The Keeper of the Four Kingdoms: The Keeper Chronicles, #1

By Shelly Jarvis and Chisto Healy

In a realm where ancient winds whisper secrets through treacherous mountain passes, and forgotten tunnels guard untold treasures, an epic adventure laced with royal intrigue and power-hungry ambitions unfolds, threatening to shatter a kingdom's fragile peace.

The true puppeteer of fate is a sadistic young king, consumed by his thirst for the throne. With a heart as cold as the unforgiving desert night, he will stop at nothing—even if it means tearing his own family apart—to seize ultimate power.

As the land teeters on the brink of chaos, alliances shift and destinies collide. Elves, hidden from human's dangerous gaze, yield the magic that holds the key to both salvation and destruction.  But will they offer up their secrets to the people who so willingly destroy the old ways?

Amidst the clash of swords and the hum of lost spells, unlikely heroes rise, bound by destiny and a shared determination to save their world. Beware the Kingdom of Agosia, where courage is forged in the crucible of adversity, and the true cost of victory may demand sacrifices beyond imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paper Mage Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223341475

Book preview

PROLOGUE

MARKUS

Markus stared at his mother's face for several minutes. The beauty known to her in youth had remained long after most of her peers replaced their supple skin with wrinkles and creases, her raven hair lustrous while theirs faded to white. Her eyes remained a piercing violet, always alert and, as Markus saw them, haunting. Even now as he watched her die, he stared into those eyes and felt a shiver roil down his spine.

Markus leaned over and placed his lips upon her unnaturally smooth cheek. He whispered against her face, I love you.

Mercy on you, she murmured, lifting her frail, weakened hand to his bristled cheek. You do not know what you have done.

His jaw clenched as he watched her draw her final breath. It escaped like a fleeting breeze passing by him, before her hand fell to the bed with a dull thud.

I know exactly what I’m doing, Mother, he whispered.

Markus reached forward and gently closed his mother's eyes, unable to bear their accusations any longer. He pulled his silver dagger from her heart and wiped her blood on the nearby bed sheet, decorating the pale blue with a crimson smear. He placed the dagger in its sheath and walked to the door, opening it slowly. Markus peered out into the hall to check for the guards. As promised, they were still missing from their post.

Unlike his mother, some people could be trusted.

Markus stepped from the doorway into the hall, making his way from the queen's bedroom while trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. An assassin, you say? he murmured, practicing a surprised face. What? he gasped. An assassin? He shook his head, brows furrowing. Please, tell me she’s well, he said, placing his hand over his heart.

Markus' lips curled at the last phrase. Yes, that’s the one.

As he rounded the final corner before reaching his quarters, he came face to face with Simon Blanchard, the Captain of the Royal Guard. The younger man straightened, going rigid at the sight of the future king of Agosia. Despite immediately turning his head to face the wall so the prince could pass him, Markus knew the Captain’s blue-gray eyes had taken in every aspect of his appearance from head to toe. He was quick, clever, and good in his role. Too good, perhaps, Markus thought.

Simon, Prince Markus said.

Good morrow, Mestari, the soldier replied.

Lurking about in the wee hours of the morning?

Simon pressed his lips into a flat line. Doing my job, my Prince.

Markus smiled. Come have a drink with me in my chambers, Captain.

Of course, Highness.

You should change that to Majesty, Markus said with a grin. At the crease that formed between Simon’s brows, Markus asked, Too soon?

Captain Blanchard opened the door and held it for Markus to enter. The royal swaggered past him into the room and settled himself into a cushioned velvet chair by the warmth of the crackling fire. Simon crossed the room to the maple cabinet in front of the tall burgundy curtains, glancing warily at his prince as he poured him an auburn drink from a cask. Simon served the prince his drink, then stepped to the side of his chair and stood at attention.

"Oh, don’t be like that now, Markus said. Join me, Simon. This is your victory as much as mine." Markus pointed to the chair opposite him.

Simon looked hesitant, but he reacted as he always did, doing whatever Prince Markus—King Markus—instructed.

