The Keep: The Watchers

by Veronica Wolff

  Screw it.

  I’d end this now.

  I loped up the beach, running until there was just a thin sliver of rocky sand, and when there was no beach left to run on, I sloshed through the breakers, lifting my knees high, trying to stay upright. Waves slapped at me, the freezing water sloshing over my boots, biting through the thick fabric of my catsuit, each swell rising in a moment of peace and then whooshing, back, trying to suck me out to sea. The waves came over and over, relentless, violent smacks against my thighs, trying to topple me.

  But I refused to topple. I was seeing red. I’d lost everything and everyone. Would it kill me? Probably. But I’d see the secrets of this castle once and for all.

  Finally, when the water was deep enough to buoy me, lifting me with each swell of the tide to my tiptoes, I stopped. Looked up. The sea gate was overhead. Not as far a climb as I’d have guessed, concealed from above by a coarse shelf of brush.

  I let the breakers sweep me closer and higher, grabbing ahold of the rocky cliff side, using hands and feet and knees to scramble up until I found a shelf wide enough to perch on. The tunnel’s stench reached me first, wet and sulfurous, like hot springs and rotting things. I looked back down from where I came, scanning the lay of the land, seeing just how well situated this spot was.

  The wind was picking up, and I wasn’t in the mood to be blown off the cliff, so to be safe, I shuffled on hands and knees to get closer and assess the gate itself. Almost immediately, I cracked my kneecap hard against something. An explosion of pain like my bone had split in two felled me. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I curled onto my side, swallowing a cry of pain.

  When I was able to breathe again, I saw what I’d run in to. Two large, rusted rings had been secured into the granite. Mooring for supply boats? Or did the boats come bearing victims? Who knew what evil visited these shores…? Either way, it was a good sign. Somebody used this entrance, which meant it led somewhere.

  Resting against the bars with one arm, cradling my nose in the crook of my other, I peered inside. Up close like this, the thing looked more like a sewage runoff than ever. I whispered, “Here I come, boys,” and gave the gate a jiggle, but it was much more solid than the rusted iron would suggest. “No problem.” I turned my attention to the handle and froze, taken aback. “What the—?”

  I’d expected a simple lock, maybe a sliding bolt or a padlock hanging from a latch, but not this. Rather than a single gate, there were two, like French doors opening up the middle. I ran my fingers along the outer edges of the portal, feeling for hinges, but they weren’t visible from this side.

  A lack of hinges wasn’t the strange part, though. Instead of a traditional lock, a circular medallion roughly the size of my palm connected the two doors in the very center. Tracing my finger, I could feel a seam between the doors, above and below the medallion, but the disc itself was a solid whole, not atop the metal, but a part of the iron itself.

  How would I ever break into this? There was no keyhole. No lever or latch.

  “Weird.” I sat back on my heels to regroup. Surely this was pickable. Every lock was pickable, right? Generally, I was a whiz with good old breaking and entering. I always kept random useful bits in my pockets—paper clips, safety pins, pop tops—enough to pick any lock…except this one.

  I studied the medallion, utterly perplexed. A sideways figure eight, the symbol for infinity, was carved in the center. There were two triangles etched within that, one triangle in each half of the eight, so that they touched, their silhouette like a sideways letter X. The triangle on the right was indented, a little niche in the metal.

  Was this the keyhole? I’d never seen such a thing.

  My hand hovered over the medallion, and I realized I hadn’t yet touched it. Something about it radiated with power. Creeped me out. It was such a peculiar symbol, such a magical symbol. I had the eerie feeling that handling it might have horrific consequences. My hand hovered until my biceps began to tremble, and then I just felt stupid.

  I was being weak. It was time to be brave. To be rational. Not to be freaked out by some stupid old lock. I had nothing to lose. I touched it to prove to myself I could.

  Exploring it with my hands, I was no less perplexed. I tilted my head this way and that, wishing the ambient light might suddenly catch something I’d missed. But as far as I could tell, this was unpickable—not just hard to pick, but unpickable. Impossible. Cryptic. In all the books I’d read, I’d never encountered such a thing.

