Riftkeepers: Reckoning

by Carrie Whitethorne

Brushing his still damp hair back with a finger, she nodded and kissed his cheek. “If you need me for anything, call.”

  Before she could become upset again, she stroked his cheek and vanished.

  Dane released a tight breath and sat on the bed as the room filled with darkness.

  You left. You didn't have the right to do that, Lottie. You didn't have the right to stop us from helping you. How are they going to manage without you?

  He replayed every conversation they'd ever had; when they first met, the time they'd spent alone together, how their friendship had blossomed after he'd saved her, and he smiled to himself.

  How am I supposed to handle this? Callan is devastated. The kids.

  I need you to tell me how to handle this, Lottie. I need you to tell me I’m a dick, to sort my shit out, and roll your eyes at me. I need you to give me that stupid smile when you think I'm not looking.

  We all need you, Lottie, and you've left us.

  In the comforting solitude of his darkened room, Dane mourned his friend. He didn't sleep or move until the following morning when he dressed and decided what his first step would be.

  The doors swung open before him as he stormed into the study. Markus didn’t look up until Dane’s hand slammed down on the desk.

  “You knew. You fucking knew and said nothing! Why?”

  Snatching his hand away, he left Charlotte’s pin on the surface, cradled within a deep dent in the polished wood.

  Markus held the amethyst pin between his fingers with care and tilted it in the light. The lines of the engraved snowflake shone as beams of weak sunlight caught them, streaming through the window behind. With a sad smile, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “It was neither my place, nor my right, Dane,” Markus explained, meeting his steely gaze with his own rueful eyes. “It was her decision to make; not ours. You speak as though I wished to see her destroy herself for us. We did nothing to earn her sacrifice, Dane. Not one of us.”

  Dane snarled and turned away. “You set her up.”

  “Yes,” he replied in barely more than a whisper. “I can see how you've drawn that conclusion.”

  Dane whirled on him, striding back to the desk. “You unimaginable…why?” he demanded.

  Shaking his head, Markus said, “I knew she would pardon Arthur. I knew she wouldn’t kill her father. I saw more in what Rona showed her than I revealed to you, and there was no way for me to change her fate. I’ve worked to preserve her. Believe what you wish Dane, but I love that girl as dearly as I love you and your brother. I worked to save her, not to see her completely destroyed.”

  “Save her from what?” Dane roared. “You sent her to her death! We should have saved her from you!”

  “What has been seen cannot be changed, Dane. You know that.”

  Dane took a step back. “Seen? How was this prophesied? I saw the vision; this was not part of it.”

  Markus sighed as Dursek entered the room and went directly to the decanter by the window.

  “Her jewellery.”

  Dane made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and sat in the nearest armchair. Markus left his desk and sat opposite as Dursek approached with drinks.

  They sat in silence as the butler left. Markus studied his son. He'd never seen him so bereft. “I visited Rona many years ago,” he began, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I went in hopes of finding a way to save my relationship with your mother. Rona could not help me. Us. She did have a vision though. Of shadow-fire. Of moonstone and topaz. She told me that there was no hope for my present plight, but that I would have the chance to make a difference in many more lives should I watch for the signs; wait for the one who held a dangerous power, and still had the power to love.”

  Dane didn’t respond and Markus smiled sadly down into his glass and continued. “She loved, Dane. Fiercely. I couldn’t stop her any more than you or Callan were able to. She took the action she did for you, not because of me. If it hadn’t been yesterday, it would have been at another point in the future. Her realisation grew over the last month or so. Whether she fully understood Rona's vision, I do not know, but she was aware of the need for her sacrifice. I worked to give her the best chance at survival, but Nyja was too powerful.”

  Dane listened and drank. Markus waited. “The jewellery is significant. I am not sure why, or how, but from what I have managed to glean from years of research is that it could store memories. If she were to be returned to us, she would need her jewellery intact. I am searching for a way, Dane. Give me time and I will try to fix this.”

  Tapping a finger on the arm of his chair, Dane became less agitated. “Why didn't you tell me?”

