Page 27 of Marked By the Enemy
“Keepers,” said another in a spritely voice. “Of the vow.”
I flinched and frowned, wondering where they lived, since they were already in the palace.
“The bond is not spellcraft,” added a third in a very slow and more elderly voice. “It is memory. Memory turned inward. Made alive. It forgets nothing—“
“Except what it’s been ordered to forget,” interrupted another. “Ordered by the Bone Seats.”
I sucked in a quick breath and nodded frantically. That made sense. “Why me?”
“For reasons beyond your understanding.”
“And that means you’re our last chance,” the tallest one said.
“For what?”
The youngest of them stepped forward. Hands ink-stained, the hem of their robe torn. “To remember what was taken. That’s the reason you are bonded with the prince.”
One of the others touched the wall. A glowing line lit under their palm—five broken circles. “The bond was once open and shared across thresholds. It never had controllers. Many held it. Everyone had access after puberty. But it became vulnerable. We couldn’t protect it anymore, like other things we failed at protecting. It became twisted.”
“In the oldest songs,” one murmured, “the bond was a river. Everyone drank from it until the locks dammed it dry. They used to see the memories of theirancestors, so they would understand what to do should tragedy befall. Now they are clueless, and we are trapped in the courts and the Rootwells.”
I wondered what a Rootwell could be. I wondered how they could be trapped in more than one court at once, but let it slide for more important information. “Who locked it?”
“You know who. The one you fear.”
My mouth went dry. “The Bone Seat?”
“Ten Bone Seats. They took control,” said the one with feathered shoulders. “Four hundred years ago.”
“But they were only the puppets,” said the youngest. The Triad behind them acted as the masterminds. The Triad curated the fusions.”
I wondered who the Triad could be, but noticed the Keepers of the Vow getting anxious.
“They became,” the youngest continued. “They burned the rest over time. Memory by memory. Their wars are pretend, to feed the minds with fabricated truths and fill the voids they created.”
“These voids,” I asked. “Are they only in the minds of humans?”
“Humans? Fae? Is there one or the other?” said the one with vines. “It is rare.”
I didn’t understand him at all, but he continued. “Everyone is the Unseeing. Everyone in all of Caldaen. However, those in the Borderlands can glimpse ancestral truth.”
“What about Prince Darian?”
The tallest one had a low voice. “He was born after the Triad opened the red gateway and after the demons possessed the Bone Seats. He became the first to be marked. But the bond chose you both. And now it listens again.”
A long pause.
The youngest stepped close enough that I could see the outline of a scar above their brow. “The bond is waking. If it fuses fully with him here, in this palace, the lock will hold.”
“But if we leave?”
“It will lead you. The Borderlands are old. Their memory is older.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You want me to escape?”
They did not nod. They did not deny.
“How long do we have?” I asked.
