The Keepers of Azera ( Book 1 of the Keepers Trilogy)

Chapter 39

Twelve, almost thirteen years together. My guardian, best friend, father figure throughout that whole time. The man that raised me, trained me, loved me like I was his daughter, the man who was so alive only this morning, providing comfort to me in this time of need, is now cradled in my arms, staining my shirt with his blood. I sob and press my forehead to his, cradle his cheek in my hand, beg him to come back, come back, you're not dead, you can't be.... The other people in the room, my enemies, be damned, because they caused this. Simon caused this.

But James doesn't come back. He doesn't stir at all, even when I scream his name at him. After ten minutes, maybe twenty, a thought comes over me. He is in a better place, a peaceful one, with the Elder Gods and the woman he loved. No more war for him. No more stress, fear...he can watch me from the skies.

It doesn't help with the wave of grief that's drowning me.

I lift my head and glare at Simon. "I hate you!" I scream at him. "I hate you, I hate you, I will never help you, never, you murderer, you demon, I hope the Elder Gods damn you with the worst punishment they can think of, because you deserve it, you deserve suffering, you bastard, you hellish cretin..."

I continue to scream insults at him, but it's the "I hope the Elder Gods damn you" that gets to him. He gestures to the soldier-that traitor to his kind-and tells him, "Take her back to the cell. Give her a gown again. And sentenced that human to execution. She has disobeyed orders and I will not tolerate his blood on my hands."

"Oh, so you'll have her blood instead?" I say hysterically as the guard lifts me by the armpits. "You think she's interchangeable with James? You cause his death, you and your power-hungry-your need to conquer-to ruin-" The rest of my ranting is cut off by the guard clamping a hand over my mouth. I stop talking and begin screaming, a high pitch primal screech that is barely muffled by the guard's massive palm. I kick and elbow and fight the guard as he drags me back to the cell that I woke up in. He pretty much throws me in and shuts the cell door with a loud CLANG. He disappears for a moment, then comes back with the gown that I wore yesterday. He shoves it through the bars and sneers at me, "Pick it up."

I consider refusing, but I don't. Instead I take my sweet time, walking over and bending down at the knees to pick it up, not even taking my eyes off the guard the whole time, but instead throwing him my signature death look. He just smirks at me, waits for me to sit down on the cot, then punches in a code of some sort. I can only assume it's a code, judging by the way his fingers are bending and moving, even though I can't remember a key pad being by the cells. Then a faint burning smell fills the air.

"What did you do?" I demand.

The guard smirks again. "Have fun," he just says, and walks away. Odd. Whatever he did, he's not worried about it preventing me from escaping.

"Hey!" I shout. "HEY!" I jump up and grab the bars-and let go just as quickly. I can feel electricity run up my arms, into my chest, and leave through my feet. Some bolts travel to my face, sending a shocking sensation down the tear tracks on my face. I swear, and swear loudly. Then I sit down on the cot, curl in a ball, and sob my heart out. I've never felt so helpless before, so distraught. But now the events of the past two days bear down on me, and I'm struggling to hold onto hope. Bixan knows how many Keepers, Guardians, Trainers, and other people now buried under the Training Base. Astrid. And now James. It hurt too much to bear. My wails of pain echoe through the metal hall, as though the metal mourns for James too. But it doesn't. I'm the only one here lamenting his loss.

I turn my back to the bars and yank the blood-stained shirt over my head. To wear, to smell of, his blood was devastating, but I also don't want to wear the hospital gown. Which, in all honestly, really wasn't so much a hospital gown as a baggy, shapeless cotton night gown. I generally don't like dresses or gowns, depending on their length, because of how exposed I feel down there, and I don't want to feel that way in such a hostile setting. But it's either that or James's blood, and eventually the gown barely wins. I pull it over my head, then shoved my pants down (jeans? Are they jeans?). I consider leaving the pants on, to conserve my dignity, but it looks weird and I don't quite like the texture of the pants.