The Guardians Chronicles

Two men sat in shadow; part of it, yet separate. Firelight flickered over their profiles, carving hooded eyes and cruel mouths out of the gloom for brief, unsettling moments.

Daemon’s long, elegant fingers curled around a silver cup filled with dark wine. Gold cufflinks flashed when he lifted it to his mouth. He set the cup down with care, tugging at the precisely measured half-inch of shirt cuff showing beneath his black jacket. His glittering eyes roamed the Great Hall, lingering on the embroidered family crests hanging from the stone walls.

“Those,” he murmured, “will have to come down. Time for a change in décor.”

His cold laughter slithered through the Hall and out into the courtyard. The figures there paused in their grim work of clearing battle debris, shivered, and bent back to it with renewed haste.

“Yes, sir,” the other man said. Julius’s thick fingers cracked one knuckle after another.

“We nearly had her,” Daemon said, taking another sip of wine.

“Yes, sir,” Julius echoed, swallowing against the urge to crack his knuckles again.

“Our information was flawed.” Daemon’s tone was almost conversational. “The old crone’s defences were stronger than anticipated. An error, certainly, but not a grievous one. And the young one…” He sighed, closing his eyes briefly, as if in ecstasy. “Ah, the young one.”

Julius frowned. “Young she might be, but she can sure as hell take care of herself.”

“She has power,” Daemon agreed. “But it is the power of the untrained. Unpredictable. Unstable.”

He rose and paced before the fireplace, a black silhouette wreathed in orange light. “What I could do with her at my side. Power like that shouldn’t go to waste.”

“She might not be amenable to our cause, after you killed her aunt, sir,” Julius pointed out.

Daemon smiled faintly. “I don’t see that as an obstacle. Anyone can be persuaded to any cause, with the right tools.”

Julius smirked. His boss had always been an… inventive persuader.

“So. What have we learned from this experience, my loyal lieutenant?” Daemon asked lightly. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, voice rising into an almost lecturing cadence. “We must learn from our mistakes, or we deserve to repeat them.”

“One.” He held up a finger. “We have learned that Victoria did not have much time with the young one. Her training is incomplete.”

“Two.” Another finger. “That same lack of training makes her vulnerable. Right now she is protected by a small band of idiots, wandering the forest and looking for a way to escape. We must find them before they cross the border.”

“Sir,” Julius interrupted. “They’re being tracked. The hounds picked up their spoor. We’ll have them before next nightfall.”

“That is a boast I sincerely hope you can fulfil,” Daemon drawled. “But to continue our lesson—”

A third finger. “According to one of our esteemed guests in the dungeon, Victoria did not share the location of the Book with the Council. It is unlikely she shared it with her ward, but we will not discard that possibility.”

He raised a fourth. “This same guest informed me that Victoria intended to present the girl as their new High Priestess-in-waiting. That rather underlines her importance. Which is why you must find her and bring her to me.”

His smile vanished. “It would be easy for the Guardians to invest this girl with hope. I will not allow them that luxury.”

Julius straightened. “Yes, sir.”

Both men looked up as four others appeared in the doorway and shuffled toward the fireplace.

“Sirs,” they muttered in unison.

“Speak,” Daemon snapped. “How goes the search?”

One of the men was shoved forward by the others. Sweat beaded his pale face; his hands clenched and unclenched as if they might stop shaking if he just tried hard enough.

“The hounds…” He swallowed.

“Yes?” Daemon’s voice was soft as silk, and twice as dangerous.

“You know we could only take three, sir. The others were injured in the battle. When we crossed the river, we were attacked. The wolves… they were everywhere. We stepped off the boats and the hounds— they— we barely made it back ourselves—”

His voice died to a whisper.

“Where,” Daemon asked, still perfectly calm, “are my hounds?”

“I’m sorry, sir. They’re all… they’re all dead,” another man whispered, as if quieter words might soften the blow.

The soft sound in Daemon’s throat was not a human sound. It started as a low growl and swelled into a roar, ripping out of him in an unstoppable torrent of rage and hatred.

His right arm snapped out.

The four men flew backward as if yanked by invisible cords, bodies crashing across the woven carpets and slamming into the far wall with a sickening crunch.

His scream didn’t stop when the bodies fell. It took on a life of its own, bouncing around the Great Hall, out into the courtyard, over the shattered gates and out across the forest. The trees shuddered and rustled as if in disapproval.

