Chapter One: The Heartkeep
- Jun 22
- 12 min read
Every night, I dreamt of wrens. But the closer I got to the capital, the clearer the birds became—always circling above a field of lavender as I watched someone walk away.
A decade was a long time to leave a memory behind. Or, in my case, an entire battalion of them. I knew that much as I stood before The Heartkeep, ignoring the rustle of chainmail behind me while my company waited to be dismissed to the pub.
"I know better than to stand between you, ale, and countless mistakes," I said without looking. "Go now, before I change my mind."
A warden knew when he was dismissed. They hustled down the street. My lieutenant, the last to go, clapped me on the back hard enough to make me jolt.
"Good luck, boss," he whispered. "I hear the curator is a real hard ass."
"Perfect. So am I." I would be in and out. All I needed to do was reclaim my memories and fill the gaps in my heart and mind as ordered.
Tucked away from the palace at the top of the hill, The Heartkeep was the only white-stone building in this part of the city. Midday traffic bustled along the main cobblestone road. Houses with thatched roofs lined the street, their windows thrown open to release the mingling scents of laundry, baking bread, and the inevitable muck of the capitol city.
"It can't be that bad," I muttered, slinging my pack over my shoulder and brushing the dust from my thighs before running a hand through my close cropped hair.
The Heartkeep’s towering copper doors, oxidized green with age, stretched into the darkened archway above me. Running a hand over the smooth surface, I searched for a seam, a doorbell—anything that might grant me entry. When I found nothing, I stepped back and noticed a brass placard mounted nearby.
Closed between 2 and 3 o’clock for the Rest Hour.
"Rest hour?" I mumbled. I definitely wasn’t in The Wilds anymore.
A bell tolled in the distance. Three o’clock.
With a sigh, I pulled a wooden block from my pocket and set to work. My knife glided over the wood in steady, practiced strokes, shavings curling away like pale ribbons. These were the final touches, the last bits of roughness smoothed by calloused fingers. Narrowing my eyes, I tilted the carving into the light and, with one final swipe, perfected the beak before returning it to my satchel with the others.
The bell tolled again—half past. The door remained steadfastly shut.
I knocked. I tapped. I even whispered for it to open.
It didn’t.
I settled for the most basic tactic.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" I called.
The door cracked open a few inches.
"Do you have an appointment?" A voice—sharp and cool—drifted through the gap.
I bobbed my head into view, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker. "I do not," I said, flashing a broad smile. The door immediately inched closer to shutting.
"I came in from The Wilds," I added quickly. "I didn’t realize I needed an appointment."
That was apparently the wrong thing to say. The door snapped shut. Quick, light footsteps echoed beyond.
I stood there, blinking. What just happened? Had I said something wrong? I glanced around.
"You came in from the mountains?"
I flinched. The voice was back—closer this time.
"I did," I said, pressing my palm against the door, giving my best friendly expression. "Can I come in?"
The copper beneath my hand gave way without warning, and I stumbled forward into a circular stone room surrounded by towering columns. A domed skylight arched high above, casting beams of pale light in a criss-corss pattern across the marble floor.
Before I could hit the ground, a slight but firm hand grasped my elbow and, with surprising strength, kept me upright.
"Thank you, I—" My words evaporated the moment I turned to face the voice behind the door.
A woman stood close, her grey-green eyes watching me from beneath a curtain of dark curls. Her body was still, more statue than person. Her grip had been fleeting, but I swore she’d squeezed my arm before stepping back.
I hoped she did.
When our eyes met, she tensed and took me in: worn traveling clothes with one knee peeking through, crooked nose and sun darkened skin, and my hands with my family ring on my right index finger. She seemed to be waiting for something, her eyes almost imploring before showing a wave of disappointment.
"Welcome to The Heartkeep," she said flatly. There was no warmth in her voice—only cool formality. "Please state your purpose." Her tone was now edged toward caution.
Heat crept up my neck.
"I... I…" I stammered, completely thrown off. What was wrong with me? I forced myself to look away briefly, steadying my breath. "I’m here to reclaim my memories."
She studied me longer than what felt necessary. Then, with a small sweep of her hand, she gestured toward a desk.
"Sit, and I will look up your account."
As I moved toward the desk, I noticed the way she watched me—like I was an unexpected problem she wasn’t quite sure how to solve.
Suddenly weak legged, I followed the petite woman. She was at least a hand span shorter than me, and looked delicate in her soft grey dress that cinched at the waist. I noticed a bulge in her pocket, one she had touched repeatedly since I first entered.
"Name?"
"Clemence Marceau".
She nodded sharply, biting her lip. A flicker of recognition in her face caught me off guard. Surely there were hundreds of others. She opened a drawer, the rustle of paper filling the air. "Marant, Marbaix, Marceau…" Her fingers retrieved a single index card. Her eyes widened. "It’s been that long?" The words slipped out, unguarded, before she caught herself. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "You’ve stayed away an unrecommended amount of time from this type of memory keeping."
