Page 57 of Stolen

Another master of evasion. It was becoming an epidemic. But after my ordeal in Eldenvalla, I found myself unwilling to tolerate it.

I narrowed my eyes. “Rhys the Fair told me the mages observe and don’t interfere. That bad things happen when people try to bend prophecies to their will. Is that what you’ve been doing in Lar Katerin? Observing?”

If Jordan was surprised by my directness, he didn’t show it. “We try not to interfere, but sometimes it can’t be helped.” He glanced at Varick. “You’re both aware of the prophecy now, and that you’re central to it. My role, and that of my brethren, is to ensure you both stay alive so magic can run its course.”

“And what of the child?” Varick demanded. “The one you want to throw in the Rift.”

“I don’t see a child,” Jordan said coolly, “so I don’t know how I could accomplish that, General.” His gaze strayed to the rumpled bed, and my face flamed.

Varick sheathed his dagger, tucking it away so swiftly I wasn’t sure where he’d hidden it. “Well, you can forget it because prophecy or no prophecy, it’s not going to happen.”

Now that Varick wasn’t holding a weapon, Jordan’s shoulders relaxed. “The prophecy says the savior of the realm will be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift. Many powerful men want that to mean something that benefits them. The north has its version, and the south has another.”

I spoke up. “You mean Rolund wanting me dead.” Varick looked at me sharply, but I kept my attention on Jordan. “He sent the solstone to Lar Katerin.”

“Yes, but there’s something you don’t know, Your Grace. Crasor has your brother’s ear, and he has convinced Rolund the prophecy refers to you. That your death will lift the curse your father invited when he took an elven-born as his second queen.”

Varick made a disgusted sound. “Now there’s a curse?”

“Queen Elissa lost her child,” Jordan told me. “And Princess Cathrin is ill and expected to die. Rolund has grown increasingly obsessed with his inability to sire a son. Crasor’s machinations have found fertile soil in your brother’s mind.”

An ache shot through my heart. I’d promised Cathrin I would see her again. “You’re certain Cathrin won’t recover?”

Jordan nodded.

Silence settled over the hut. The ache in my heart became a weight. I felt sympathy for my brother, but I couldn’t defend him. I’d heard him and Crasor discuss the solstone. “So be it,” he’d said when Crasor spoke of Laurent throwing me in the Rift for treason. Queen Amantha had hated my mother. She’d also been a woman of deep faith. It wasn’t much of a stretch to see how Rolund could have fallen under the Brotherhood’s influence. But it was still difficult to accept that the brother who’d comforted me when I had nightmares would arrange my death just so he could have a son.

Varick eyed Jordan. “You haven’t said what you believe.”

“You saw what lies behind the Thicket,” Jordan said softly. “It won’t stay there. Someone has to stop it, General. That’s what I believe.”

“And you think it should be Given. That’s a convenient position to take, not to mention a craven one.”

I interrupted before Varick could draw his dagger again. “Rhys the Fair said it could be me or my child. He claimed the mages don’t know how the prophecy will unfold, and that my choices could influence the outcome.”

“Not just yours,” Jordan said. “Plenty of others would love to choose how the prophecy unfolds. Rolund is one of them. It’s why he sent the solstone blade, and why he had someone move it when he learned Lord Varick would be joining you and King Laurent in bed.”

I looked to Varick, whose expression had gone stony. Even if I could have read his thoughts, I didn’t want to. Whatever his feelings toward Laurent at the moment, he protected the throne—and its occupant. The fact that Rolund had penetrated so deeply into the Midnight Palace undoubtedly made him furious. He already held Sithistra in low esteem. This would only solidify his enmity.

Knowing how far my brother was willing to go to achieve his ends sent a shiver down my spine. If Rolund could put solstone in Laurent’s bed, he could reach me anywhere. And how many other “powerful men” wanted to impose their will on the prophecy and—by extension—me? I felt like I’d landed in the middle of a giant spiderweb with enemies crawling toward me from all sides.

My trepidation must have shown on my face because Jordan said, “I came to Nor Doru to help keep you safe, Your Grace. I remain in Nor Doru for that purpose. You both have my loyalty. I’ll swear it on Avenor’s sword if you wish.”

I couldn’t help but glance at the sword, which looked woefully out of place in the humble sod hut. When I looked back at Jordan, he regarded me steadily. My heart thumped hard. “Have you always known?”

“No, but I suspected. I wasn’t certain until you read my thoughts the night King Laurent performed the blood rite with the thralls. You and I dined at the same table. As the feast progressed and the atmosphere grew more ribald, I remember thinking that I’d always dismissed the rumors about vampire blood orgies as slander from the south.”

I startled. “I didn’t…” I searched my memory—and instantly remembered replying that I hoped the celebration in the Great Hall didn’t reach that point. Jordan had turned to me with shock in his eyes.

Now, he regarded me steadily. I licked my lips. “You said that aloud.”

“No, Your Grace. I merely thought it.”

My heart thumped faster. Because the feast wasn’t an isolated incident. I’d heard Rowena, too, the night she gave me the solstone dagger. “I’m so scared. If they hurt Harald…” Her lips hadn’t moved, and yet her voice had sounded in my head as if she’d spoken aloud.

“Reading thoughts isn’t an elven gift,” Jordan said, “it’s a demonic one.”

Varick bristled. “Mage or not, Brother Jordan, Given of Nor Doru is still your queen. Show some respect.”

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