by Meg Anne
Holding out a hand, palm up, he offered another enigmatic smile. “I’m Kieran.” He made the announcement with the smugness of one declaring they’d just won a bet.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, not liking the hungry way he was studying her. Since he already knew her name, he must have Seen her in at least one of his visions, but what had he Seen? There was an unwelcome vulnerability that accompanied the revelation.
Falling back on the polite formality that had been engrained into her during childhood, Effie murmured, “Hello, Kieran.”
Not wanting to embarrass herself more than she already had that morning, Effie finally offered her hand, shivering slightly when his warm, smooth fingers wrapped around hers. He dipped, his eyes never straying from hers, and pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
Her skin burned where Kieran’s lips gently pressed against it. It was chaste and proper by every standard she knew, and yet Effie could not shake the feeling that the action was entirely more meaningful to him than it ought to have been.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
The weight of the words and the intensity of his stare unnerved her. That, combined with her temporary confusion, had her more than a little eager to put distance between them.
Just what in the Mother’s name has he Seen?
“I can’t say the same, seeing as how I’ve no clue who you are.” The words were meant to be a dismissal, but he only let out a deep, rolling laugh.
“Fair enough, but I am looking forward to remedying that in the days to come.”
“Mmm,” she responded evasively, looking pointedly at the three robed figures who were obviously watching this interaction play out.
A little help would be nice.
Knowing better than to assume any response would be forthcoming, she flicked her gaze back up to Kieran’s. “I probably shouldn’t keep them waiting much longer. See you around, Kieran.”
His eyes darkened at her words and a smile curved his full lips. “Yes, you will.”
She blinked. Right, then. Rushing forward, Effie waited until Kieran was no longer in hearing distance to mutter, “Thanks for nothing.”
The middle figure tilted his head in a move that was starting to remind her of Ronan’s raised brow.
“You were in no danger.”
“That’s not the point. The least you could have done was introduce us and save me from the awkward conversation.”
For once, none of them had a comeback.
Effie’s shoulders sagged. She officially couldn’t process anything else. “I find that I am suddenly very tired. Is there a place I could set my bag down and rest for a little while before we continue with the rest of the tour?”
The middle figure dipped his head after a long pause.
“Follow me.”
He turned to the left, leaving his counterparts behind. Effie glanced between them in surprise. She’d never known them to be apart. It was disconcerting.
He moved quickly, giving her no chance to steal more than passing glances at the dozens of rooms they passed. The citadel was a maze of countless hallways and floors, and Effie was thoroughly lost. After descending the third flight of stairs and making as many turns, her guide pushed open a door and gestured for her to enter.
“These will be your quarters.”
She looked at the barren room. There were no adornments beyond clean linens and the most basic of furniture: bed, desk, bookcase, trunk. It was still nicer than many she’d been in before.
“For how long?” she asked, turning back to him.
“Forever.”
Effie blinked.
“This space is yours, anytime you have need of it. Do with it what you will.”
He moved to leave, and Effie found herself reaching out to stop him. He froze and her hand fell short of actually making contact with his arm. She flushed and bit the inside of her cheek as her hand fell back to her side.
“I just wanted to say thank you . . . for giving me some time.”
He nodded, waiting to see if there was anything else.
Knotting her fingers together, she added, “What should I . . . that is, I was wondering what I’m supposed to call you?”
“We have no names.”
“Oh,” she said softly, not sure why the answer made her sad.
“We released our identities when we took our vows.”
Her brows scrunched together. “But there has to be something that the other Keepers refer to you as beside your joint title. How else do you three know who people are talking to?”
He shrugged, a gesture that looked out of place on his towering frame. “Does it really matter?”
“It does to me. There is power in a name, just as there is power in a title.”
“Only the power you give it.”
“Fine,” she agreed, weary and out of patience with his non-answers. “Then I will give you each my own names and you’ll be forced to live with them.”
She could hear the amusement in his voice. Once again it was not the haunting voice of the Triumvirate, but the deeper and less refined voice he’d slipped into outside. “And just what do you propose to call me?”
Asshole, for starters. The thought caused her lips to twitch and she tried to cover it by pressing them together as she scrambled for something suitably disrespectful and yet not entirely offensive.
“You shall be Smoke,” she announced as the name popped into her mind.
“Smoke?”
Too embarrassed to explain it had to do with the way his personal voice sounded in her mind, she shrugged and grasped for an explanation. Blurting out the first thing that came to her, Effie said, “You three are nothing but smoke and mirrors. You create the illusions you want others to see and hide behind them, all in an attempt to manipulate the world you try so hard to remain apart from.”
“So, if I am Smoke, what shall you call the others?”
“Mirror One and Mirror Two, obviously.”
The rustle of his cloak was the only indication he might be laughing. “And how do you intend to tell them apart?”
“One is on the left, and Two is on the right.”
“What makes you think we are always in the same position?”