Markus sighed. He stared into his drink for several moments, swirling the liquid around in the crystal glass before finally taking it all in one gulp. Seeming to breathe easier, he set the glass down onto the small ornate table between them. It is done.

Simon nodded. Although he had been privy to his friend’s plan to assassinate Queen Theodora, the ache it produced in his heart was visible. Simon was loyal to his Prince and a traitor to his Queen at the same time.

Unclenching his jaw, Simon said, It must have been difficult for you, Mestari. I can’t imagine…

Markus frowned at the way Simon reacted to the fruition of all their plans. He was supposed to feel the same elation that Markus did, the same relief that all obstacles were finally removed from the path to the throne. Instead, his friend seemed strangely conflicted, despite his assistance in the endeavor, offering a look Markus hadn’t seen since he’d first mentioned his plans to his life-long accomplice.

There’s no going back now, Markus thought, so Simon will have to find a way to live with his choices. Politics is a dirty game.

Aloud, he said, "Do not look so glum, Simon. You are taking it awfully hard, considering she was not even your real mother. She birthed me, and it was my dagger that laid her to rest. What’s done is done. There is nothing to deliberate. We cannot bring her back."

Simon’s face jerked up at the words, his lips parted in surprise as he searched the eyes of the prince. This was the first time in all their years as friends that Markus had referenced the fact that they were not brothers by blood, but word only. One of them was royalty, the other was merely his guard. Both men knew their place, but the distance between them had never been so apparent until that moment.

Even a planned loss is still a loss, Simon said, careful to keep his tone even. And though she was not my mother, she treated me kindly. Kindness is a virtue not often found in these lands.

Yes, Simon, she cared deeply for you. Of that I am sure. But her time has long passed, and I am far too eager to begin my reign. I could not delay any longer. The kingdom needs me now. You are aware of this as much as I.

Your reign shall be just, Mestari. I am confident of this.

Simon’s face displayed none of the confidence his words suggested. The unspoken question was written on his face: How can you start a just reign with murder? Simon felt Markus' intense gaze upon him. Before Markus could remark on it, Simon’s eyes met Markus' gaze, and he brought up his drink for a lengthy sip, closing his eyes and reveling in the burn that flowed through his chest.

Markus furrowed his brows as he watched his friend. Though Simon was clearly wrestling with grief, Markus had no doubt he could be trusted. Even now, his emotions turned toward the future, adjusting to make him into whatever Markus would need next. That malleability was one of Simon’s greatest attributes, and the one Markus valued most.

The drink eased the tightness that had been present in Simon all evening, and Markus saw the slump of his shoulders, the way the crease in his brows smoothed flat. The Prince nodded his approval and thought he might just have another himself.

I shall succeed where my father failed, Markus said, his tone shadowed in darkness. With you at my side, I will take the Four Kingdoms as my own.

Simon lowered his drink with a trembling hand and stared at the Prince, his eyes wide with something akin to fear.

Markus simply smiled and passed him his empty glass. Go fetch me another… brother.

PART ONE

THE MOUNTAIN KING

CHAPTER ONE

ARIQ

Ariq ran through the caravan, desperately trying to escape the bearded monster of a man who gave chase. He ran around a peasant girl slicing carrots for stew, past the tent of a nursemaid and the baby suckling her milk, and through a group of squires grooming their master's horses. As he rounded a dirty yellow tent, he slipped in the mud and landed on the back of his breeches.

He could hear the commotion behind him, confirming that the bearded man was still on his trail. The brute was more beast than man, and he roared to prove it. He was better known around these parts as the Boulder for the way he crashed through things and crushed his enemies. Or because he is dumb as a rock, Ariq thought. He’d have to be, to believe that woman.

Two guards walked toward Ariq, their gray cloaks embroidered with green, marking them as the king's men. With guards in front and the bearded man behind, Ariq sat in the stinking mud looking for a way out. To his left was a wagon, small and well built, full of bags of turnips for the ten-day trek to Agosia. Ariq pulled himself from the mud and dove for the wagon, scrambling under it before the Boulder’s tattooed hands could catch him.

Oy! called one of the guards as he spotted the bearded brute.

