Free Prisoner by Megan Derr Page B

would have been hard f anyone else to determine, but Esta knew he was now twenty-eight.
    Five years younger than his brother. His name had been Benji; now he was only called Keeper. His pale green eyes were open, but saw nothing. In all but fact, the man once called Benji was dead. Were she to touch him, his skin would be like ice. Esta shivered. Never would she grow used to this-this—
    Horror. Abomination. To think—
    She turned away and mentally reprimanded herself. Duties. She had duties to which she must attend until the solution could be found. It still disgusted her, however, to think of what their ancestors had done. What had continued to be done until the current king had declared enough was enough. Maybe he and Matthias could fix it. At least they were trying.
    Until then, she would do as her mother and grandmother had done and care for the Keeper. He did not age, did not move. The crystal that imprisoned him also cared for him, ensured he stayed healthy and alive, fit for the crystal. It was Esta's duty to ensure that crystal and Keeper were never disturbed. Never altered.
    Esta knelt and clasped her hands together. Her prayers were soft and as musical as her humming had been. They echoed around the chamber, adding a spark of warmth where usually there was only cold light. She prayed for the Keeper and all those who had Kept before him, and she prayed for the Breaker to come.
    Eventually she stood and began to move around the chamber, ensuring that all was as it should have been. It was neither warm nor cool in the crystal chamber, not exactly pleasant. It simply was. As a child, she had been enchanted by the crystal, had thought it magical.
    And it was, but not in the way a child thought of the word. There was nothing good here, only necessity—and desperation. Esta wished bitterly that her ancestors had thought a little harder, but she had not been in their position, so perhaps it was she who erred. Then again, Benji had been a sweet boy and a sweeter man. Now he was merely a shell, a slave to the magic.
    The last one, the king's brother, had Kept for sixty years. So far Benji had been Keeper for ten years. She hoped there would not have to be an eleventh.
    Esta's humming was somber on her return journey, completely at odds with her ever-increasing pace. She had lingered too long—it must have been past evening bells by now. Ignoring those she passed as she reached the palace proper, Esta raced for her room.
    "You're late!" Trul howled at her. "Late! Late! Late! What in the world have you been up to?"
    "Nothing, nothing. I'm sorry. Come. Stop shouting and get me dressed. I'm already late. You needn't make things worse with your scolding."
    Trul continued to mutter as they scrambled to get Esta ready. In record time Esta was shaking out the skirts of her gown while Trul arranged her hair. A knock at the door startled them both. "Answer it," she said and began to fuss with her own hair.
    "Trul, step outside for a few minutes." Matthias' somber voice cut deep, for he was rarely anything but jovial. It was a quality that irked his father's men to no end. They felt he took nothing seriously. Most days, Esta would have agreed with them. But she would also be the first to say the king's old retainers and advisors needed to remember how to laugh.
    "Matti?" she asked when the door had closed, giving up on her hair and turning to face him. "What's wrong?"
    "Essie…"
    "Just say it." Esta started to feel sick. There were only so many things that could make Matthias so uncomfortable—miserable, to be more accurate.
    "Esta," Matthias stepped forward and took her hand, "the latest reports from the field have come in."
    Esta closed her eyes, holding his hand tightly. "Please, no. Iah—he's—is he?" She fisted her other hand to still its shaking, focusing on the sting of her nails in her skin to keep from screaming or crying.
    "He's missing," Matthias said. "His commander Screamed. No one was left alive—or so they