Page 44 of Stolen

The bells stopped ringing.

At the same moment, Avenor’s eyes flew open.

And they were fully black.

The air shifted, and the hall of statues disappeared. The snow-dusted marble under my feet turned to dust-covered floors, and I stood in my bedchamber once more.

My heart raced, blood pumping hard in my veins. Midian’s blood, yes, but now I knew there was something stronger inside me. The blood of kings. Avenor told his queen to hide somewhere small and insignificant. A place where no one would look. She’d followed his orders, hiding in tiny Lar Satha, where she’d painted the royal coat of arms on the wall with the tree of Eldenvalla set on fire.

And she’d never returned to Vai Seren. Neither had her child.

But I had. Five hundred years later, I’d entered Vai Seren.

And now I knew the way out.

Chapter Sixteen

VARICK

I walked down the line of squires, my boots ringing against the stone floor of the Serenity Tower. The faces all looked the same—earnest and terrified and unbelievably young.

Had I ever been that young? I knew I had, of course. Every vampire in the warrior class began training as soon as he could lift a sword. But this group looked young.

Or maybe I was just getting old.

I raised my voice as I cast a cursory glance over each male’s attire, checking for loose straps or gaps in pieces of armor. “It’s going to be cold out there today. We’ll be gone for at least ten hours. I’m from the Wastes, so it won’t bother me. But you Lar Katerin lads better hope you followed directions and packed proper gear.”

Several of the squires exchanged nervous looks.

I stopped and stared one of them down until he faced forward again, the tips of his ears reddening. I continued walking, my cloak fluttering behind me. “I know for many of you, this is your first trip to the Thicket. So I’m going to give you one last opportunity to speak up. If you’re missing gloves or anything else to keep you warm, now is the time to say so. Otherwise, the castle surgeon will be happy to amputate your frostbitten fingers upon your return. We’ll send them to your mother for a proper burial.” Behind me, where my knights clustered, came the sound of someone smothering a chuckle by pretending to cough.

“I’ll also remind you,” I said, “that failure to pack the proper gear will earn you two lashes in the courtyard.”

There was a long moment of silence. Just as I prepared to tell the group to disperse and make ready to depart, a tentative hand went up.

Behind me, one of my knight captains muttered, “Oh fuck me, here we go.”

I went to the hand-raiser and stopped, the toes of my boots almost touching his. “What.”

“Uh…well—”

“You can put your hand down.”

“Oh! Apologies, my lord.” He jerked it down, nearly striking the squire next to him in the process. “Sorry,” he whispered to the other young male.

“Squire!” I barked.

He jumped. “Yes, my lord?”

“Did you forget your gloves?”

“No, my lord.” His eyes bounced all around my face, like he wasn’t sure where to look and couldn’t find a safe spot to land.

“But your hands are bare.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, misery coloring his tone. “They are.”

Behind me, a few knights snickered.

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