“Balls,” she muttered, biting her lip. She hadn’t thought of that.
Smoke held up a hand. “The names shall serve. I will let the others know. If you have need of us, just call and one—or all—of us will find you.”
He turned and disappeared back down the hallway, leaving her alone for the first time since she’d left her tent. Grateful for the solitude, Effie quickly shut the door and pressed her back against it.
Her bag fell from her shoulder and her head dropped against the wood with a soft thud. Suddenly too fatigued to stand, she slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor and closed her eyes.
Effie couldn’t say when the first of the tears started to fall, or when she curled up in a ball on the floor. It could have been hours or perhaps only minutes later, but eventually she found peace in the silence of her room and her breathing evened out as she drifted off into the sleep of the truly exhausted.
And while she slept, she dreamed.
Chapter 4
Kieran bit back a growl of frustration as he stalked down another random corridor. He’d lost count of how many years he’d been searching for the girl who’d visited his dreams. It had been at least twenty-five since he left home and joined the Keepers, but when you’re one of the long-lived races, twenty-five years may as well be a heartbeat.
Centuries of dreams, of yearning to meet the girl with the cornflower blue eyes, and when it finally happens, she thinks he’s someone else.
Kieran sneered. That was a social misstep he’d never experienced in his centuries as a prince. Especially not from women. Prince no longer, Kieran didn’t hold the luxury of a title, or any of the inherent fame that went along with it. For once, he would have to be judged solely by his words and actions.
&
nbsp; He wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
With a sigh, Kieran continued his aimless pacing. He’d been returning a book to the main archive when Effie had crossed the threshold. Kieran had forgotten how to breathe. He’d Seen her in countless dreams over the course of hundreds of years, but when he finally laid eyes on her for real it had been a surprise.
Her wild blonde curls had been tied back in a thick braid, but rebellious strands had sprung free to rest against her cheeks and neck. Her luminous eyes were wide, and her rosebud lips had fallen open in surprise as she eyed the archives with a wonder he’d long since lost. Kieran struggled not to think too long on the shape and curve of her mouth.
She was shorter than he’d realized, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, and she looked thinner than usual, as if she’d been more worried lately about feeding others than herself. He knew from his dreams that was entirely plausible. Thin or not, her generous curves were not diminished. If anything, her tight battle leathers only enhanced them, even if they were finely coated with dirt. A few dark smears had even found their way to her milk and honey cheeks.
Kieran let out another deep sigh. Travel stains and all, Effie was even more beautiful in person. It was going to be a constant battle to keep himself from touching her.
He let out a soft chuckle, fully realizing he was laying it on thick, but still too in awe to care. She was here. The girl from his dreams. Effie.
Finally.
Excitement coursed through him. After years of searching, his wait was over. Everything he’d given up to find her would now be repaid sevenfold. None of it mattered. Only her.
Too bad she has no clue who you are . . .
The unwanted thought jolted him out of his planning. A frown pulled at his lips. That was an unforeseen problem. Something few of the Keepers ever experienced given their various gifts. All this time, Kieran had been certain she’d dreamed of him as well. Clearly that was not the case.
For all that he knew of Effie and his desperation to finally be with her, he was still a stranger to her. Which meant he’d need patience.
A realm’s worth.
Elder’s piss in a pot.
Kieran’s frown deepened as he recalled the wave of disappointment that crashed into him the moment she whispered someone else’s name. It had nearly sent him to his knees.
Stubborn resolved filled him. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t win. With a little bit of time, she would be just as eager for his touch as he was for hers. Besides, he’d already waited centuries to hold her. What was a few more days?
Whistling, Kieran rounded the corner and barely avoided crashing into the wall of scowling muscle that went by the name of Lucian.
“Watch where you’re going,” Kieran snapped.
“Something has your knickers twisted tighter than usual,” the Guardian murmured, crossing his arms.
Kieran bit back his annoyance. Verbally sparring with Lucian was one of his favorite pastimes, but he had a seduction to plan and no time to waste with the man that lived to make his life a living hell.
“Miranda’s granddaughter has finally arrived,” he said instead.
Lucian lifted his brows, clearly unimpressed with the news. “And?”
His years of courtly training were all that kept him from sputtering. “And so it would seem that my purpose is finally about to be realized.”
“Lucky you.”
Kieran scowled. Only a Guardian could scoff at the notion of a Keeper’s prophecy coming to fruition. Immortal bastard.
“You have no idea,” he gritted out.
Lucian stared at him, unblinking. Realizing the conversation was over, Kieran made to move around the man, who stopped him with a palm to the chest. An able fighter, Kieran could have held his own if he’d been armed, but without a weapon to aid him, he was no match for the warrior’s strength. Kieran stumbled back, his stare darkening as he straightened his simple jerkin.
“Did you need something?” Kieran growled, his voice deceptively soft.
“The Triumvirate have summoned you.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. He had no appointment with them, but it wasn’t unusual for them to call on him out of the blue either. So why did he get the feeling Lucian was trying to keep him from wandering down the hall? What was the Guardian hiding?
