. “She’s probably Kyanite. One of those pale blonde beauties with not an ounce of grit or fire to her.”

At this, he scoffs. “Are you finished, Cenric?”

“Not quite.” I grin as I continue. “I bet she’s old. That’s it—she’s ancient. All wrinkled and haggard like a withered crone.”

The canvas flap lifts, and Luc steps into the tent. “I’m thirsty. Give me some of your wine, Cenric.”

I obligingly hold out the jar to him. “Did you know Gabriel is getting married soon, Luc?”

Gabriel shoots me a venomous glare. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” I turn back to Luc. “She’s old, and she’s Kyanite.”

Luc takes a long drink from the wine before answering. “I highly doubt she’ll be old.”

My eyebrows shoot up. So, Luc knows? Interesting. I’ll have to probe him for information later when Gabriel’s not around.

“She will not be anything, because she doesn’t exist.” Gabriel stands abruptly, takes the wine jar from Luc’s hands, then leaves the tent.

“That’s rude, Gabriel,” I call after him, though he doesn’t stop or acknowledge my words.

Luc laughs. “You always were too obnoxious for your own good, Cenric.”

I grin again and clap him on the shoulder. “I know. Now, let’s go get some more wine.”

Chapter

Twenty-Four

EVERLY

On the fourthmorning after arriving at the Bloodstone camp, I walk down to the lake, my arms laden with pots that need scrubbing. I glance up at the crystal-clear sky and grit my teeth against the icy chill in the air.

Great.

Just what I need—frozen fingers to go with my frozen toes.

My skin bristles as I walk by Doran, mucking out the horse corral. His frigid stare follows me, and I quicken my pace, the pots clanking against each other as I hurry past.

Once I reach the water’s edge, I kneel, dip the first pot in, and scrub. As I work, my mind wanders to Hawke and his threats. What would a proper spy even look for?

I glance around, trying to absorb every detail. The camp sprawls out behind me, a sea of tents, horse corrals, and campfires. It’s massive, really. I bet there are at least three thousand menhere. Maybe more.

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