Page 58 of Stolen

“It’s not disrespect, General.” Jordan went to the corner and retrieved the sword. As he approached me with it, Varick drew closer like he was prepared to intercept at any moment. Jordan appeared to pay him no mind as he knelt before me.

He lifted the sword, the blade balanced on his palms. “The strongest demons attached themselves to Avenor and his queen. Your ability isn’t shameful, Your Grace, it’s proof that magic chose well when it placed you at the center of the prophecy. You are exactly who you’re supposed to be. Human and vampire. Elven and demon. You are all of Ter Isir. Who better to save the realm than someone who embodies every corner of it?”

Blood rushed in my ears as the optical illusion of the sword’s melting blade danced on his palms. I’d barely escaped Vai Seren. Midian had almost taken control of my mind on the edge of the Thicket. “I’m not sure I can do what you’re asking,” I said over the sound of my pounding heart.

Once more, Jordan shed his inconspicuous aura. He was still a fresh-faced young man with the hint of a dimple in his cheek, but now he was also more. Eyes never leaving mine, he drew one palm down the sword’s edge, slicing open his hand. Blood welled. He smeared it down the blade.

The hut filled with pressure, and his voice rolled with power again. “I believe you can, Given of Eldenvalla. You are the savior of the realm, and I pledge to help you finish what your great-great-grandfather could not.” He proffered the sword.

I took it. His blood dripped from the blade and onto my hand. The fire in the hearth shuddered and almost went out before slowly rekindling.

Jordan stood, his hand still bleeding freely. He turned to Varick. “I’ll swear another oath if you wish it, Lord Varick.”

Varick studied him. After a long pause, he nudged his chin toward me. “Just serve her well. That will be sufficient for me.”

A muscle twitched in Jordan’s jaw, and maybe it was just a trick of the dancing firelight, but he looked almost disappointed. But then he bent his head, his gaze on his palm. Light pulsed—quick and brilliant—and when it winked out, his wound was gone. He turned back to me. “There is power in blood, Your Grace. It’s a belief mages and vampires share. I believe your blood holds more gifts than you realize. Gifts you might require in the events to come.”

Varick grunted. “For someone who claims to be ignorant about the future, you have much to say about it. The queen just endured a lengthy ordeal. She needs more rest and less talk.”

His words were their own kind of prophecy, because exhaustion swept me as soon as he said them. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to climb into the bed, pull the tangled blankets over my head, and pretend the world didn’t exist.

But I should have known that was too much to ask, because the next thing out of Jordan’s mouth was, “I’m afraid rest will have to wait, my lord. I didn’t come alone. I brought someone who wishes to speak with you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

VARICK

The black tents were a stark contrast against the white snow.

I knew them well, having spent half my life inside one, whether sleeping or standing over maps of various Sithistran troop positions. But I’d never approached these tents as an outsider.

I felt like one now.

Given stood at my side on the outskirts of the makeshift camp. Her face was pale as she gazed at the crimson and black pennants snapping in the crisp air. As it turned out, Jordan of Twyl was a master of understatement as well as a talented actor. He hadn’t brought “someone” with him. He’d traveled with most of the Midnight Palace’s garrison. But that was to be expected, considering the presence of the large tent in the center of the snowy camp.

More elaborate than the others, its pennant bore the twisted night-blooming rose of Nor Doru topped by a crown. Knights of the warrior class stood around the perimeter. Out of habit, I measured the space between them, looking for gaps in security.

The unveiled sun of Wesyfedd beat down on my head, making my scalp feel like a dozen hornets had nested in my hair. I knew Given was feeling the same, although her human blood probably lessened the discomfort. We had neither gloves nor cloaks to shield us. I’d briefly considered ripping up bedsheets back at the hut, but that would have meant walking into the Nor Doruvian camp advertising exactly what we’d done on them.

“The king asked to speak to you first, Lord Varick,” Jordan said. His gaze skated over Given before settling back on me. “Alone.”

Given’s shoulders stiffened.

Jordan gestured toward a path someone had shoveled through the camp. “Your tent is just there, Your Grace. I’ll take you to it.”

Given stared at the path, anger brewing in her eyes. She gathered her skirts. “No need for an escort. I can find it myself.” As she walked away, the elven sword swung at her hip in the leather scabbard I’d found in the hut.

“Laurent is in for a tough lesson,” I murmured to myself. Between the two of us, he’d always been better with women. He understood the way their minds worked. Knew how to talk to them. But now I wasn’t so sure.

“Should I have insisted on taking her?” Jordan asked.

I looked down to find him frowning after Given. Apparently, Laurent wasn’t the only one in need of lessons. “Sure, if you’re all right with losing a few fingers.” When his brow furrowed more, I bit back a sigh. “Best give her some space for now. Post a knight in front of her tent and have someone take her food and blood.” I strode away, Jordan of Twyl already an afterthought as I crossed snow that horses and men had trampled.

The perimeter knights saluted at my approach. As I moved into the camp, males in armor and heavy crimson cloaks stopped and touched gloved fists to their breastplates. They were all highborn warriors—vampires capable of withstanding the naked sun. Several pulled their hoods down and bowed their heads. I nodded but kept moving, my eyes straight ahead. No one tried to speak to me, but curiosity trailed my steps like the wake of a ship. By the time I reached Laurent’s tent, I could almost hear the buzz of questions hovering over the camp. No one had ever returned after venturing into the Thicket. The knights undoubtedly wondered what I’d seen inside the forest.

Let them wonder. They wouldn’t hear it from me.

I ducked inside the king’s tent flap and straightened.

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