Ariq peeked from under the wagon, holding his breath and watching with interest.

His pursuer, whose freshly shaved head was in direct contrast to his flaming red beard, dipped his bald pate at the guards in greeting. Ergill. Mirr. On guard tonight?

What happened to you? Mirr asked, ignoring his question. Where is your cloak, Bergh?

Where are your boots? Ergill asked, looking down at the mud-stained, tattooed feet.

The tattoos were names. It was a right of passage in the Boulder’s family, to tattoo on your feet the names of the first graves you walked upon. It was important to remember, as he had been taught, that you kill out of necessity and respect the fallen. The tradition was too often hidden by boots.

And what in bloody hell happened to your head? Did your hair grow weary of covering that empty noggin of yours and run for freedom? Mirr asked.

The guards laughed, but Bergh only scowled at them. I was escorting that demon-spawned boy today, he snapped. The devil lives in that young man.

The guards immediately stopped laughing. Mirr asked, Where is he now?

Here I am, Ariq almost said from his hiding place, but he bit it back. He couldn’t fight the grin that peeled across his face.

Oh, he’s back in his tent, Bergh answered the guard. I was just running around to get my exercise after I returned him to his father.

For a moment, Ergill looked relieved. Ariq had to stifle a laugh. He clamped a dirty palm over his mouth to hold it in. Ergill was a fierce fighter, and very loyal, but more than once Ariq had heard his father say that Ergill's brain would be dazzling if only you could scrape all the dung off it.

You lackwit, Bergh said, he's run off.

Seems like you're the lackwit, Mirr snapped back. You're the one who lost the boy, the boots, the cloak, and all those fiery curls that your wife’s always braggin' about. You didn’t lose your southern hair too, did ya? Guess now I'll have to let that beauty run her hands through my hair and remind her what a real man is like.

With those words, Ariq recognized his way out. Bergh was married to Rona, the innkeeper's daughter. She had long, slender legs, a head of thick blonde hair, eyes the pale blue of glass, full lips, and a big bosom that was more than just an effect of her corset. When Bergh was not around to hear, most of the guards talked freely about those breasts, and several claimed to have intimate knowledge of the blonde curls between her legs.

Bergh was aware of the talk, but he never heard it firsthand, and for good reason—every guard knew that Bergh was quick to bludgeon. If he weren’t, Ariq may not have run the way he did. Apparently, Mirr was either a fool or someone who simply cared not for his own mortality. Either way, Ariq was thankful to him at this moment..

As Bergh's fist connected with Mirr's jaw, Ariq crawled out the other side of the wagon. A crowd gathered around the brawling guards, cheering on their choice of victor. Cheering on Bergh, Ariq thought, noticing how the Boulder seemed to inspire the people.

Ariq seized the moment and took off running toward the front of the caravan and the safety of his pavilion. He was almost there when Ava stepped out in front of him, bangle decorated arms crossed before her.

She was a sight to behold, as she always was. Ava was tall and slender, her sinewy arms corded with muscles. She was full of midnight hair pinned back into braids and bronze skin, with bright violet eyes that seemed to shine on the darkest of days. She was a true beauty, as anyone could see, but Ariq knew her true value was her kindness, her bravery, and her desire to do good for the people of Bælta.

Still, he did not want to see her at this specific moment.

Ariq cursed under his breath as he slowed his steps. Gods be damned.

Watch your mouth, she said.

Why should I? He slouched his shoulders and rolled his eyes at her, looking far more like a boy than the future of the kingdom.

A prince should not speak in anger. Must I say the same things to you daily?

Father says a king may say whatever he likes, whenever he likes.

Aye, maybe so, Ava replied, but you are no king.

"And you are not my mother," Ariq spat.

Thank all the gods and stars for that, Ava replied. And the demons of the Underneath as well. Should I ever encounter Fate, I will thank her too.

Ariq smiled, despite himself. Ava was one of his father's trusted advisors and Ariq's favorite person in all of the world. She was unlike the others. She didn’t hold her tongue around him, or anyone for that matter. Ava was quick-witted, loyal, and honest to a fault. Of course, there were two sides to every coin. As much as Ariq adored her, she made it difficult for him to get away with anything because she always knew when he was lying. It was those moments that he was reminded of how she was his father’s trusted advisor and not his own.

