Page 23 of Stolen

Except…maybe it hadn’t been entirely accidental. I thought back to that night, gnawing at my bottom lip as I tried to recall everything I’d done before I left my body. I’d been worried about the solstone dagger, which Rowena had delivered along with the cryptic message “the south is with you.” My brother Rolund was the south. I’d wondered why he would put me in danger by placing solstone in my hands. The metal was poison to vampires, who couldn’t heal its wounds. Having one in my possession around Laurent was a death sentence.

I’d gone to my balcony with fear and anger swirling in my head. I’d been desperate to speak to Rolund. Had wanted to see his face when I asked him if he sent the solstone—and just what he expected me to do with it.

I’d wanted to see his face.

Could it really be that easy?

The bed looked too unstable, so I went to the sofa and sat gingerly. Dust puffed around my hips. I waved the motes away and folded my hands in my lap.

Rhys. I needed to speak to Rhys. Or maybe I should start with Igrith. Although, it didn’t really matter. If I landed in Aberwas, I could speak to both of them.

I frowned. But maybe farseeing didn’t work with two names.

Gods, I should just pick one and stick with it.

Igrith, I decided. Rhys was probably angry with me for leaving. Not that he had a right to be. He wasn’t my brother or guardian. Or husband.

Gaze on my lap, I huffed. If I could speak to Laurent about my predicament, he’d probably find a way to blame me for putting Varick in danger. But I couldn’t help wondering what my powerful husband would look like facing off with Midian. What happened when a demon king encountered a priest-king?

Rhys, I thought. I need to speak to Rhys. The only king I wanted to see at the moment was the “bandit king.”

I bowed my head. “Rhys,” I mouthed, too anxious to whisper. Take me to Rhys. I wasn’t sure if my plea was a prayer or a command. Maybe both.

Take me to Rhys.

Goosebumps lifted on my arms. Excitement rushed through me. This was it! I embraced the feeling, no longer afraid. Goosebumps turned to shivers. When the bedchamber began to rock, I closed my eyes. I have to be willing to let go, I realized. The bedchamber wasn’t unsteady—I was.

Good. I released the breath I was holding and surrendered.

The air changed. I dropped to the ground, landing hard on my ass in a tangle of skirts. My eyes flew open.

Laurent of Nor Doru whirled from the table he’d been standing over. “Given?”

I kicked my skirts out of the way. “Fuck.”

Chapter Eight

LAURENT

Seeing Given pop out of nowhere was the surprise of my life. Hearing her drop profanity with the fluency of a knight on Gate Street was a close second.

She stared up at me with disbelief in her eyes. “You can see me?”

“Obviously.”

She scowled at that. Then she looked bewildered. “Last time I was invisible. The men-at-arms I saw in Castle Beldurn walked right past me.” She darted a look around.

“We’re alone.”

One slender brow arched. “Obviously.”

I tried to smile at the dig, but that particular expression hadn’t worked for me lately so I went to her and extended my good hand.

She looked at it like I’d offered her a poisonous snake. “I’m farseeing. You can’t throw me into your dungeon.”

“Then it’s fortunate I have no desire to do that,” I said evenly.

For a second, it seemed she might refuse my help. But then she sighed and took my hand. Dust billowed from her gown, which fit her a bit too snugly across the chest. More dust coated her hair. She was beautiful as always, but there were purple smudges under her eyes. A faint bruise shadowed her jaw.

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