“My destiny will not be determined by images on parchment.” I snarl. “My destiny will be my own.”
“Yes,” Anarchy says, a determined light in her eyes. “And we will help you reach it.”
Half an hour later, I follow the path through the jungle, tracking the way the keeper went.
He left my side abruptly—a first for him—which probably means he wants to be alone, but I’m not about to avoid what could be a very difficult conversation.
I left Anarchy, Lucian, and the panthers back at the training hut with a single task: Figure out how the fuck to catch fish now that wild boars are off the menu.
I can’t hear the keeper, or sense him in any way I can quantify, but when he told me he would be able to find me anywhere, I didn’t imagine that it might work both ways.
He may be out of my sight, but I find myself aware of a tug within my chest, a feeling that draws me inexplicably in his direction.
I don’t stop to marvel at the strangeness of the flowers hanging from the branches, some so large and heavy-looking that the boughs are weighed almost to the ground where the blooms form a carpet lining the path.
In the distance, I can hear falling water, and I track the sound as the path gently turns and finally lets out into a new clearing, this one open to the sky.
Every part of the clearing appears carefully sculpted, a sharp contrast to the wildness of the jungle around it.
A pond surrounded by stones sits in the middle of the clearing with two large rocks rising up from within it, both flat and mossy across the top.
On the far left side, a third smooth-faced rock rises up higher than the others at the side of the pond. It’s surrounded by foliage while water cascades over it and into the pond, forming a little waterfall. I can only assume there’s some sort of stream behind it from which the water comes.
Beautiful fish with ivory scales interspersed with bright-orange patches glide through the water, the amber splashes of color on their backs appearing like flowers glimmering beneath the surface.
These fish look like they’d be easy to catch, but somehow, I don’t think I should feed them to the panthers.
On the far right is another hut made of polished wood, which is open on three sides and closed in at the back, almost like a porch without a building attached to it.
The keeper stands near the hut, his focus on the pool of water, although I’m sure he senses my presence.
He’s wearing the same face he was when he left the training hall and it gives me pause, but I forge ahead, prowling toward him. Waves of emotion rise off him like a physical force pushing at me—all of them volatile. Frustration. Anger. Worry. Flickers of dark energy play around both of his hands but more intensely around his crown.
He looks up at my approach, watching me with gentle, green eyes that shouldn’t belong to a dark thing like him. Far too gentle for the emotions that seem to be radiating out from him.
I’ve seen his angry face. His blue-eyed fury. I’ve seen him take the form of a devil with blood-red horns and a scaled tail. I’ve watched him turn into a blue-skinned draugr that reeked of death and a white-eyed demon of smoke and ash.
And yetthisface…
This beautiful face scares the fuck out of me.
And it’s like he knows it. Or maybe wants me to feel that way, because with every step I take, it’s as if he’s pushing at me, telling me to walk away, but I can’t for a second understand why.
And I won’t, even for a second, choose to back off.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ican hardly breathe as I stop a few paces away from him at the edge of the pond. “Diavolo?”
He shakes his head, his silver hair brushing his jaw. “Is that still my name?”
I suggested he call himself “Diavolo” because I thought he might like it, but it occurs to me now that ever since he healed me in the forest, he has stopped beingDiavoloto me and has simply becomethe keeper.
“Keeper,” I say, more quietly.
He nods. “That’s who I am.” The corners of his mouth turn down. “You can give me any name you like, but I’ll never be anything else.”
Names have too much fucking power.
