Page 35 of Stolen

Without warning, rage enveloped me. It shoved my musings away, and before I realized what was happening, I was on my feet and halfway to the door. I had to tell the others what happened here.

Except no. I stopped and clenched my fists at my sides. The rage wasn’t mine. But the demon inside pushed harder, breaking through my resolve and propelling me closer to the door. Three steps and I was there, my fingers brushing the latch.

I dropped the wall in my head and pushed. The dark, oily presence fought harder this time, scratching at my consciousness like a trapped animal. Because it had nowhere to go. Its previous body was a heap of dust, so now it intended to squat inside mine.

The panic that surfaced now was all mine. I planted my feet wide and braced myself, pushing with my mind. If I failed to oust the entity from my body, it would eventually consume me. That was the mistake my elven ancestors made.

Suddenly, the compulsion to leave the bedchamber vanished. The resistance in my head disappeared, too. Power rushed through me, dark and beautiful. I waved a hand, and tall grasses sprang up along the wall. Making and unmaking, I thought.

I could do it right here in the real world. What was truth, after all? Most people believed what they saw and failed to dig deeper.

I waved my hand again, and a knight of Nor Doru appeared before me. Another wave, and two more just like him materialized. They bowed, their crimson cloaks sweeping forward. They looked so real.

I can make more just like them.

I could make a whole army. If I’d had this power at the Rift, no one would have dared enslave me.

So much power.

Why not keep it?

Strength flooded me, erasing all my pain and fatigue. I was better this way. Independent this way. I didn’t need any others, especially those who didn’t really care for me. The one I’d found here certainly didn’t. Varick. He wanted me gone. As soon as he had the chance, he meant to kill me.

But that wasn’t right. I frowned, and the dark power within me ebbed like a candle shuddering in a breeze. As it wavered, other thoughts rushed in. Varick didn’t want me dead. He’d begged Midian not to hurt me. Had offered himself in my place, his voice cracking in desperation.

The dark, beautiful power snuffed out, and rage thundered back. But I was prepared for it this time. I pushed as hard as I could, grunting with the effort that was of the mind and not the body but nevertheless required every bit of breath and focus I possessed.

Get out, I told the demon, pushing harder. In my mind’s eye, I swung the brick wall toward it, ramming it with all my might. The awful, oily presence flew from my body. For a moment, the room darkened. An icy-cold wind blew back my hair and ripped at my clothes. I felt more than heard an ear-splitting shriek.

And then nothing.

Shaking, I sank to my knees. I looked at the pile of dust that used to be the elven body. The demon was gone, its body dead. I’d killed it. If I could lure the other demons from their bodies, I could kill them, too.

I could kill Midian.

Chapter Thirteen

LAURENT

“I have news from Sithistra, Your Grace.”

I jumped at the sound of the soft voice behind me. I turned from the stone map of Ter Isir to find Jordan of Twyl standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing in here?” I demanded. My Council chamber was hardly a secret, but I was doing my best to keep news of the Deepnight’s disappearance from spreading. Although, that was undoubtedly a lost cause. Word of the deaths in the Wastes would trickle throughout the kingdom. Once the gossip reached the capital, the public would start demanding answers. I needed to be ready, but I couldn’t bring myself to give a shit while Varick and Given were still missing.

Except, I did give a shit. That was the problem. I was pulled in opposing directions. Spread too thin. Worried about watching my kingdom burn while my wife and general were trapped behind the Thicket. Any number of unpleasant descriptors.

Jordan hesitated in the doorway.

“Never mind,” I said, leaning against the table. “What news do you bring?”

He came forward, his hands folded over gray robes. “King Rolund’s First Queen has lost the child she was carrying. His heir, Cathrin, is also rumored to be quite ill. Rolund is trying to keep both events a secret, but stories have already spread. He’ll have to address the speculation soon.”

“Sounds familiar,” I muttered with a sour smile. By all accounts, Rolund was a joyless brute, but I took no pleasure in another man losing his children—and even less so in a king struggling to cement his legacy. My lack of an heir had been a weight around my neck for years.

The ex-brother held my stare, his boyish features inscrutable. I knew he invested considerable effort in ensuring people saw the “boyish” part and dismissed anything else they might have noticed about him.

“And how did you come by this information?” I asked. “No, let me guess. You have mages embedded in Castle Beldurn as well as the Brotherhood’s towers?”

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