Page 69 of Keeper

What is a little pain when Finn is dead?

I gather an armful of wood, then walk through the snow to Morwen’s tent. I drop the wood near the cooking fires, barely pausing before turning back for more.

The cold seeps into my bones as I make my way back to the woodpile. Sweat trickles down my back, and my muscles scream in protest as I lift another load, but I keep going, keep pushing myself. I need this, crave it even.

As I stumble back, the wood grows heavier with each step. Still, I push on, determined to work myself to the point of collapse, if that’s what it takes to quiet my mind.

Anything is better than this pain.

“Everly,” Morwen calls. “That’s enough firewood. Come help with the cooking.”

Without pausing, I walk to the cooking area, grab a knife, and attack a pile of vegetables with fierce determination. Carrots, onions, potatoes—they all fall victim to my relentless pace.

When the vegetables are done, I move to kneading dough. I throw my whole body into the task, working the dough with such force that the table creaks beneath my efforts. Flour coats my hands, my arms, even my face, but I don’t care.

As the day wears on, I tackle every task with the same frenzied energy. I scrub pots until my hands are raw, haul water from the well until my shoulders ache, and stoke fires until my face is flushed and sweaty.

But no matter how hard I work, how much I exhaust myself, Finn’s face still haunts me.

I glare at the setting sun when I finish for the day. I could join everyone else around the fires, but the thought of food makes my stomach churn.

A light dusting of snow crunches beneath my boots as I walk toward my tent. I pass by several large structures and a supply wagon before spotting six terracotta jars stacked inside a cart.

I pause, glancing around to make sure no one’s watching. My heart pounds as I grab one of the jars. I tuck it against my hip, then continue to my tent.

Guilt gnaws at me as I clutch the stolen wine to my body. I shouldn’t have taken it, but the thought of facing another sleepless night is unbearable.

Inside my tent, I pull the plug with trembling hands. The rich aroma of fermented grapes fills the air as I take a long swig.

I sink onto my bed, cradling the jar in my lap. Finn’s face fills my vision. Then, in an instant, it changes. His eyes go wide with shock, his mouth opens in a silent scream. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the image.

Another sip of wine. Then another. The alcohol warms my stomach but does little to chase away the chill in my soul.

So, I keep drinking until oblivion takes over, and I fall asleep.

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

CENRIC

Three days have passedsince I went to try to find Alvina. Three long days, and I’m no closer to finding her.

As I pace my command tent, I think about where she might be now. She’s not in the city. Not in her cottage.

What is left?

Sadly, many hills, mountains, and valleys. Alvina could be anywhere.

Damn her!

Gabriel, Luc, Liam, and Praxis sit at the table, their expressions grim as they discuss the recent events.

Luc leans forward and rest his palms against the edge of the table. “What about Finn? Have we learned anything more about his death?”

I stop pacing and turn to face them. “Everly said Alvina attacked them with air magic. She killed Finn right in front of her.”

Anger flashes in Gabriel’s silver-blue eyes. “We need to find Alvina and put an end to this rebellion.”

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