Page 10 of Given

The silence stretched. My heart thumped painfully. I tried to catch Rolund’s eye, but he turned away, his gaze on the center of the bridge.

Indistinct shapes moved on the Nor Doru side of the Rift. Booted footsteps rang out, and then a tall man in full armor and a crimson cloak emerged from the twilight and walked slowly to the center of the bridge.

No, not a man. A male. This was a vampire. He could never, under any circumstances, be confused for something else.

My heart raced as I took him in. He was clearly of the warrior class, with broad shoulders that seemed to span the width of the Pass. His black armor was a dull contrast to his hair, which was the burnished gold of a newly minted coin. Eyes the same bright shade glowed in the swirling dusk. He had the look of a big, indolent cat. A bored predator prepared to toy with its prey—until it decided to strike.

He rested his hands on his sword pommel. He pinned Rolund with a hard stare, the tips of his white fangs showing as he spoke. “You’re late, Your Grace.”

His voice was deep and rich. In the quiet, it echoed off the stony walls of the Rift. I couldn’t help glancing at the chasm—and imagining the poor souls tossed into its inky depths. A shiver crept down my spine.

Rolund, still standing in the shafts of sunlight, stepped forward. The toe of his boot grazed the edge of the Deepnight. “Where is Laurent?”

“Not here,” the blond giant said. He let the air fill with silence before adding, “Clearly.”

Rolund’s shoulders tensed. Silent anger rolled off him. “Your king breaches the treaty, Lord Varick. I’m within my rights to return to Beldurn and send you back to Lar Katerin empty-handed.”

The Sithistran lords stirred. Some glowered at Lord Varick. Others gazed at my brother’s back with worry on their faces.

If Varick cared about any of this, he didn’t show it. His golden stare remained hard, his expression inscrutable. “Do what you wish, Your Grace, but do it quickly. My king expects me back before evening.”

One of the Green Guards next to me muttered, “I’ll bet he does.”

Varick’s gaze snapped to him. “Speak up, sweet knight. I couldn’t hear you.”

The Guard paled, then grew flushed. Everyone on the bridge would understand the insult. In calling the Guard sweet, Varick implied he’d taken the man’s vein.

After several seconds of tense silence, the Guard dropped his gaze.

Rolund turned from the Pass. “Bring the thralls.”

Knights sprang into action, their armor jangling as they jogged to the carriages. While they helped the thralls descend the steps, the uncomfortable silence around the Pass continued. I grew warm under my hood, and I found myself staring at the line of vampire knights who still watched from the opposite side of the Rift. Their crimson cloaks fluttered in a breeze that didn’t stir where I stood.

Suddenly, the feeling of being observed crept over me. When I shifted my gaze, I locked eyes with Varick, who studied me from the center of the bridge.

All the force of those eerie eyes had fastened on me. Suddenly, I felt stripped. Picked apart. As if he could see under my skin to the uncertainty and fear that had sweat trickling down my back. The Green Guard was a fool to mock this male. He wore command like he’d been born to it—and he had. His father had served as commander of the Nor Doruvian army, and his father before him. Generations of warrior blood ran through his veins. All that power and strength stared out from his eyes now, stretching across the distance to press against my skin.

Flustered, I looked down. Moments later, the thralls filed past me.

There were twelve males and twelve females. All young and attractive. All clearly nervous. They walked in a line, most of them casting anxious looks at Varick and the vampires behind him. A few kept their heads down.

My gut clenched. Service as a blood thrall was voluntary, but it was common for poor families to press a younger child into signing up. The vampires treated the thralls with honor, compensated them handsomely, and sent them home unharmed. For the lowpeople, the money a year of service brought could lift an entire family out of poverty.

But there was a stigma attached to those who served. A vampire’s bite wasn’t necessarily sexual, but the act of feeding brought euphoria to the vampire and the bitten. The pleasure was…intense.

A dangerous ache.

Rumors about the vampire court abounded in Sithistra, and most of them centered on the sexual depravity of King Laurent and his nobles. Elissa banned her ladies from discussing the stories. Lidia reveled in them. The vampire king had ascended the throne at just nineteen years old. In the fifteen years since, the whispers that drifted from Nor Doru spoke of elaborate feasts and blood orgies that lasted for days.

A brother from the Towers of the Mir walked last in line behind the thralls. As they clustered at the head of the bridge, he bowed to me. “The Lord favors you, Princess.” He straightened, and the sun flashed in the mirror pendant around his neck.

I dipped my head. “He favors us all, Brother.”

The brother turned to Varick and raised his voice. “The Lord favors you, my lord.”

I startled, as did several of the knights around me. Lord Varick was a Child of Prophecy?

Varick said nothing. He merely gazed at the brother with the same hard expression he’d worn since he stepped onto the bridge.

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