The Flute Keeper's Promise (The Flute Keeper Saga)

Copyright © 2013 by
Ashley Setzer

All rights reserved

OTHER BOOKS BY ASHLEY
SETZER

The Flute Keeper:
Book One of The Flute Keeper Saga

The Flute Keeper’s
Voyage: Book Two of The Flute Keeper Saga

The Flute Keeper’s
Training: Book Three of The Flute Keeper Saga

For Alyson,
Kristen, Roxanne and Casey

You clapped and
brought her back to life.

CHAPTER ONE

Lev Hartwig walked alone down the
familiar corridors of W.R.A.I.T.H.

Weapons Research and Informational
Technology Headquarters was like a second home—if he counted Ivywild as his
first home. Even after two years it was hard for him to think of it that way.

He didn’t fit in at Ivywild. With
his frost white skin and his bat-like wings, he looked as different from the
Fay as was possible. They all had caramel complexions and long, pointed ears.
Then, of course, there was their hair. He’d seen tresses of every fathomable
color since coming to Ivywild. His hair would forever be black as blackest
night, just like his eyes.

There were plenty of other
differences. He’d calculated them all and come to the conclusion that no matter
how long he made Ivywild his sanctuary, he could never adopt the Fay culture.
It wasn’t as if he had a choice. The Fay weren’t ever likely to accept him as
one of their own.

The thought made him grin wryly. It
wasn’t worth it to point out to any of them that he was a foot shorter than he
should be for a Slaugh his age. He’d always worn his hair long enough to
conceal the slight points on the tips of his ears. He also had a peculiar
talent that would interest any Fay, but he’d been careful to keep it hidden,
always attributing his spot-on premonitions to his Slaugh instincts. 

All for the best
, he mused
as he walked down the empty hallway. Every now and then he caught the scents of
the foreign world drifting down from above. He’d never been to the surface, but
he could taste the cold grit of the desert and smell the strange, metallic
odors of distant machinery. Faint among these was a hint of the human smell
that he had grown to like. It reminded him of tan skin warm from the sun and
gray eyes that could speak the language of his own soul. 

The sound of footsteps echoed down
an adjacent corridor. Lev tensed up, his every muscle reacting in lightning
quick succession. Even though he was in friendly territory, the threat of
ambush kept him on his toes. All thoughts left his mind. For half a heartbeat,
he relied solely on instincts of self-preservation.

“Lev?”

The high, breathy voice brought him
back into his civilized mind. He caught the scent of petal soap and knew this
was no enemy.  It was Violet.

The Fay princess rounded the corner
and stopped in front of him. She wore a plain dress and an apron of Channeler’s
white. Her blonde hair stopped inches above her dress collar. She was pretty,
but there was something guarded in her mannerisms. Lev knew that the wispy
moonbeam maiden was just a front to hide somebody far more interesting
underneath. In this, she had much in common with her mother.

“You’re late,” Violet said. She
sounded puzzled rather than impatient. “Mother has been waiting.”

“Does she have anything better to
do?” Lev asked.

A hurt look darkened Violet’s eyes.

Lev instantly felt guilty. “I had
some things to take care of. The summons came at such short notice—”

“So you should have treated it as
urgent,” said a sharp voice.

Othella rolled down the hall in her
two-wheeled chair. She’d been restricted to the device ever since suffering
injuries while battling to save W.R.A.I.T.H. from intruders. Her limited
mobility didn’t curb her pride. She still wore dresses of flowing lace and
silk. She still held her chin high and wove strings of pearls into her hair.
Aside from the chair, the only difference in Othella was that a new
determination blazed from her ice-blue eyes. Lev respected her for that.

“Let’s not dally,” the queen said,
eying him from his wingtips to his boots. “There is much to discuss. Leave us,
Violet.”

Othella spun her chair nimbly and
took off in the opposite direction. Perplexed, Lev followed her. He heard
Violet’s shoes clicking on the tile as she vanished around another corner.

W.R.A.I.T.H. was not much different
in its design from the labyrinth beneath Ivywild where Lev made his home. It
was a beehive of connected corridors and hidden passageways. The one exception
was that the labyrinth was always damp and invitingly dark whereas the halls of
W.R.A.I.T.H. were always lit up with glaring white light.

Othella was going a direction he’d
never been before, though he’d seen her emerge from this wing of the complex
many times.

“What’s all this about?” he asked.
Did you have a breakthrough with the Ambrosia Project?”

Othella’s hands faltered, causing
the wheels of her chair to slow down. “No,” she said.

“Something else?” Lev asked.

The chair stopped. Her knuckles
blanched white on the wheels. “Yes. Something very important. I’m afraid we
must direct all of our resources away from the Ambrosia Project for now.”

Though he felt surprise, Lev said
nothing. The Ambrosia Project was the last bid to save the dying King Theobald,
Othella’s husband. Something huge must have happened for her to abandon it.

The wheels on the chair squeaked as
Othella started rolling again. She passed several corridors and unmarked doors
in silence. With growing curiosity, Lev wondered where she was taking him.

“How is the Flute Keeper?” she
asked.

Lev was so startled by the question
he didn’t know how to answer right away. Othella
never
asked about Emma.