Let us get you clean, she said, turning toward the small gray pavilion that was Ariq's home while traveling. Her bangles jangled musically as she led the way. You smell like a pigsty. After you remove that foul odor, you can tell me what you did today.

I would rather not tell you.

She smiled, a sight that sent Ariq’s heart careening into his throat. I am certain that is true.

Once inside the pavilion, Ava sat beside the writing desk in Ariq's heavy oak chair with its dark blue feathered cushion. Ariq thought she must love that seat, because it was the only time he ever saw her sitting. When his father would allow him to observe the council meetings, Ava always stood or paced, much to the distaste of King Tarquin's older counselors. Ava seemed to make the elders’ nervous, though Ariq wasn’t sure the exact cause of it. Maybe, like him, they were well and truly in love with her. And just like Ariq, they had absolutely no chance of having their feelings reciprocated. He still had years to win her over—they were both young, with free hearts and time on their side—but the elder statesmen had known the massive garden trees when they were but seeds. At their age it’s probably important to protect those hearts, he thought. Ava will break them if they don’t.

Ariq's boy-servant, Leif, had a bath waiting for him upon his return. It was well-timed, as Leif always seemed to anticipate the young prince’s needs, and steam still rose from the piping hot water. As Leif helped Ariq out of his muddy clothes and into the basin of water, Ava demurely averted her eyes.

Why do you always do that? Ariq asked after he noticed her turning away from his nakedness. You are a woman grown. Surely it does not embarrass you to see under my clothes.

"I thought perhaps I was keeping you from embarrassment," she said with a sly grin.

Lady Ava, Ariq said with a smirk, you jest. Certainly you know that a king lives in my breeches. Would you like to see his crown?

Ava laughed. "From my vantage point, it is all crown with nothing more to see. She chuckled again. Let me know when there’s a man under it."

Prince Ariq looked down into the murky bath water, his pale cheeks flushing pink. I am nineteen summers old, not five, he grumbled. There’s more man beneath these waters than you’ve yet seen. Many women have been plenty satisfied.

That is good for you and them, Prince Ariq, she said. I have no urge to bed you or wed you. I like your strong will and wit, your zest for life. I would not jeopardize my position with your father or my friendship with you by gambling on intimacy. Just because I am not your mother, doesn’t mean I’m not old enough to be.

You will change your mind when I am king. I will have riches and power, not to mention my dashing good looks. I will be all that any woman could desire. Surely you won’t deny me your affections then.

Ava shook her head. You sound so certain of a future that will not come to pass.

I’m certain you will not deny me when I am your king.

"You would not be the first king I’ve refused. It is no secret that I have denied your father on more than one occasion. You think like a boy; therein lies the problem. I serve my king; I don’t service him."

But of course, Ariq said, turning to look over his shoulder at her as he sponged soap suds over his chest. He is old. That would be unpleasant for a young beauty such as yourself. Alas, I am close to you in age. Our union would be far more appropriate and contain far less cobwebs.

Ava sighed and rubbed at her golden face. There was a fine line for Ariq to walk between causing Ava to laugh and making her thoroughly annoyed. Ariq had nearly perfected that line. The result was measured in the showing of her dimples, as they only appeared when she smiled. Behind her hand, they were showing now.

I will serve, not wed, the king who comes after your father, if he will have me. But you, sweet prince, are not that son.

Ariq laughed but there was no humor in it. The entire kingdom believes my brother to be the future king. My father has not yet named his heir. Won’t you all be surprised when you see my head under the crown?

Ava stood from her seat and smoothed her tunic. I’m unclear, Prince, are we still talking about your member?

Ariq slapped his hand down, splashing water. What? No. I meant… Look, even if I don’t wind up as king, every prince needs a princess, whether or not he is meant to rule. You can be my brother’s aid and my betrothed.

There was a long pause, the words hanging between them as the tension mounted. Finally, Ava said in barely more than a whisper, You know what will happen when your brother becomes king.

