The Quiet Beyond the Well (Keeper of Réaltaí #1)

Prologue

I t was quiet as she fell.

The only sound was Lachlan’s voice in her head.

“ We can save him,” he had said . “ If you come with me, we can save your father.”

All evidence of the fight around her seemed to fall away. A riot of emotions—known and unknown—hung between them. Emer’s eyes snapped closed and the breath was stolen from her lungs as her body crashed into the frigid water.

Slipping beneath the surface was like crossing the Array into a foreign realm of calm and quiet. It was a deceptive and eerie contrast from the battle that raged above the surface, and the girl who now sank beneath the flaming ship welcomed the lie. The heat of the flames could not touch her with the cold water hugging her close. The deep refused to let the fire’s light corrupt it, diffusing it across the surface and bathing her in shadows.

Her head lolled back and the hair that escaped her braid danced across her face. Saltwater burned her eyes, but she watched and waited, expecting him to have jumped in after her.

As she sank further into the depths, she grew weightless and her arms rose ready to embrace him. He had promised to stay with her. How quickly promises seemed to wither these days. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the flames, the arrows, the blood, and the look in Lachlan’s eyes as he threw her free of the burning ship. It had been to protect her, to hide her in the deep darkness, but the plunge into the void hurt her all the same.

A tingling sensation bloomed in her chest and fueled the burning in her lungs. She assumed that the grip of death would be cold, but it was more like a warm caress. The warmth spread from her center and down her arms, dripping from her fingertips.

Dying. This is dying.

The thought rang loudly, but she felt no fear. The idea of facing the evils above was far more terrifying, and despite the consequences, the temptation to stay below the waves overwhelmed her. If it was only her fate at stake, she might have succumbed. The words of her promise echoed in her mind, matching the progressively slowing pace of her pulse as she fought against the seductive call of the sea.

Upon meeting the night air, she coveted the deep, painful breath that filled her lungs. Secondary to the need for air was the need to create as much distance between herself and the monsters intent on slaughtering her friend and his men. She spared a glance at the ship, ravaged by flames. The cries of the crew ceased, and the deafening silence caused bile to rise in her throat. She had not seen the ship that ambushed them; only the flaming arrows that mercilessly descended upon them were proof that it was not the night itself that had attacked.

Her movements through the water grew lax and slow as exhaustion took hold of her limbs. A wave swept past, causing her to choke on the water that invaded her mouth and slipped down her throat. Driftwood collided against her shoulder, but Emer was grateful for its intrusion despite the pain. Perhaps the Elders didn’t hate her as much as it seemed.

The thick fabric of her dress became an anchor, forcing her to grip the splintered wood until her cold and wrinkled hands bled. With the night’s bite against her face and back, the chill and wariness set deep in her bones. Soon, she relented and began to drift wherever the sea wished, hoping it would make better choices than the ones that had led her to this moment. Dropping her forehead to the damp and swollen wood, she spoke to no one in particular.

“Help.”

A wave stole the word from her lips; the tide collected her tears; the night and all its stars ignored her cries.

And then there was nothing.