Page 56 of Stolen

A sound outside had me instantly alert. I waved her to silence as I strained for more sound. It didn’t come, but my senses fired with awareness.

I looked at Given and drew on my gift. “Can you still make light in your hands?”

She stared down at her palm. After a second, she lifted worried eyes and mouthed “no.”

“I’m going outside to look. If anyone besides me comes through this door, hit them in the head with the frying pan and run. Don’t look back. Understand?”

Her eyes darted to the corner. “Shouldn’t I use the sword?” she asked, her voice a thread of sound.

I shook my head. “An experienced fighter will expect a sword and know how to defend against it. No one expects a frying pan.” I moved to the door and listened. Slowly, I reached down and pulled my dagger from my pant leg. The demons hadn’t found it when they searched me. Then again, they hadn’t looked too hard. In the hours I’d spent struggling to stay awake in Vai Seren, I’d had plenty of time to think about why that might be. It was a weakness, I’d decided. Arrogance, pure and simple. The demons didn’t need weapons, and it made them careless. I wouldn’t forget it.

Dagger in hand, I cast Given a final look. She’d fetched the frying pan and held it in front of her. “Don’t hesitate. Anyone but me, you swing hard and run.”

She nodded.

In a burst of speed, I opened the door. A wide-eyed Jordan of Twyl stood on the threshold, his hand raised like he meant to knock.

With a snarl, I grabbed him by the front of his robes and hauled him into the hut.

Chapter Twenty

GIVEN

I clapped a hand over my mouth as Varick slammed Jordan against the wall. Grass fluttered to the floor, and the whole hut seemed to shake.

Varick pressed the edge of his dagger against Jordan’s neck. The ex-brother raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as he flicked his eyes down to the blade.

“That’s right,” Varick growled, “you remember this dagger. Although, it’s not the one you used when you took an oath to serve me. My mistake. You obviously need stronger steel to compel your loyalty.”

Surprise and confusion warred for dominance in my head. Varick hated the Brotherhood. He barely tolerated Jordan’s presence at court. When Laurent told me Jordan had accompanied Varick to the far north, I’d assumed it was simply Laurent signaling his displeasure with Varick. Or possibly just Laurent being petty by saddling Varick with a companion he disliked. But there was clearly a lot more going on here than a shared journey to Varick’s estate.

“I never stopped serving you,” Jordan said tightly. “It’s why I’m here.”

Varick hissed, his fangs bared. “You must think I’m a fool. Laurent told me the mages of Wesyfedd tipped him off to the prophecy. You showed up in Nor Doru and climbed out of his fucking pocket the same day I fetched Given from the Rift.” He leaned harder against Jordan, pushing the smaller man into the sod. “I hope you had a good laugh after that day on the beach, sweet mage, because I’m inclined to make sure you don’t laugh again.”

Sweet mage.

Jordan of Twyl—of Wesyfedd.

My heart sped up, and the memory of Rhys’s voice filled my head. “Our role is to observe—and to keep you safe when others would try to use you for their own ends.”

How long had Jordan of Twyl been observing Varick and me?

Jordan swallowed carefully. “If you’ll let me talk—”

“The time to talk was weeks ago,” Varick said, “when you could have told me this prophecy calls for me to fuck my queen and murder my own child.”

I winced. Varick had every right to be angry, but his words reminded me that, at the end of the day, I was still Laurent’s wife. And I wasn’t at all certain Laurent would approve of Varick and me sleeping together without him—especially now that we’d admitted we loved each other.

Energy rippled through the hut, lifting all the hair on my body. When Jordan spoke next, his voice rang with power. “Let go of me, Lord Varick, so I can explain.”

Varick stepped back at once. Then he frowned hard, as if he couldn’t believe he’d done it.

Jordan eased carefully off the wall. He shook grass from his robes and straightened, looking for all the world like a fresh-faced teenager. After a somewhat wary look at Varick, he turned blue eyes to me, his gaze taking in the frying pan I still held. “It’s good to see you looking well, Your Grace. We’ve all been worried.”

It was disorienting, seeing him this way. In my head, he was still the young man I’d met at the feast on my first night in Lar Katerin. Together, we’d gawked at the spectacle and gilded danger of the vampire court. The fact that he still looked like that young man left me feeling unbalanced, like someone had switched the floor under my feet when I wasn’t looking. I set the frying pan down near the hearth. “By we, do you mean the mages of Wesyfedd?”

“Your captivity inspired worry throughout Ter Isir.”

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