  “And watch you tear yourself apart over something you could never change? Despite what you believe, Dane, it would kill me to watch you suffer that anguish.”

  “You know I don't believe…Dad…”

  Markus smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners slightly. “I know.” He looked beyond Dane, to a portrait on the wall. Her dark hair was neatly arranged in ringlets that framed her face, resting on her bare shoulders. The delicate curve of her lips tilted in the beginning of a smile and her pooling silver eyes gleamed with mirth. He smiled. “Perhaps you should go and see Alayna? She needs you as much as you need her.”

  Draining his glass, Dane nodded. “Are you—?”

  “I'm fine,” he said, removing Charlotte's pin from his pocket. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, he met Dane’s eyes. “I shall miss her terribly, but I will be fine. She was not my wife, nor my soulmate.”

  Dane's eyes stung, his chest tightened, and he rose swiftly from his seat clearing his throat. “I'm sorry I—”

  Markus waved a hand. “Alayna.”

  With a nod, Dane vanished from the room, leaving the king to his thoughts.

  Draining his glass, Markus returned to his desk and opened an old leather-bound diary. The pages were brittle and yellowing, the corners of the pages dogeared from years of handling. Tracing the intricate loops of the handwritten notes on the page before him, he sighed. Looking up at the portrait of Dane's mother, he murmured, “I sincerely hope that Rona was right.”

  Dane knocked softly on Taran and Caoimhe’s door before entering their suite.

  “Hello?” He frowned at the lack of response and turned to leave, allowing the door to close silently behind him as a guard appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Prince Dane, you’re needed in Prince Dagda’s suite immediately.”

  The urgency in the guard’s tone thrust all thought of his exchange with Markus from his mind. Leaving the guard at the foot of the stairs, he ported directly there.

  The room was in chaos. Dagda paced at the back of the room, Callan muttering to him reassuringly. Alayna was bent over the sofa, bright white light angled down, struggling to hold back her broken sobs. Taran and Caoimhe were missing and there was no sign of Enya or Zander.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, removing his jacket.

  Alayna didn’t look away from her work as Callan answered, his voice uneven. “Ferne…”

  “Ally, stop,” Dane said delicately, placing a firm hand on her arm. “Let me see.”

  As she stepped away, he knelt by the sofa and examined her. Writhing in pain, Ferne gripped the arm of the seat above her head, heaving in ragged, strained breaths. Her visible skin, slick with perspiration, was tinged grey, veins mapped out in thick, black lines.

  “Shit…who?” he asked, placing his fingers on her head. Instantly she stilled and appeared to sleep. “She’s on fire!” he said, placing a hand on her brow.

  “Nyja,” Dagda growled. “She left this.” A piece of parchment landed on Ferne’s abdomen, the familiar, looping handwriting said, A parting gift. Dane flicked it to the floor in disgust and placed his fingertips lightly on her shoulders.

  “She isn’t burnt,” he said, studying her as he worked. He shook his head, perplexed. “This is something else. I don’t know what it is…my
skills can’t touch it.”

  “There were syringes, a ritual bowl, and blood smeared around her room,” Dagda said with disgust.

  Callan was quiet. He stood at the window, his back to them, and Dane wondered why his mind was firmly closed off.

  He sat back on his heels, hands useless on his lap. “She’s injected her?”

  Dagda nodded once and strode to the window.

  “I don’t know what to do.” The admission was painful. Dane had always known what to do and finding himself powerless when he was needed so badly by his friends left a sour taste in his mouth. Pressing his palms against her shaking shoulders, he tried again.

  His fist clenched in frustration when Ferne continued to writhe on the sofa before him.

  “Markus?” Alayna asked.

  “I don’t know. Whatever it is, it isn’t killing her; that much is clear. But I can’t remove it. Perhaps he can…” After running a hand over Ferne’s damp hair, he looked to Dagda. “I’ll come back with my father. We’ll do our best for her,” he promised.

  With one last glance down at Ferne, he remembered how Charlotte had been suffering when he found her. Pushing the memory away, he took a deep breath then left.