I’ll take a good, long holiday, he said, trying to hold on to his waning smile.

Ava said nothing. Her face remained solemn. She stared at him for far too long in that silence before walking from his tent without a word.

Ariq groaned, certain he had crossed the line in the wrong direction. At the very least, he had reminded her of a future that none wanted to consider. But it was known by all, even if each of them fought to ignore it: once the future king was crowned, the remaining brothers would be beset by the Kinfall, a curse that had followed his family’s line for generations. The Kinfall would remove any contestants to the throne, ensuring the succession of the chosen son, and there was nothing that could be done to fight it. Though the Kinfall affected each royal differently and could not be entirely predicted, every potential male heir was raised to expect the death it would bring. Banishment was a gift for any remaining sisters—they would be married off to the highest bidder, never to return to Bælta.

He quickly stepped from the bath and dried himself with the fresh towel that Leif had left for him, then he slipped his feet into sandals and hurried outside. His hair was still dripping water down his face as he looked in both directions for any sign of where Ava had gone. She was nowhere to be seen, a good indication that Ariq had fouled things up yet again.

Fool, Ariq chided himself. Damned fool.

CHAPTER TWO

ARIQ

The next day Ariq was resolved to make amends. Before he had the chance, Ava met him for his morning ride just as she always did, smiling as brightly as ever. If she was happy, he wouldn’t bring up yesterday’s incident; he didn’t want to lessen her mood. Still, as they passed the trees and streams, his guilt tugged at him like a ghostly hand.

Ava trotted up next to him on her gelding, Sunray. Are you ready to tell me what brought you home in such a state last evening?

Oh, not much, Ariq said, looking away to hide the mischief in his smile.

Not much? Ava prodded. After all this time together, why must you still speak such fabrications?

Ariq shrugged. My brain and my tongue are like enemy kings at war with one another. The victor is the one who makes the first move, no matter how rash.

Ava chuckled and brushed a wisp of black hair from her face. I will accept your apology on the grounds of your creative delivery. Now tell me the truth about yesterday.

I may have angered a guard or three.

It wasn’t Gronn again, was it?

No. Ariq used the reins to turn his black mare, Moonlight.

Thank all the gods for that.

It was Bergh.

Ava closed her eyes with a wince, as if Bergh’s very name had hurt her. Of all the names you could have said… she trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she added, I will be very cross if you get yourself murdered.

Murdered? Ariq asked. I’m the son of the king. He couldn’t hurt me even if he wanted to.

Oh, I’d venture he wants to, and I don’t even know what you’ve done. That brute could clobber you before he came to his senses if you made him mad enough. You know the temper he has, along with his tendency to hold grudges.

Ariq laughed. There are three things everyone in the kingdom knows about Boulder Bergh. The first being that he has a horrible temper and a penchant for violence. This is why everyone in this area keeps number two to a whisper.

And that is?

Ariq gave her his devilish grin. That he has a wife who is well loved by all his brother guards and many other men in the kingdom, if the rumors happen to be true.

You should not say such things, my Prince. Ava stopped Sunray under a tree at the edge of a steep drop off, the river flowing powerfully below. She waited for Ariq to bring Moonlight to a halt as well. And what, pray tell, is the third thing?

Ariq’s grin blossomed into a wicked smile. He once had hair as red as his fiery temper that had not been cut since he was a babe.

You did not, Ava whispered.

Ariq tossed his hands up. Ava put her fingers against her temples and sat silently for a moment. Ariq expected her to be angry, but did not expect her silence. Whenever Ava was silent it felt as if the whole world held its breath. He found that he was holding his own.

Finally, she looked at him and said, Well, I’ve never seen a boulder with hair, so I suppose it makes sense.

Ariq and Ava laughed together, the rift formed the evening before closed over like it had never happened. Once their giggles passed, he clapped his hands together and turned his horse to head home.

How did you do it? Ava asked as she turned Sunray and followed.