*****

Keira clawed her way back to consciousness through a thick, muffled fog. Her world was upside down and swinging in sickening arcs. Blood pounded behind her eyes; her skull felt as if it had been used as a football.

“Oh,” she groaned.

The swaying stopped. The world flipped upright as someone set her carefully on her feet. She stood there for a few wobbling seconds before her legs folded and she sank to the ground.

“We don’t have time,” a sharp voice hissed.

Keira blinked up to see Simone glaring at her, immaculate as always despite the mud and chaos.

“Give her a minute,” Zina said, kneeling at Keira’s side. The Healer set her hands lightly on Keira’s shoulders. Warmth flowed through Keira’s body. The worst of the headache ebbed at once.

“Can you walk?” Marco asked. He didn’t look at her, his gaze raking the dark forest around them instead, shoulders coiled and ready.

“Yes,” she managed, letting Zina help her up. Her legs trembled, but held. “Where are we?”

“In the forest. On our way to a safe place,” Chloe answered, stepping out from between two trees with Rafael close behind her.

“Let’s go,” Simone insisted.

Keira could only nod and fall into step behind Marco as he pushed into the undergrowth. A small hand slipped into hers. Relief nearly knocked her flat when Justin looked up at her and gave a shaky smile.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” she whispered, pulling him into a quick hug.

“I stayed where you told me,” he said earnestly. “Marco found me when they all came back down the road. He carried you all this way, you know. He wouldn’t let Adam or anyone else take you.”

Keira’s chest tightened. “Please, tell me what happened. Did everyone get away?”

Justin dropped his gaze. “No,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear.

“Who?” The word scraped her throat raw.

“Only some of the Draaken,” he murmured. “None of the Council.”

“Amber?” Keira asked, dread lodged like a stone in her stomach.

“I don’t know.” His voice wavered. “Zina said Amber’s parents and the others should’ve used the tunnels to escape to the village. We don’t know if they made it.”

Keira clenched her teeth. The burn behind her eyes threatened to spill over.

I will not cry. Not now. Aunt Vic, all those people… they deserve more than my tears.

Justin squeezed her hand. “Something in my eye,” he muttered, turning his head away.

They walked in silence for a long time before Justin continued, voice little more than a whisper. He told her what had happened after Marco had dragged her away from Victoria’s body: how Marco had thrown her over his shoulder and fought his way through the chaos, how the Draaken had closed around them and forced a path out over the drawbridge.

Justin’s eyes shone with fierce admiration as he described it. “We were going to go back and attack again. But then Chloe had a vision. She said we were being tracked by a lot of people with those dog-things. And that we were outnumbered. She reminded everyone that Victoria said you were our priority.”

“No,” Keira groaned.

“Marco agreed,” Justin said. “He turned us around. Asked the wolves to cover our backs, to slow the hounds so we could get away.”

Every word hit like a lash. Keira’s guilt flared, raw and jagged.

I left her. They left to get me out. I’m not the one they want. I am not worth this.

*****

“Bloody hell,” Keira muttered when she tripped over another gnarled root and nearly went down again.

Even in the dim light she saw the flick of Marco’s eyebrow.

“Are you all right?” he asked, tone so politely bland it may as well have been a reprimand.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, batting away the hand he offered.

“Suit yourself,” he said, just as sharply, and pushed on through the undergrowth.

She tried to lengthen her stride and catch up, but her body refused to cooperate. Every muscle burned. Her legs felt weighted, every step an act of will she wasn’t sure she still possessed.

In another life, she might have admired the forest around them. Towering trunks rose like ancient sentries; their crowns lost in drifting mist. Giant ferns formed curtains of green, hiding narrow passages created by invisible, nocturnal things. A faint breeze stirred the leaves; the air smelled of earth and water and bark and decay.

Right now, it was just more distance to cover.

A sudden racket of screeching birds above their heads made her flinch. The brief spike of adrenaline was just enough to push her back into line behind Marco’s broad back.

Shapes moved at the edge of her vision—other survivors fanning out, slipping between trees with a competence she both admired and resented. They were tense but focused, sliding back into their roles as if battle and flight were simply part of the job description.

It drove home just how much of an outsider she was. These were the people expected to die for her. For her.

She had never asked for that. She couldn’t accept it. Victoria had tried to explain the logic, the necessity, but they’d had too little time.

The memory of Victoria’s body on cold stone surged up and nearly dragged a howl out of her throat.

Breathe. One step. Another.

They slogged through a patch of swamp that felt like the earth itself was trying to drag them down. Stagnant water sucked at their boots. The smell was enough to make her gag. Gnats swarmed, unerring in their quest for every scrap of exposed skin.