“Did they now? And you know that how?”
Lucian didn’t bother to reply. He rarely did.
Kieran studied the man, trying to find a clue to indicate he was bluffing, but he may as well have been studying stone. There was nothing to be found but the mild hint of disdain that always accompanied Lucian’s intense gaze.
Nothing to do for it but assume he was telling the truth. Not exactly like the Triumvirate were the sort to keep waiting.
“Very well. Must be about the girl.”
Lucian continued to stare him down, offering no comment one way or the other.
“We really should work on your conversation skills, Lucian. It is the one area where I can say with absolute certainty that you are woefully inept.” Kieran’s voice was carefully solicitous, even if the words were barbed. “You never know when you’re going to need to actually talk to someone about something important. Don’t want to make an ass out of yourself by being out of practice when the time finally comes. I know how deeply you value your pride.”
Ah, there it was. A small muscle in Lucian’s jaw ticked, telling Kieran he’d finally struck a nerve.
“No? Some other time, then.” Kieran turned on his heel and walked back the way he came, his jaunty whistle echoing loudly down the empty corridor.
Chapter 5
“You really shouldn’t let people talk to you that way.”
Effie looked up at the blond man who had fallen into step beside her. Surprise tingled along her spine.
“It’s hard to break a lifetime’s worth of habits.”
Darrin frowned, the golden stubble along his jaw glinting in the soft light of the hallway. “What could you have possibly done to warrant such abuse?”
Effie wasn’t certain whether or not the question was rhetorical. On the off chance he was genuinely curious, she answered in a muted voice, “I’m ungifted.”
A dark blond brow quirked up in a silent demand for her to elaborate. Is it possible he doesn’t know what that means? Flustered at the idea of having to explain, and risk losing the warm comfort of his companionship, she pressed her lips together and stared hard at a crack in the wall.
Darrin stopped her with a brush of his calloused fingers along her arm. “Why should anyone care whether or not you can call on the Mother’s power? That has nothing to do with your worth as one of her children.”
Pleasure tinged her cheeks a rosy pink. Only one other person had ever told her the same. To hear one of the Kiri’s Circle validate her despite her lack of magical ability . . . it was one of the highest compliments she’d ever been granted. Effie risked a glance up at the handsome warrior. His face was twisted into a thoughtful scowl. He didn’t have a clue how deeply his words affected her.
“Most people feel that without power, you are not one of the Mother’s children—”
“What utter horse shit. That’s like saying the Mother didn’t create the Daejarans because Von is a rutting bastard.”
A surprised snort escaped, and Effie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. His words were practically treason, but if anyone could get away with saying such about the Kiri’s Mate, her Shield was certainly the one.
Darrin’s lips lifted in a smile and his eyes warmed as he studied her. “Not used to hearing anyone talk that way about Von?”
Effie shook her head.
He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’ve said the same to his face . . . worse actually.”
Another helpless laugh bubbled up and a genuine smile stretched across her face. “I can’t imagine he took it well.”
“No, he didn’t.” Darrin’s eyes had fallen to her lips. “You should smile more often,
Effie. It suits you.” He lifted his hand and ran a single finger along her cheek. “Your whole face lights up with your joy. It’s quite—”
Darrin blinked, cutting off the flow of words that he’d been uttering almost reverently. The tops of his ears and cheeks pinkened and he cleared his throat. Effie desperately wished he would finish saying whatever he’d been thinking. Her wish must have been shining in her eyes because Darrin’s gaze sharpened, and his voice had deepened when he finally spoke again.
“Lovely. Your smile is lovely, Effie.”
Her breath caught in her throat as butterflies exploded in her belly. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, her eyes dropping to the tips of her scuffed boots.
Darrin crooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up until her eyes reluctantly met his again.
“When was the last time someone offered you a compliment?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Effie shrugged. “Lady Holbrooke complimented my sewing—”
“No,” he cut her off with a jerk of his chin. “You. When was the last time someone complimented you?”
Stymied, Effie searched her memory trying to think of a time when someone other than Darrin had offered her a kind word.
A frown pulled at his lips. “If you have to think that hard, it’s been too long.”
“Aye,” she agreed, not sure what else to say.
Darrin’s eyes searched her face. After a moment he let out a soft sigh. “I guess I shall have to remedy that for you. The next time someone asks, I don’t want you to have to even think about it. You deserve to be reminded daily, Effie. You are a beautiful woman with an even more beautiful heart. No matter what anyone else says or thinks, there are none who are your equal in that regard.”
Effie’s mouth fell open on a silent gasp. No one—no man—had ever said anything so tender to her before.
“Darrin,” an annoyed voice called from the other end of the hall. “Helena’s looking for you.”
Darrin’s hand fell from her chin, and his eyes flicked to where Ronan stood with his arms crossed. “I’ll be right there.”