It was not meant to be his hair, Ariq began. Honestly, I never planned to harm him at all. We were charged with riding out behind the caravan to check on the guards in the rear and be certain that everyone was getting on fine. I did not realize how far the caravan stretched until today. It seems we have picked up some followers.

Aye, Ava said. Every village we pass sends its hungry people into our ranks. Haldor wants to send them away—remind them of their place, he says—but your father will not have it.

My father is wise. My brother is a cretin. Yet this is the man everyone believes will be their next king. Gods grant us mercy. These are his people yet he cares little for them. He is not fit to lead.

Haldor could certainly use a bit of your father’s wisdom. He doesn’t appreciate counsel from anyone, and I fear he still will not when he wears the crown.

Father knows this, Ariq said. That's why he has yet to name his heir. Ariq puffed his chest out and held his head high.

Ava stifled a laugh. You are correct. King Tarquin made seven children, yourself included, though only four can wear the crown. Why must Haldor be the eldest and first in line?

You forget, Ariq said. Father himself was the third son, Ava. Eldest means nothing. Father may be trying to prepare Haldor for the crown, but he knows that he’s not ready for it, just as you and I do. I’m clearly the better option.

Laughter burst from Ava. It seemed to surprise even her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, Prince Ariq. You are definitely—Ava paused to choose her words wisely—an option. I hope daily that your father will spare his realm the horror that would be your brother's reign. Garik or Olik, even your sister Saffi would be better suited to rule, were it allowed. It is not a choice King Tarquin will take lightly.

You are his advisor, Ava. Advise him of me. You named my sister, but you know she can only be a queen in a foreign land, an outcast once my father is gone. Such is the way. I am the one who gains most of your counsel. Who are you with at this very moment?

You get my counsel, Prince, because you need it most. Your siblings have more sense than you do, even if they are lacking in other areas. She shook her head. Now tell me the rest of your story before it gets away from you. What happened with Bergh?

Ariq pursed his lips for a moment, then he did as she asked. We were returning to the front of the column, but Bergh wanted to stop and check on his wife. I told him that she would not want him interrupting her in the middle of the day while she was otherwise occupied. How would her gentleman caller feel if he wasn’t to finish?

You foolish boy, Ava chided, though this time she laughed unabashed. Why would you say such a thing? Bergh has beaten men for less, be it true or not. You should never provoke a beast in such a manner.

All for a laugh, my dear Ava. I didn’t realize it would make him want to see her more, fill him with the need to prove his ownership of those loins right then and there.

Ava rolled her eyes. Men can be worse monsters than the trolls in the hills. Maybe she wouldn’t stray if he didn’t treat her like she was little more than the sword on his back.

Ariq nodded. She’s at least equal to his horse.

Ava sent him a withering look. It is not a laughing matter. The women of this kingdom deserve better than they get.

When I am king, I shall seek your counsel in this matter so we can improve their lives.

Ava rolled her eyes. Continue the tale.

We rode over to see her, and Rona was with her mother and several other women mending clothes. No adulterous intent that I could see. Bergh was so relieved that she was not with another man, he took her into the back of the wagon and had her right then.

Ava grimaced, sharing her disgust without a word.

Apparently it had been too long for the lovebirds, because she had barely begun to moan before the Boulder stopped rolling.

Spare me the details, Ava said. There are very few things in these lands that I would find more disturbing.

Ariq’s smirk faded as they closed in on the caravan once more. He felt free and safe when he and Ava rode together. Moonlight and Sunray seemed to feel the same. At times they even rubbed their heads together affectionately.

When Rona hopped down from the wagon, I could hear Bergh snoring like a pig rooting around for truffles. He had completely disregarded his Prince in order to bed his lady. I cannot let the men think I can be disregarded at their whim. Also, I love mischief.

You disregard the men at your whim, but criticize them for doing the same.

That is not the point, Ariq said. His treatment of the guards was something he and Ava regularly disagreed on. He did not want to spend the last bit of this ride with her arguing.

Ava sighed. How can you expect the men to love you when you treat them in this way?

I have no wish for their love. Haldor wants them to fear him, Garik wants their respect, and Olik wants their loyalty. I only want them to know their place.

"You mean you want them to know