By the time they pulled free onto firmer ground, they were all splattered in foul-smelling mud.

“At this rate Daemon won’t need his hounds,” someone muttered nearby. “He can follow his nose.”

Marco lifted a hand and the group came to a halt, closing in protectively around Keira as she sank down onto a moss-covered stump.

“We’re not far from the cave,” he said. “Adam, catch up with Chetan and make sure it’s secure. We wait here for your signal. The rest of you, fan out.”

People moved instantly, disappearing into the trees or fading into watchful positions. Marco stayed.

There was a taut silence between them. Keira could see the tension in his shoulders, the restless movement of his fingers against his thighs, as if every part of him screamed to be anywhere but stuck here, babysitting her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. She wasn’t even sure what she was apologising for—Victoria, the Council, the wolves, his lost hounds. All of it, probably. “You don’t have to stay here with me. I know you’d rather be out there with the others.”

He said nothing, just kept scanning the trees.

His silence settled on her like fresh weight on an already overloaded back. Hurt pricked under her exhaustion. She bent forward and rested her forehead on her knees, trying to hold herself together by sheer force.

Footsteps approached. “It’s clear,” Adam said, breathing hard. “Let’s move.”

Keira forced herself upright. Every joint protested, but she walked.

The ground began to rise beneath their feet, the forest slowly thinning. Patches of darkening sky appeared overhead. The incline steepened until her thighs shook with the effort. More and more often, Marco or Adam had to reach back and pull her up slick, algae-slick rocks she couldn’t manage alone.

One. More. Step. She clung to the rhythm, too tired even to frame a proper complaint.

Adam stopped so abruptly she nearly collided with him. Following his gaze, she saw it—a black maw in the side of the mountain, half-hidden behind the twisted remains of an enormous oak.

The cave.

Chloe emerged from the shadows within and came to take Keira’s arm. “Come on,” she said gently.

Keira didn’t bother pretending she could keep going unaided. She let Chloe lead her into the dark.

The air cooled with each step. The smell shifted—wet stone, clay, something old and mineral. Their footsteps echoed oddly in the narrow passage. Something small fluttered past Keira’s ear and she ducked.

“Only bats,” Chloe said. “You’re fine.”

They wound through the rock, turning sharp corners until, at last, a faint glow appeared ahead. Torches, Keira realised as they drew closer—real flames, set in brackets hammered into the cavern walls.

Stalactites glittered overhead, pearly teeth dripping slow tears of water. In another life, she would’ve raised her camera, framed shots, thought about light and texture and wonder.

Right now, she wanted only to curl into a ball and forget.

Forget the stone steps and the woman who’d fallen down them.

Forget the storm she’d unleashed.

Forget the way a pale face had smiled as everything shattered.

A sharp stab of grief lanced through her chest and nearly took her breath away. She stumbled the last few metres to the nest of blankets someone had arranged in a far corner.

“It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight,” Chloe said.

“Thank you,” Keira muttered thickly, toeing off her mud-caked boots before she sank down. The blankets were scratchy and thin and the most comfortable thing she’d ever felt.

Through half-closed eyes she watched shadowy figures move around the cavern. Someone coaxed a small fire to life. Others dragged wooden crates from a hidden alcove, handing out field rations in a practised routine.

Their voices blurred into a distant murmur.

Then there was nothing.

*****

“I’m not sure she can make it out of here,” Rafael said later, speaking quietly as he crouched beside Marco, helping sort the remaining supplies. “She’s a liability right now.”

Marco glanced over to where Keira lay curled on the blankets, one arm flung over her face. Lines of exhaustion carved her features even in sleep.

“We have to trust Victoria,” he said at last. “It’s all we’ve got. And you saw what she did at the castle.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rafael muttered. He hesitated. “Marco… how did they get in? I thought our defences were impenetrable.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Marco said, his jaw tightening. “There’s only one explanation.”

“You don’t think someone on the inside—?” Rafael left the rest unspoken.

Conflicting emotions flickered across Marco’s face. Anger. Hurt. Reluctant, icy logic.

“I don’t want to believe it,” he said quietly. “But right now it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He gripped Rafael’s forearm. “Keep it to yourself. We have no proof. Not yet.”

Rafael nodded and rose. “I’ll take first watch,” he said, and moved toward the cave entrance, leaving Marco alone with his thoughts, and with the sleeping girl who might yet save them all.