  The metal was cool and damp with sea mist. A thin layer of corrosion felt like dirt under my fingertip. I wriggled my finger, using my nail to feel for some seam or edge, but there was nothing. Nothing to pry open, nothing to unfasten, unlock, or unlatch. There’d be no picking this thing. The triangle was hollow.

  Not unlike my heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I lingered in the dining hall, unable to make myself care enough to move. I’d failed. The more time that passed, the more deeply I doubted myself. The more profoundly I believed there might’ve been something I could’ve done differently. Better.

  If I hadn’t been able to prevent Emma’s death, then at least I could’ve avenged it. But now I couldn’t even do that. My sole and final goal had been to break into that keep. There was an entire goddamned hole in the cliff leading inside the castle, but I couldn’t even find my way through that.

  I sucked.

  And then there was Alcántara. My defeat was his triumph. I couldn’t bear facing him, but I had no choice. Assassination class was next period. He’d know by now how I’d completed his assignment. I’d killed Toby, innocent farm boy. I’d gutted him on the end of a damned dung fork. I dreaded giving Alcántara the pleasure.

  The worst part, though? It was the fear that I hadn’t needed to kill him. Not really. And yet, not only had I done it, but for an instant, I’d relished it. That was the part that really sickened me.

  So I’d gotten Toby after all, and what did that make me? Maybe Yasuo had spoken truly. Maybe I was a killer.

  Yasuo. He was out there somewhere. How much longer did he have walking among us before he appeared on the other side of those bars? He felt called to the Draug already—the other Trainees had had to go out there to retrieve him.

  And what of Rob? Was he even still alive? His last words had been about the girls, how we fed the vampires. Was that why Yas attacked him? Had his comment evoked memories of Emma somehow? I didn’t want to contemplate what it said about me that I wished I could’ve been the one who’d gotten him in the end.

  What did any of it matter, anyhow? I couldn’t get into the castle. I was a failure all around.

  Rob would probably heal. Then he’d seek me out. And I had no doubt he’d eventually find me. He’d catch me off guard, eventually. Eventually, he’d kill me.

  I sloshed my spoon in my cold chicken soup, mashing soft carroty bits along the edge of the bowl. Lunch was winding down. I heard the clack of dishes and cutlery. Chairs scraping. Chatter grew louder as kids drifted by, then faded as they bused their dishes and headed out the door. The noises grew fewer and farther between.

  I felt a body sit next to me at the table. Ronan. Surprise, surprise. I felt his lecture mode vibrate along my side.

  “You are too reckless.”

  I met his eyes. “This is news?”

  An instant’s vulnerability put me on my guard, and I carefully schooled all emotion from my face. I feared if I let the tiniest bit show, the dam would break and I’d snap completely.

  “Going out with me in the dory is one thing, but roving the countryside”—he paused to temper his voice, pitching it calmer, quieter…steelier—“that is another matter entirely. I’ve begged you to have a care. There has been too much sneaking around. You’re in danger of…”

  “Of getting killed? Duh.”

  He was silent for a moment, and I glanced up expecting to see his Ronan-look, but the tenderness that waited for me instead caught me off guard. “In danger of losing it. Of losing
yourself. Losing heart. Forgetting who you are, truly.” He touched the backs of his fingers to my cheek. It was the lightest of touches, but I felt it sear through me. Was he using his powers, or was it simply the heat of his touch? “You must protect yourself. And I don’t simply mean your body.” His fingers traced down my neck to my chest. “You must guard your heart. Who you are.”

  I could protect myself. The first step would be to put a stop to this confusing interaction. I edged away from him. “Don’t you get it?”

  That snapped him out of it. “What I get is that you need to stop wandering off campus,” he said sternly.

  “They have to be stopped, Ronan. I’m going to stop them.”

