Free Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) by Missy Sheldrake Page B

over his mouth.
    “You can’t. You can’t talk about them. Mik, remember what they said. Anyone could hear. Shadows have ears. Remember?” Griff slides his hand away as Mikken nods, wide-eyed.
    “But Celli,” Mik says again. “What do we do?”
    “She failed,” Griff whispers. “She failed, and she’s got to pay. We can’t do anything. You heard them. We have to do what they say or they’ll take us, too.”
    “But how?” Mik whines again. “It’s impossible.”
    “We gotta find that kid in the yellow. Track down that bag,” Griff says hopelessly.
    “What if it’s already in the palace? What if he delivered it?” Mikken asks.
    “Then we find someone to get it. We have to,” Griff whispers.
    “But who? How?” Mik snaps his head up to a sound at the mouth of the alley. I look, too. A rat scurries past in the twilight.
    “Tib. He goes sometimes. To visit the princess. We could ask him to get it. To find it,” Griff suggests.
    “How do we even ask him that?” Mik shivers. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. Not to anyone.”
    “Maybe he could get us inside, then.” Griff shrugs.
    “No way. They’d never let us in the palace, it doesn’t matter who we’re with. We’re peasants! Look at us,” Mik grabs a handful of his filthy threadbare tunic. Griff looks at him.
    “If Eron were king,” he whispers, “things would be different. He wouldn’t keep his people out, no matter what they looked like.”
    “Yeah,” says Mikken. “He’d be a better king. I hope the appeals work. Hope he gets to be king soon.”
    “Me too,” whispers Griff. “Things might get better, then.”
    “Yeah,” Mikken says. He shakes his head. Neither of them has anything else to say.
    I stand there, right next to them, my hands balled into fists. I have my own opinions about what should happen to Eron, and apparently we’re on complete opposite sides.
    Still, whoever is behind this, whoever is so desperate that they would terrify children to recover that vest, must be wicked. Evil. Sorcerers. Why, though? Why is that object so important? What do they need it for? Who are they? I think about showing myself to them. Offering help. Asking all of these questions.
    They won’t answer, though. I’m sure of it. If Sorcery is behind it, and I’m sure it is, they wouldn’t be able to tell me, anyway. I know how it works. I’ve seen it before.
    “We’ll track him,” Griff says. “The rich boy. That’s the best first thing. Maybe he still has it. If he does, we can get it.”
    “Yeah,” Mikken cracks his knuckles. “We can get it from him. He wasn’t so strong, anyway.”
    “Let’s go,” Griff squares his shoulders. Tries to look brave. Mikken lets go of him and tries to feign bravery, too. They hurry off together. I follow them out of the alley, out of Redstone Row, and into the streets of Cerion. If they won’t ask for help, I’ll stick close to them. Try my best to keep them safe while I figure out exactly who they’re working for, and what they’re up to.



Chapter Six: Rian's Strife
    Azi
    “Imagine,” Rian paces the length of the meeting hall with Shush drifting close behind, “a constant, nagging—”
    “Nagging?” Shush interrupts with a hiss of a whisper.
    “All right,” Rian pauses and rubs the back of his neck, looking up to the ceiling. “Persistently enticing?” He glances at Shush, who nods his approval.
    “Imagine a constant, persistently enticing, luscious, divine little personal source of power. You know how it feels, Azi, to use it. To cast a spell. That sensation of the magic coursing through you. The euphoria. The…” he sighs, his eyes half-closed.
    “I know,” I cross to him and take his hands. I do know. When I was lured into the Dreaming by Jacek and tricked into using Mentalism, I abused it. I let it tempt me just like Rian is describing now. It filled me with such ecstasy, such rapture that I lost myself. I forgot who I was and why I was there. I only wanted