Did I owe her a reason? Hardly. A fresh wave of annoyance flared—hot and sudden. How dare she judge me.
I had served three tours as Captain of the North Range Wardens, and by sunset, I would retrieve my newly upgraded shield before heading south for another assignment. It was a valiant occupation—one that demanded my full focus. That was why I had left a piece of myself behind in the first place—to protect my most precious memories from the powers we fought against in the Northern Kingdoms.
And yet, the weight of my missing memories had become too much to bear. The hollow space where my past life should have been—a void no battle or duty could fill—had begun to crack. The fragments I clung to were no longer enough to keep me sane. In an effort to keep myself safe I had given too much of myself to The Heartkeep.
"It has," I replied carefully, attempting to keep the annoyance from my voice."But I’m here now. I’ve been feeling…uneasy." I don’t know why I told her. She didn’t flinch—no empathy, no glimmer of understanding.
She paused for a moment, then rose as if she hadn’t heard a word of what I said, casually tucking my card into her free pocket before gesturing toward a small door. "This way."
The vault looked like a bank with rows of locked boxes stacked a hundred high, spinning out from the domed courtyard. Each had a glowing sign above with a letter range.
"Shall we?" Her voice softened slightly when she noticed I had paused to take it all in. She guided me down an aisle that began halfway around the central point. Ahead, it disappeared into darkness.With each step we were propelled forward, the world blurring momentarily as the aisle stretched and shrank with impossible speed, our feet hardly touching the ground before the next step carried us farther than should have been possible.
She stopped suddenly, and I lurched forward, barely avoiding slamming into her.
"Ms. Marceau, please wait here." She gestured to a black X on the ground in the Marc section.
"Clemence, please." I replied automatically. "And you?" I realized I had lforgotten my manners.
"Beatrice." She replied, her tone carrying a hint of disappointment. "Clemence," she drew out my name, emphasizing it in a way that sent a shiver through me. The sound of it on her lips made me grateful I wasn't speaking, or I might falter.
I watched Beatrice unlock a box labeled C.Marceau, the box holding my memories.
What would it feel like, I wondered? When they returned and filled the gaps, the vacant spaces in my mind.
"That's odd," Beatrice’s voice hitched.
I moved closer, craning my neck to see. Inside, three vials were nestled in velvet—each one containing a shimmering, floating cloud while a fourth slot stood empty. The moment my gaze locked onto them, an inescapable pull surged through me. I reached for them.
But Beatrice yanked them away, her hand swift and sharp.
"Stop. They may be compromised."
She marched away, taking my memories with her. The spell snapped and I shook my head to dissipate the fog. "Which vial is missing?" Beatrice turned her back to me, but I could see her jaw set.
"Love," she muttered under her breath. Something about the way she said it made my heart stutter.
I glanced at the skylight, noticing that the sun had moved to the other side of the building. I was late to the smithy.
"Do you have somewhere to be?" Beatrice cast a judgemental gaze. "Go if you must."
Did I need love? No. Did I miss it? No.
I couldn’t miss something that was already gone. Three out of four core memories wasn’t a bad haul. I could always come back.
I hesitated. "I could come back tomorrow."
Beatrice shook her head and opened the box."We are closed tomorrow. Why bother taking these at all if you’re only going back?"
"How do you know I will go back?" I hadn’t told a soul that I intended to add yet another tour in The Wilds once I’d served at the Southern Port.
"They always go back."
"If that’s the case, then I don’t need the final vial. Maybe it ended in heartbreak anyways." I reached for my memories, but she turned away. "Give them here."
"You're being ridiculous," she replied, her voice emphatic. "What is the point of anything without love?" She made a grand gesture to the sky above. "Duty? Sacrifice? What chivalrous garbage. You need your memories to be whole, not cherry picked."
"Then I’m not going anywhere until we find it." I huffed stubbornly. This woman had a knack for getting under my skin. "Is there a lost and found for memories? Vials that go on a walkabout?" I bit out.
"That’s not how it works. We should restore your other memories and see if you have any clues as to the missing ones."
She opened my box and held one of the shimmering containers up, twisting it in the fading light. "Looks secure. If you want to go ahead with this one first then—" I grabbed the vial out of her hand andhastily grabbed the other two, popped the corks and whispered, “Bottoms up”’ before she could stop me. I chugged all three.
"Oh dear gods," I heard her whisper before it went dark.
It tasted like flaky salt on chocolate as it hit my tongue, my mind flooding with flashing images. A small house with a stable out back. A roan horse galloping across a field, boughs of lavender beneath us, and the round face of… my mother, I realized after a second, smiling down at me. I must have been small. Dinner on a table by the roaring fire. Wooden shutters slamming as a gale blew outside. Downed crops and a river frozen solid and littered with corpses. Two fresh graves beneath my feet as I clutched my sister at my side.