  He glanced around quickly, ensuring no one was within earshot. It looked like steam might shoot from his ears. “I caution you, Annelise. Do not underestimate the power of those in charge. These little excursions of yours—don’t be fooled. The vampires may not catch everything, but they see more than you think. You’ve been given much latitude, but it’s because you’re one of Alcántara’s greatest amusements. Do not miscalculate the situation. To him, you are merely a toy. A plaything. The days of his patience, tolerance, and I daresay, curiosity will one day come to a close, and the moment Hugo tires of you, the moment he feels you’ve crossed him, he will dispose of you without so much as blinking.”

  He paused to let it sink in, then added more quietly, “Do not forget these things. Keep your vision clear, unclouded by passion. You want revenge, yes. But you must not let rage blind you. Blind rage kills.”

  “Like I killed Toby, you mean?”

  He deflated, seeing my pain. “Aye,” he said gently. “Like Toby.”

  The sympathy in his voice was dangerously close to breaking something inside me. To guard against it, I forced some cynical cheer. “They’re all just monsters anyway, right?”

  But Ronan didn’t smile at my joke. Rather, he remained serious as ever. “And you must mind that you don’t become like them. You have been reckless”—he put up a hand to stop me before I could grumble, this again?—“reckless with your person, with who you are, and if you don’t stop, then you have become the monster.”

  Me. A monster.

  My father’s daughter. Someone who preyed on those weaker than me.

  It cut too deeply to contemplate. Too close to my greatest fear. I lashed out. “Is that all you came to tell me?”

  There was a beat of tense silence. A shift in mood. The unspoken mutual agreement that we were changing topic.

  “I must go away for a while,” he said.

  Of course. I was getting all too used to guys going away for a while. I wanted to say, “Not you, too,” but dared not draw a parallel between Ronan and any vampires. I’d learned my lesson by now.

  Instead, I forced my voice to sound casual as I asked, “Off island?”

  “I have business in the village. For the upcoming festival. Preparations must be overseen.”

  “You’ll come back.” I didn’t know if it was a question or a statement.

  “I will.” He paused, shifted. I noted a tensing in his jaw. What emotion was he concealing? “You must promise you’ll keep yourself safe in the meantime.”

  I chuffed a little laugh. “Don’t you get tired of looking out for me?” I knew what the answer would be, but still, I needed to hear it. Just then, I longed for support. A friend. It struck me how much I’d come to count on him for that since Carden’s disappearance.

  Lately, my vampire hadn’t been here when I needed it, but Ronan had. Ronan spent so much energy concerning himself with what he should do, what was right, while Carden was all about what he wanted to do. And apparently, what he wanted to do didn’t involve me.

  “Annelise, I don’t trust that look. You must promise you will avoid trouble.”

  “Check. No recklessness.” I gave Ronan a smile. Unfortunately, it felt as weak as my promise.

  Assassination class was as hideous as I’d feared.

  After Alcántara had complimented me on my kill for the umpteenth time, I finally snapped. “I beg your pardon, Master Alcántara,” I said when I sensed my moment to get a word in edgewise. “The thing is, I didn’t mean to kill Toby.” It felt good to be honest. Ronan’s words had resonated with me—I’d keep hold of who I was, of my humanity. I was the master of my soul.

  “Ah, querida, but kill him you did. And in a most magnificent way.”

  I squirmed in my seat. “But killing him wasn’t my intent.” Not truly. Maybe if I repeated it enough, it’d become truth.

  “A boy of the land,” he continued grandly, clearly ignoring me, “a young farmer, killed by an agricultural implement.” He chuckled, looking tickled.

  It infuriated me. Because of me, there’d been more death. And I was being praised for it. He was crediting me with the kill. More, he respected me for it.

  “Yeah, the ho used a hoe,” someone said from behind me. Giggles erupted throughout the room.

  I whirled around in my seat to glare and couldn’t help noting how the class had thinned even more in the past weeks. Apparently, not everyone was as “successful” at their assignment as I’d been.

  Like roots forcing their way into cold earth, my anger—at Alcántara, at this hideous island—twined deeper into my soul. I would not become a monster. The monster Alcántara wanted me to be.

  Rather than discipline the girls, Alcántara actually grew serious over the asinine insight. “It is my understanding that Acari Drew used a pitchfork. Although a hoe would indeed have added a compelling layer of meaning.”