  Thirty-two

  Ferne had to walk quickly to keep up with Dane as he strode through the corridors. She hated hospitals; the smell of disinfectant and general illness stuck in her throat and made her want to retch.

  “Run it by me once more,” she said as her heels made dull clunking sounds on the linoleum.

  Dane shook his head. “Seren said if we returned her to the earth, to the mother, she could be reborn. There was no way we could track every birth nine months from then; too many variables with dates anyway, so we’ve watched and waited for a sign.”

  “Some sign!” she hissed as they came to stop before the lifts. “This is as long as shot as any.”

  The silver door slid open and people piled out. Some carrying suitcases, most holding children in their arms. With a hand on her back, he urged her inside and the door slid shut behind him before anyone could join them as he selected the floor they needed.

  “I don’t like it any more than you do, but it could be her and we have to keep her safe. We want her back.”

  A hand on her hip, Ferne said, “I don’t know why we can’t just take her now. Poor little Lottie’s alone. Again!”

  “What? And raise her between us? Send her home to Callan?” He looked over at her and cocked a brow. “That’s appropriate!”

  She wrinkled her nose and relaxed as the lift stopped but the doors remained closed. “Okay, so if it’s her, we follow her into an adoption and stalk her?”

  Dane shook his head. “No. Foster care. I’ve arranged for her to go to a half Druid and her husband. They’ve no ability, but can watch for anything troublesome with her and they’ll be in contact with Elian. We can keep an eye on her from a safe distance.”

  Before she could question further, the door opened and Dane stepped out into a large hall. Double doors stood before them with a bright red sign above that read ‘Children’s Ward.’

  He glanced her way and she gave him a brief nod before he approached the doors and reached for the intercom.

  “Dane Kral, and my associate, Ferne Barnes, regarding the infant, Charlotte Fairbank.”

  The door buzzed as the receptionist released the security lock and Dane held the door. Ferne passed onto the children's ward with a click of heels and flick of blonde hair, making for the desk.

  The receptionist smiled up at them, her eyes fixing on Dane. Ferne smirked as she said, “Mr. Kral. Ms. Barnes. If you could follow me to the relatives’ room, you can wait in there while I let the consultant know you're here.”

  Dane nodded once, lips twitching as he watched her leave her seat and step out into the corridor. Ferne rolled her eyes and followed the woman to a small side room. It was bright, decorated in a calming shade of duck egg blue. The low, plastic sofa along the left-hand wall faced a wall-mounted television that was switched off. Ferne took a seat and reached for the remote on the coffee table.

  Dane cleared his throat and she diverted her hand to an assortment of magazines. “Thank you. Please, tell Mister—”

  “Mr. Ellis,” the receptionist offered.

  “Please tell Mr. Ellis not to rush.”

  The woman nodded and left them, closing the door softly.

  “Mr. Kral, eh?” Ferne mocked, crossing one foot behind the other as she struggled to make herself comfortable. “Why am I dressed like a solicitor?”

  “Social worker,” Dane corrected, snapping the blind down on the tiny window in the door. “We have to look the part to have a chance at taking this over. And, for the record, that’s my real surname.”

  Ferne clicked her tongue. “It might not even be her.”

  "You have the photographs," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "If it's her, we'll know. Just be quiet and let me do the talking. The Druid who alerted me is on the night shift. She can keep an eye on her files so we can intervene if something goes wrong."

  “I can't believe we're kidnapping a baby we don't know is ours. What if they don’t buy it?”

  “It isn't kidnapping. She's alone. We're keeping her safe. And they’ll buy whatever I tell them to,” he said, tapping his temple with a finger.

  A knock on the door prevented Ferne from snapping a retort. Dane turned, his features unreadable as a tall man in his mid-thirties entered. His mousy brown hair was a tousled mess, his beard unkempt. He wore a shirt unbuttoned at the neck, not tucked in to his loose black trousers; he looked exhausted.

  “Mr. Kral,” he said wearily, extending a hand. "So sorry to have kept you waiting."

