Page 37 of Stolen

“No—” She seized, a gurgling sound in her throat. After a few seconds, she slumped, panting heavily. Blood trickled from her nose.

I kept her upright with a grip on her shoulder. “It will hurt worse each time you disobey me. So don’t, understand? Did Rolund give you the solstone dagger?”

She clamped her mouth shut. But it didn’t matter. A heartbeat later, she seized again. I waited it out, and when she could speak, I repeated my question.

“Yes,” she whispered. She’d bitten through her bottom lip. Drool and blood coated her chin.

“Did he tell you to deliver it to Queen Given?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t kn—” She jerked, and the back of her head bounced off the stone. Before it was over, her screams bounced off the stone, too. I thrust my hand behind her head so she wouldn’t knock herself unconscious. The smell of human urine hit my nose.

“Rowena,” I said quietly when her head sagged, “we both know you’ll tell me everything eventually.” I used the corner of my mantle to wipe the saliva from her chin. “You can’t tolerate much more pain. Answer my questions with the truth, and you won’t hurt anymore. Why did Rolund send the dagger?”

She mumbled something, but her head was angled down too much for me to catch it. I cupped her under the chin and forced her head up. “Why did Rolund tell you to give the solstone to Queen Given?”

“Save the realm,” she gasped.

The prophecy. Rolund thought Given and Varick’s child was meant to save Sithistra, not Nor Doru. “Rolund wants to stop the Deepnight from shifting south,” I said.

“Yes.”

“He wants Given’s child.”

“No.”

I waited for the blood magic to punish her lie. When it didn’t, confusion swept me. Her eyelids drooped, her chin dipping toward her chest. I pulled her head back up. “Rolund believes the savior of the realm will be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift.”

“Yes.”

“Given’s child, born of elven blood.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Exasperation and the searing pain in my hand made my voice sharp. “Why did your king send his only sister to Nor Doru and then follow it up with a fucking solstone blade?”

“Not Given’s child,” she slurred. “Given. The Brotherhood believes Given must perish in the Rift to save the south.” She drew a deep breath, then rushed on like she worried the bly’ad would punish her again. “Crasor and Rolund assumed you would take her into your bed. They wanted you to find the solstone and carry out the prophecy. That’s all I know. You can torture me all you want. There’s nothing else.”

For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. A dozen questions formed in my head, but I knew I’d get no more answers from Rowena.

Except perhaps one.

“Why?” I demanded. “By all accounts, you love your husband.”

Her lips trembled. “I do,” she whispered.

“Then why? Why betray his people?”

She reached a hand up, and I stepped back enough to let her work a chain from her bodice. She pulled out a small mirror pendant. “I love Harald,” she said, “but I serve the Lord.”

The mirror showed me a tiny version of myself. The followers of the Brotherhood believed they gazed upon their god every time they looked in a mirror. But I saw only my flushed cheeks and retracted fangs. My unshaven jaw and tired eyes. I saw no god. Just the weak vessel my father had always seen.

“One more question, Lady Rowena. If I let you live, will you stop spying for the south?”

“No.” Her breathing was labored, but her voice shook with vehemence. “I will never stop fighting the north. Your court is a decadent, wicked place full of dark magic and blood sacrifice. You’ve turned away from the one true god.”

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