My head snapped back as my past weaved into the crevices of my mind where they belonged.
"Clemence," I heard my name being repeated to me. "Clemence, are you alright?" I lay collapsed on the floor, my head cradled in Beatrice’s lap. She touched my cheek softly. "Can you hear me?"
I pressed her hand to my cheek. "That was a terrible choice wasn’t it?" I croaked, the cool touch of her skin bringing me back to life.
She batted at my shoulder. "It was idiotic." This close to her I could see the dimple when she quirked her mouth and the scattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. My head pressed back into her skirt, the soft wool generating static every time I shifted. That must be the electricity I felt, not the jolt of my heart.
"Will I be alright?" I blinked as another memory flashed in my mind. Me sitting astride my horse at the edge of the woods, watching someone walk away. A profound sense of despair gripped me, as I tried to blink the tears away.
Beatrice pushed under my shoulders, coaxing me up. "Yes, but you were lucky." She collected the glass vials and toppers from where they lay scattered. "You could’ve lost your mind."
I grimaced and stood, woozy on my feet. "What of the final one?"
"Love?" She asked before bending and picking up another item. "Is this yours?" She whispered, transfixed.
A wooden bird had spilled from my bag.
I held out my palm. "Yes." She turned my creation over in her hands.
"Why wrens?" She asked so low it was barely audible.
I gently pried it from her fingers. "I dream of them. This helps."
"You dream of them?" She looked at me with a hope I did not understand.
"I do." I squirmed under her piercing gaze. "What next?" Something about speaking of my dreams made me immensely uncomfortable. "Why would it be missing from the box in the first place?"
"A mix up with another customer." I didn’t believe that for a second. "Do you remember anything about her?"
"Who?" Beatrice gave me a look.
"Whomever you loved enough to store them away."
That stung. I had committed those memories to the vault to protect them and me. It was never a flippant choice.
"You must remember something."
I rocked back on my heels, exploring the newly found images of my past that continued to flash like bolts of lightning in my mind. There was only the woman in the field, lavender, and the birds circling above as I called for her to stop.
I shook my head. Beatrice bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.
"Maybe we can try to find where the vial may have gone. Follow me." I let her pass me as the sweet scent of lavender reached my nose and I paused, my hands shaking.
By now, the light had changed, filtering through the tempered glass and casting the sanctuary in an ethereal glow. Dust motes bobbed in the air and I swore a breeze whispered through my short cropped hair.
I stopped short.
We’d somehow reached the end of the aisle, Beatrice’s back to me, her chin tipped down as she waited, warming her back in the waning light as I caught my breath and stumbled.
I was back in a field of lavender, wrens circling above as the woman walked away from me. Her dark hair glinting in the sun as one outstretched hand caressed the stalks she passed. A small tattoo visible.
I rushed forward. "Give me your hand," I asked. Beatrice looked different now. Suddenly she seemed unsure. Scared. I grasped her wrist——and flipped it over to find a tiny black bird tattooed just on the inside.
I pulled up my own sleeve to show the same one in the same spot.
"It’s you." I whispered and looked at the pocket she’d tapped when she thought I wasn’t looking.
"Give it here," I requested. She balked, grasping her skirts as if she intended to run. I moved to block her.
"Beatrice," I warned. Her name was already so familiar to me. "Give it."
Slowly she drew out the final vial–my vial–and placed it in my open palm. "Why?"
Her face flush with embarrassment. "I wanted to confirm you were still… you. To see if you remembered me. You didn’t."
She looked disappointed.
But it was only half-true. My mind had been whispering about her to me every night for the past year.
I snatched the vial away from her, popped the cork, and downed the ounce of liquid.
Nothing happened. No black out. No memories flooding back. She saw this on my face as her eyes became wet with tears.
"Talk to me." I begged. I had to see what she wouldn’t say. I found desolation.
"I’ve waited for you for nearly a decade." She whispered. "All those wasted years."
"Come here," I murmured. She took one nearly imperceptible step toward me before I moved in. Taking her in my arms, I twirled her until the sun backlit her dark hair, warming my hands where they rested on the small of her back. "It was always real."
I closed the distance between our lips, pressing my body close, I felt her lips part as she opened to me, her hands cradling my neck and dragging me down to her as heat swept through me. A tidal wave of memories that distance and magic had kept at bay flowed.
Picking strawberries and stealing kisses. Cooking side by side and laughing hard enough it hurt. My hands buried in her hair. Our bodies intertwined, naked in the sun. Tears running down Beatrice’s face as I told her I was leaving. Finally, a field full of lavender and her walking away from me.
Our lips came apart as the glass vial slipped from my fingers and shattered.
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