Quest for the Secret Keeper (36 page)

Stupid!
he thought, hating himself for his impulsiveness.

Later that day Ian’s mood was as foul as the weather. Shamefaced, he found himself leaving the comfort of the others, even though he knew he should be doing something to help ease all the terrible sorrow filling their lives.

But he found he didn’t have it in him after hearing about Perry. He felt that he could barely take a full breath, in fact. The blow was more than physical; it had rocked him to the core.

He left the keep and began walking. The roads were choked with military traffic, which was why it took him most of the afternoon to reach his destination, but as he went into the quiet cemetery, he found a familiar comfort, especially when he approached the grave of the gardener.

He stood in front of it for a long, long time, his thoughts
tumbling around inside his head. The ache in his heart from Perry’s loss filled his chest like mud; all the while the rain poured down around him, soaking him to the skin.

“Pardon me,” said a soft voice behind him.

Ian jumped. He looked over his shoulder and found a feeble-looking old woman there, hunched down under her umbrella, staring at him curiously. “Yes?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Did you know him?” she replied, pointing to the grave.

Ian blinked. “Yes,” he said again. “We met once, but very briefly.”

Again the woman stared curiously at him, and Ian wondered if she doubted his story. “He rescued me,” he said, and as the words came out of his mouth, he knew them to be true.

“Rescued you?” she asked, stepping closer to him and lifting up her umbrella to kindly offer him a bit of shelter from the rain. “My brother rescued you?”

“Your brother?” Ian repeated.

The woman nodded. “Yes. Errol was my older brother.”

Ian felt a tingle raise the hairs along the back of his neck. “You don’t say?”

“It’s true,” she told him, nodding vigorously. “And he never said anything about rescuing a young lad.…” And then the woman seemed to catch herself, and her free hand came out to grip Ian’s arm. “Are
you
the babe?” she asked. “The babe he was accused of stealing?”

Ian smiled. “I am the babe he rescued from a cavern near the Earl of Kent’s castle, ma’am. I bear no grudge
against your brother, and I know with certainty that he had no part in stealing me.”

The woman’s face filled with gratitude and she slid her hand down to Ian’s and took a firm hold. “Come with me,” she said. “You’ll need a spot of tea, a warm fire, and a story to cheer your heart.”

A bit later Ian sat huddled in a towel in the tiny kitchen of the dear old woman. “Name’s Alice,” she told him. “Mrs. Wallace, if you prefer.”

Ian sipped his tea and smiled. He liked the old woman immensely, and his heart was eased by her kindly attentions. After setting a plate of biscuits in front of him, Alice shuffled off to her bedroom, only to reappear with some small object wrapped in velvet. Ian eyed the shape and size of the object keenly, his heart already quickening its beat. “This is for you,” she said, placing the velvet-wrapped package on the table in front of him.

Ian stared at it without touching it. Could it be?

Alice sat down and pointed to the present. “The day my brother found you and your mother in that dark tunnel near the earl’s property, he told me that after handing off her babe, the woman pushed this little treasure at him, insisting that he take it.

“He said that he didn’t feel right about it, and he wondered why the woman wanted to pay him with treasure when he gladly would have seen you to safety. He took you to the earl and tried to explain it all, but poor Errol had a reputation as a drunkard, and the earl didn’t believe him.

“Errol never blamed him, though. My brother had a good heart.”

Alice looked at Ian hopefully, as if wishing he could see past her brother’s foolish acts and find the way to his good nature. “Yes,” he agreed, wanting nothing but to please her. “I’d long heard what a kind and gentle man your brother was, and the very best gardener in Dover too.”

Alice sat back, beaming him a smile. “Yes, he most certainly was,” she said. “But back to this treasure. You see, Errol wanted to explain to the earl that a strange woman had given him the treasure as payment for seeing the babe to safety, but after the earl accused him of stealing the child, Errol knew that he’d be further accused if he revealed this.” For emphasis, Alice tapped the velvet covering. “So he kept it a secret, holding on to it all these years. I told him to sell it, as I knew he needed the money. Hard to find work after your reputation’s been ruined. But he never did. No, Errol never sold it.

“Instead, he kept it carefully hidden, only bringing it out on special occasions and the like. No finer thing has ever graced our family’s house, I tell you. On his deathbed he gave it to me, but not to keep, no. He made me promise not to keep it should its rightful owner ever turn up.”

“Rightful owner?” Ian asked.

“Yes. You see, the more Errol thought on it, the more convinced he was that the box wasn’t given to him as payment; it was given to him for safekeeping. He believed strongly that it belonged to the babe from the cavern and
he made me swear that if you ever came round looking for it, I’d see you got it.”

