Page 51 of Keeper

Gabriel and Luc arrive, and we discuss troop movements, supply lines, and weak points in our defenses.

“We need to increase patrols along the eastern border,” Isay, jabbing my finger at the map. “Double the guards at night. And I want daily reports on any suspicious activity in the city.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on my intensity.

Luc, however, frowns. “Is everything all right, Cenric? You seem on edge.”

I wave away his concern. “I’m fine. I just don’t want us to be complacent.”

We spend hours poring over plans and reports. I throw myself into every detail, desperate for distraction. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the memory of those little girls clinging to Rosa.

My sisters.

The word feels foreign, wrong. I have Praxis, and I have a father. That’s all the family I need.

After the meeting ends, and Luc and Gabriel leave, I grab a jar of wine and tilt it back, not bothering with a goblet. One swallow, then another. The familiar warmth spreads through my chest, dulling the edges of my thoughts.

It’s not enough.

I drink more, desperate to numb the ache that’s taken root inside me. It shouldn’t matter anymore. Rosa means nothing to me, but she means something to Praxis, and I will not allow her to hurt him.

I need a distraction, anything to take my mind off the need to find Rosa and demand answers—answers that Praxis deserves.

I grip the jar tighter and take another, longer drink. Still, it’s not enough. Nothing is.

Except…

I try to shake off the thought, the need, but it keeps tugging at me, drawing me toward the tent flap. Before I can think better of it, I stumble outside.

The cold night air hits me like a slap, but I barely notice. Snow crunches beneath my boots as I make my way through the camp, wine sloshing in the jar I still clutch.

My feet know the way to her, even if my mind is clouded.

I reach her tent and call out her name.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

EVERLY

“I’m here,”I say, my voice embarrassingly squeaky. I clear my throat and try again. “Come in.”

The tent flap parts, and Cenric steps into my tent. He wears his long hair tied back, accentuating those eyes that could melt glaciers. Yet, there’s something different about them tonight—a shadow, a heaviness.

He holds up the terracotta jar for me to see better. “I thought we could share wine.”

I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep, and this is some sort of fever dream. But no, he’s still there, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” I scoot over on my bed to make room.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits next to me, then offers me the jar first.

Maybe the wine will help me act normal around him. I grab the jar and take a long drink. As I lower the wine, I study his face—his clenched jaw,his creased brow.

What happened since I last spoke to him?

Part of me wants to reach out and smooth away the lines etched into his forehead. The more sensible part reminds me that I’d probably end up poking him in the eye.

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