  I sank low in my chair. Because…What. The. Hell. We were so not having this discussion, were we?

  He strolled to the back of the class, and I fantasized I might trip him as he glided by. But instead he paused at my desk, telling me in a confiding tone, “This was my dream for you.”

  I remained silent. What could I say to that without digging an even deeper hole for myself? Alcántara would know how much I was hating this. He held my gaze, trapping me further. When he spoke again, it was slowly and with intent. “I knew you’d not disappoint me.”

  It was my own fault. I’d lost control. My actions had painted me into a corner. I was becoming the island, and Alcántara would know I’d hate that most of all.

  Yasuo’s fate held a lesson for me. His transition would be my cautionary tale about what happened when you lost sight of the important things—things like mercy, or compassion. My friend might’ve been gone to me, but I had a chance to come back from the edge.

  The first step would be to get myself under control. Ronan had said it best: Blind rage killed. All my anger, my self-righteousness…all this emotion roiling inside me. I needed to tame it. To be calmer. Clearer about my goal. Because that goal had crystallized, growing beyond a simple desire to break into the keep and uncover its mysteries. I vowed to myself, I wouldn’t become the environment around me. I would triumph over the monsters.

  I would triumph over Alcántara.

  “As Acari Drew has demonstrated, violence is a craft,” Alcántara said, resuming his lecture. “Today we begin our unit on the Arthashastra, an ancient Indian text and one of the first to address the art in such courageous detail.” He’d wandered back to the front of the class, looked at his desk, and frowned. “Ah, but I have forgotten the book in my office.”

  I went on instant alert. There was no “forgetting” with Alcántara. Every single thing was considered and remembered.

  “Acari Drew,” he said, and I thought, Here it comes. “Perhaps you can help.”

  I stood, bracing. What did he have up his sleeve? “Yes, Master Alcántara?”

  He grabbed his black leather man-purse from where he’d hung it on his chair and pulled out a key chain. “Please go to my office and retrieve the book for me.”

  My breath caught. This was not what I’d been expecting. Some bizarre, previously unimagined cruelty unleashed on me in front of my fellow classmates—now, that I’d have guessed. But his keys? I de
finitely hadn’t anticipated keys.

  Did this mean he’d considered my offer and that I was to be his teacher’s assistant? Had he given Masha access to his office? I pushed away the thought—I couldn’t afford to consider the implications of his trust, only the potential benefits. Because keys made me think of that locked gate.

  Surely Alcántara had in his possession the means to unlock his own tunnel.

  “Come, come.” He jingled the keys. “We’ve not all day. And this is a task to which you must accustom yourself…if you are to be my research assistant.”

  “Your…Pardon me?” Would my plan go this smoothly? Had I heard him right? The gasps behind me suggested I had.

  “Children,” he said in answer, “congratulate your peer. Her most successful completion of this assignment has merited her the role of class helper.”

  His little helper. It was just as Ronan had warned. Alcántara and I were playing a game of chess, and with each move, I came one step closer to becoming his pawn. His monster.

  By killing an innocent Trainee, I’d crossed a line I’d never crossed before. Alcántara thought this transgression declared me as his. I couldn’t change the past, but I could take control of my future. The Spanish vampire wanted to claim me as his creature…and I wouldn’t let him.

  I would stop him.

  “We’ve not got all day, cariño.”

  “Of course.” I kept my voice even, while inside my heart was hammering. I accepted the keys. There were only a few on the ring, all of them resembling the ones we girls had been issued—old and tarnished, looking like things that might unlock pirates’ chests. “It will be a supreme honor,” I lied with a smile.

  Ronan’s warning echoed in my head. I needed to temper myself. Alcántara’s office was just upstairs. What was I going to do? Toss his desk, looking for something—a medallion, a plaque, what?—that had an infinity symbol on it, all in the ninety seconds it’d take for me to go up there and get his stupid book and come back down? Not hardly.

  This was a long game. I’d be patient. Work it through. I’d be as canny a strategist as he was.