  Dane’s gaze fixed on the file the doctor held in his other hand. “Not at all. We appreciate how busy you are. We're here to make arrangements for the Fairbank child. We took the liberty of arranging a foster family for her to go to when she is well enough to leave.”

  The doctor rubbed his forehead and sighed. “There was no other family?”

  Dane shook his head. “No. Ms. Barnes ran a detailed search and it appears the child's mother had no next of kin.”

  “And the father?”

  “His family are…unsuitable.” Ferne couldn't hide the disgust from her tone and the doctor turned to her with a surprised expression.

  “Very well. May I?”

  Ferne smiled and patted the seat beside her. Dane sat in an uncomfortable looking, plastic covered armchair opposite and opened the briefcase he carried as the doctor opened his file.

  “The mother died on impact,” he read aloud in a sombre tone. “The father shortly afterwards during transfer. Little Charlotte left the wreckage with barely a scratch, thanks to her car seat. She is under observation for the next forty-eight hours, given the bruising to her chest. Her chest x-ray was clear, so we’ll err on the side of caution with two more days here and follow up ten days post discharge. I expect first introductions are to be held here?”

  “If that would be convenient, yes,” Dane answered, fiddling with a stack of papers in his briefcase. “If I could leave these with you for completion before that time. Of course, sooner rather than later is preferred for administration reasons.”

  Ferne watched the doctor from the corner of her eye as he and Dane talked. She noticed the signs of Dane fiddling with his thoughts as his eyes glazed and his lips twitched in the corners. They’d spent months questioning humans in their search for Charlotte and after so many setbacks, he wasn’t bothering to mask his activities any more.

  The doctor nodded, then turned to Ferne. “I expect you would like to see the child?”

  Ferne smiled.

  “It wouldn't hurt to say hello,” Dane said for her, snapping his briefcase shut.

  The doctor nodded and rose from the sofa. “If we have nothing more to discuss today, I will arrange for a nurse to bring Charlotte in briefly. As good as the play workers are, it’ll be good for her to see more friendly faces. She'
s a happy little thing. Such a shame…” He cleared his throat before he could say much more and left.

  Ferne waited for the door to close before she said in a loud whisper, “Is he supposed to do that?”

  Dane flashed his brows. "It was a suggestion."

  Shaking her head in reproach, Ferne rooted in her bag. “Want to look at this again?”

  Dane glanced at the old photograph in her hand. “No, I've committed that face to memory.”

  They waited impatiently for the nurse to arrive with the baby. Dane tapped his heel against the floor, watching the door.

  Just as Ferne was about to comment, the door handle dipped. They both sat forward expectantly.

  “Here she is,” the nurse said as she closed the door. On her hip sat a chubby baby and she thrust her hip out to the side to support her weight.

  Dane left his seat and approached the nurse with a broad smile. “May I?”

  The nurse looked at his outstretched hands and frowned. “Umm…” Then her eyes glazed. “Of course.”

  The little girl squealed as he lifted her against his chest. “You can go.”

  The nurse smiled before turning and leaving them and Ferne leapt to her feet. “Dane, it’s her!”

  His eyes flashed silver as he met the tiny girl’s gaze. She reached for his face, her pudgy fingers tangling in his hair. “Of course it’s her,” he said, kissing the child on the cheek as his upper body rocked slightly. “I knew it would be you. The car crash entrance said it all.”

  “Give her to me,” Ferne demanded, reaching out with impatient hands.

  Dane laughed, obliging, and watched as Ferne cradled the little girl against her chest and whispered, “Never letting you out of my sight again, Lottie. Thank god you’re safe.”

  Tiny fingers holding her necklace in a vice grip, Ferne took care in freeing herself as she eyed the couple sitting in the family room at the hospital. Dane had dismissed the doctor and two nurses who had brought Charlotte to them, allowing them to speak openly.

  “.. and the details of her savings account are here. Anything she needs, take it from there. There will always be sufficient funds, and I expect the property to be signed over to her on her eighteenth birthday.”