Page 70 of Keeper

“I could look for her,” Liam offers. “I know the area well, and I’m good at tracking.”

I shake my head, my decision made. “No, I need you here.”

Liam opens his mouth to protest, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “We will find her. But first, we need to root out the spies in our camp.”

Praxis gestures to the map spread out on the table. “This map proves they have inside knowledge of our camp.”

Gabriel studies the map for several moments. “Who sketched this? It’s highly detailed.”

“Hawke,” I say as I continue pacing. “He’s a damn good artist.”

“And apparently a bastard,” Luc says through his teeth. “What is the Calcite’s heir doing leading a rebellion in Bloodstone territory?”

I shrug. “Hard to say.”

“Hawke’s sister hates Cenric,” Praxis says as he stands and pours himself a goblet of mint tea.

Torchlight skims Gabriel’s features as he looks up, studying me. “Is this rebellion about you, Cenric?”

Internally, I grimace at the implication behind Gabriel’s words. “I think it gives her fuel, but it’s not the only reason.”

“We don’t need a war between us and the Calcites,” he says.

“I know.”

Gabriel’s blue eyes lock on me for a long moment—the kind of moment that makes me tense, but I don’t look away. I knowwhat’s at stake. He doesn’t have to say it. I breathe it every damn day.

“We need to weed out the spies,” Luc says, drawing Gabriel’s attention to him.

The thought of a traitor among us sets my teeth on edge. I’ve known these men for summers, fought beside them, bled with them. The idea that one of them could betray us to Alvina and her rebels is almost inconceivable.

The spy could be anyone: a cook, a stable hand, even a trusted advisor.

I stop near the open tent entrance and focus on Morwen and Brennah, who are working side by side, preparing the morning meal.

For a fleeting instant, I consider the possibility that one of them might be the traitor. But as soon as the notion crosses my mind, I have to stifle a laugh.

Morwen, a spy? Impossible.

That woman has sacrificed more for our cause than most. She’s lost six sons to Roland’s wars, each one dying valiantly on the battlefield.

No, Morwen’s loyalty is unquestionable. It’s etched in the lines of grief on her face and the strength of her spirit. If she’s a spy, then I’m the king of Tarrobane. Not that there is a king of Tarrobane.

As for Brennah, she’s far too agreeable to ever be a spy.

One of my warriors steps into the tent. “Forgive the intrusion, Commander, but there is a woman here to see you and Praxis.”

As Praxisand I reach the tent, I hesitate for a heartbeat before pushing aside the flap. A jolt races through me at the sight of my mother standing there, looking exactly as she did a few days ago when I first spotted her with the supply caravan. Her two little girls cling to her skirts, their wide eyes darting between Praxis and me.

Praxis doesn’t hesitate to rush across the tent and embrace her. “Mother!”

Everything comes crashing down on me at once: the sixteen summers of absence, the wondering, the anger, the confusion.

Tears brim in her eyes as her gaze finds mine. “Cenric.”

I say nothing, my throat constricting around words I refuse to let out. How dare she show up after all this time? How dare she bring these children, this evidence of the life she chose over us?

Confusion clouds Praxis’ features as he steps back and glances between me and Rosa.

---