“She’s fine, I suppose,” Lev said.

Othella laughed softly. “I see. Let
me re-phrase the question: how is she dealing with her training? Is she eager
to become a full-fledged member of the clergy?”

When Lev did not answer
immediately, Othella laughed again.

“What?” Lev asked.

“Another try, then. How do
you
feel about it?”

Lev took his time answering, as he
nearly always did. It wasn’t that he didn’t have an answer; he just didn’t know
how to phrase it without sounding rude. He wasn’t used to discussing his
feelings.

“I don’t like the clergy,” he said.
“I don’t see why she can’t learn about magic and history without dedicating her
life to those fanatics.”

“But at least her future place in Ivywild
is guaranteed,” Othella said. “No other Flute Keeper has enjoyed
that
luxury in quite a long time.”

A chill went down Lev’s spine,
causing his wings to twitch. A memory, hazy from neglect, surfaced in his mind.
He was lying against a boulder, stiff from battle. His wounds had started to
heal but there was a painful gash in one wing. He felt the hot black blood
dripping down his back. His cheek felt like it was on fire. The cut on his face
was fresh and it didn’t matter that he’d done it to himself. It still hurt like
hell. It was worth it. At least he’d have a scar and not a brand.

Swimming in pain he had blacked
out, numb to the carnage around him. They were dead. Every last loyal Slaugh
had been cut down. He had no allies, no family and no friend in the world.

Somewhere in that blackness he’d
heard a voice. He had been drawn to it, sensing an echo of his own pain and
loss. He could almost make out her face as his hidden talent revealed a shadowy
image. The girl figure wavered in and out of the edges of his perception. He
had longed to make her tangible, but he sensed all around her the specter of
doom.

Lev had seen his mother in the grip
of visions, but this was the strongest one he’d ever had. It terrorized him and
he had awoken in that terror to find a pair of gray eyes gazing into his. He
knew instantly that she was the girl in his vision, but his Slaugh instincts
had taken over at that point and he’d thought only of protecting himself.

He had wanted to dislike her—vowed
to, in fact, from the very beginning. Within their first few hours together
she’d proven herself to be mouthy, quick-tempered and oblivious to danger. It
would have been easy to write her off as a naïve weakling who needed
protection.

She’d long since flipped those
notions. He came to see that her fiery attitude was proactive and her
willingness to take risks was courageous. Aside from the occasional loan of his
wings, she was just fine without him. Once he’d realized that, he’d found it difficult
to stay away from her. She was a study in potential. He wanted to hone and
polish her just like one of his knives.

He’d begun to suspect that he was
the one being molded. She’d brought facets out in him that he didn’t know were
there. He cared about things and people and places he never would have given a
thought to before.
Sentimentality
, he sometimes thought, admonishing
himself.

The wheels of Othella’s chair gave
another squeak as she paused. Lev shook off the weight of his memories and
studied their surroundings. There was no door nearby or any connecting hallway.

“Are you tired?” Lev asked. “I can
push,” He grabbed the back of the chair.

“That won’t be necessary,” she
said. She leaned down and rummaged through a satchel she kept tied to one of
the chair’s handles. After a moment, she pulled out a small mirror.

“Stand back,” she instructed.

Lev took a step backwards and
watched as she used the mirror to look at the wall behind her. Though the wall
appeared blank, Lev caught the reflection of a door handle in the mirror.

“Turn that, would you?” she asked.

Using the mirror, Lev felt for the
invisible doorknob. His fingers touched something solid so he gave it a turn. A
door appeared out of nowhere.

“A clever deception,” Othella said
as she placed the mirror back in her satchel. “You know something about
deception, though.”

Lev tensed as he followed her through
the door. It vanished behind them, leaving them in darkness.

A blue spark cast glimmers of light
around them. Othella was using her source crystal as a torch. She pulled the
crystal from her necklace and gave it to Lev to hold above them.

Lev peered into the tunnel ahead.
He could tell they were no longer in the main W.R.A.I.T.H. complex. The walls were
made of stone. Ancient, earthy smells hung thick in the stale air. He was
reminded of the labyrinth until he detected a scent he had never expected to
encounter again, especially not here.

“What?” Lev said, bewildered. He
took a deep breath to make sure. The scent stung on the roof of his mouth,
bringing with it images of leather, wings and black blood. His hand went to his
belt where his fingers grasped the handle of a small saber.

“Calm down,” Othella said. “Would I
lead you into danger?”

Lev scanned the tunnel again. The
rocky walls glowed blue in the light of the crystal. “We’re still in the human
world, aren’t we?”

“What better place to hide
refugees?” Othella said.

Lev was about to ask what she meant,
but the scent grew stronger and he saw a pool of light ahead down the winding
tunnel. His boots made rapid thumping noises on the earthen floor as he ran
towards it.

“Wait!” Othella called after him.
He still had the source crystal and she was left behind in darkness.

Lev halted even though he wanted to
keep running. Othella rolled to a stop beside him. She was breathing heavily.
“There are some things you should know,” she said. She took out a handkerchief
and patted her brow with it. “W.R.A.I.T.H. has gotten involved in things that
would get us all banished from Faylinn permanently if the Seelie Court found
out.”