With trembling fingers Ian lifted the edge of the velvet and pulled away the cloth. He could hardly believe his eyes when he took in the sight. It was Adria’s silver box, the very one she’d crafted at the inn in Berchtesgaden. The one he’d sent back with Iyoclease to give to Laodamia. A treasure box she herself had treasured.

“There’s something inside,” Alice said, coaxing him. “Errol tried for years to figure out how to open it, but he could never work out a way without damaging the box, so he left it alone and I did too.”

Another lump formed in Ian’s throat as his brain raced to connect the dots and a well of emotion so deep and so strong came up from inside him and this time he couldn’t quite get past it. Alice seemed to see his distress and she got up from her chair and came over to wrap her arms about him. “There, there, lad,” she said. “It’s all right.”

Ian clung to her, trying not to let himself fall to pieces, but that Alice would present him with
this
box and not one of the others slid so many puzzle pieces into place that the shock of it simply took his breath away.

“You’re overcome because this box proves it, doesn’t it?”

Ian blinked. He didn’t know quite what she meant; after all, how could she possibly know all that the box’s appearance signified?

When he didn’t answer her, Alice backed away a bit to look down at him. “It’s proof that your mum loved you very
much, Ian. And whatever her reasons for giving you away, I’d wager, they were reasons born of desperation.”

Ian ducked his chin and swallowed again and again, but try as he might, he could not hold back his emotion. He found he could barely breathe with the relief and the gratitude and the wonder of it all. In the back of his mind, he realized that he’d known all along who had come to the portal that day and given up her newborn babe. He also knew why Iyoclease had appeared so familiar to him at their first encounter. When he thought about it, they resembled each other very much.

So now he knew. Laodamia and Iyoclease were his parents, which meant that Theo really was related to him. She was Iyoclease’s niece, and Ian’s cousin. It astonished him that he’d taken so long to arrive at something so obvious. Perhaps he needed this box and this moment to confirm it. He had no doubt that was why Laodamia had made sure to bring her box to the portal that day. For him. She’d done it all for him.

Ian wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. Clearing his throat, he thanked Alice for her kindness and asked to be excused, promising to return to visit with her if she’d like.

“Oh, I’d like that very much, Ian,” she said.

He left her then, cradling the box to him as if it held his very heart. He smiled when he thought about what he intended to do with the box. After opening it and removing the next scroll and whatever else his mother had
hidden for him, he would give it to Océanne and tell her his true feelings. And then he would gather the members of the United, making plans to find the last Oracle, and together they would stand against the dreaded four. He no longer feared that encounter. His mother had seen him through to the end, and he vowed that he would not let her or his father down.

Ian thought on these things as he took his time making his way through the rain back to the keep, feeling not one drop because his spirit was now so light.

If it’s true that no man is an island, it is equally true that no book is written alone. Although we authors get to stamp our works with our own individual monikers, every book is in fact a compilation of efforts, and to those gifted and talented others who helped, I would like to offer my profound gratitude.

First and foremost, I sincerely thank my two fabulous editors, Krista Marino and Krista Vitola. Without these two amazingly talented ladies, many holes would have been left unfilled, loose ends would have dangled alarmingly, and great pockets of inconsistencies would have tripped up even the most ardent of readers. For the two Kristas’ insight, advice, and wisdom, I can’t thank them enough.

As I do in every novel I write, I would also like to give my most sincere thanks to my agent, one Mr. Jim McCarthy, without whom I’m quite positive I’d be sitting in an office cubicle working at some mundane job and feeling a little bit of my soul die each day. Thank you for this gift that is my life as a writer, Jim. I’ve never worked so hard and loved what I do so much.

Special thanks also to my publisher, Beverly Horowitz, for
her support and faith. And of course, special thanks to the fantastically gifted artist Antonio Javier Caparo. Antonio, I don’t know how you manage to outdo yourself with each successive cover, but I love what you’re doing, my friend!

Personal thanks also go to my friends and family, who consistently keep me from sinking into the back of my writing cave to glower over my computer, by offering support, enthusiasm, and wonderful levity. Love you all, very much.

When Victoria Laurie was eleven, her family moved from the United States to England for a year abroad. She attended the American Community School at Cobham, and one day, while on a class field trip, she first glimpsed the White Cliffs of Dover. Her trip to the cliffs, the year abroad, and her grandfather’s stories of his childhood as an orphan left such an indelible impression on her that when she turned to a career as an author, she was compelled to write the Oracles of Delphi Keep series.
Quest for the Secret Keeper
is the third book in this series. The first two books,
Oracles of Delphi Keep
and
The Curse of Deadman’s Forest
, are available from Delacorte Press.

You can visit Victoria at
oraclesofdelphikeep.com
.