Page 6 of Stolen

Envy flitted through me. Few things were more freeing than a swift gallop on a horse. When I was younger, riding had offered an escape from Queen Amantha’s censuring looks and sharp pinches. My father’s First Queen had hated sharing my father with my mother, which was ironic considering Amantha’s devotion to the Towers of the Mir. The faith taught that men should take two wives: one of the mind and one of the heart. The Brotherhood, which spread the Towers’ teachings throughout Sithistra, claimed jealousy was a test. Something sent from the Fir, the demon realm, to turn weak females away from the one true god, the Lord of the Mir.

Well, if it was, Amantha had failed miserably. Sometimes I wondered if my mother had welcomed death. I didn’t like to think about it, but if the whispers were true, Amantha had made life as difficult as possible for Vessa of Lar Satha, my beautiful, tragic mother who’d left her home in Nor Doru to marry a human king. Theirs was a love story, although some in the south claimed my mother had bespelled my father with her beauty.

I’d never know the truth, because my mother had died when I was six months old—and then my father had shut himself away until he died, too.

Robbed of a rival to hate and a husband to resent, Amantha had focused all her grief and hatred on me. So I’d spent as much time on horseback as I could. Helen had even fashioned leather trousers for me to wear under my gowns. But I’d never been permitted to ride out alone. As I watched Igrith’s figure disappear into the nearby forest, longing mixed with disbelief.

“You don’t worry about highwaymen?” I asked Rhys. As soon as I said it, I wished I could take the words back. According to the stories I’d been raised on, roadside robbery was practically a Wesyfeddan tradition. For all I knew, Rhys approved of the practice. Or participated in it.

But he chuckled as he led me to a horse. His big hands encircled my waist, and he lifted me easily into the saddle. He guided my booted foot into the stirrup, then smoothed my skirts down my calf.

I gripped the reins. Despite the layers of fabric and leather between us, my skin tingled where he’d brushed my leg.

He patted my horse’s neck. “No one will harm Igrith. The menfolk around these parts fear her tongue as much as her arrows.”

“Or they’re jealous. You said she’s a skilled hunter. Maybe they worry she’s better than they are.”

His eyes crinkled. “You know, Given, you may just be right about that.”

* * *

Four of Rhys’s men rode with us, which made me feel better about leaving the safety of the fortress. However, my good feelings slid away as we skirted the edge of Aberwas and entered the forest. The trees were ancient-looking, their branches gnarled and black. After a while, I pulled my hood down. The late-morning sun couldn’t penetrate the canopy, and my hands were sweating inside my borrowed gloves.

Memories of my escape from the Thicket plagued me. When I tried to shove it from my mind, scenes from my latest dream paraded through my head, each twisted tableau more vivid than the last.

I couldn’t help but think the two were connected. But how could they be? What happened in the Thicket was real. My dream was not.

Still, my thoughts returned to Varick again and again. I knew Laurent was alive—and busy sending threatening missives to Rhys.

But Rhys claimed Varick couldn’t have survived the shadows that dragged him from the clearing where I last saw him. We hadn’t spoken of it since Rhys pulled me from the forest. It was cowardly of me, but I knew I was avoiding the subject because I didn’t want to face the prospect of Varick being gone.

Laurent’s general and I had butted heads from our first very meeting at the Rift. But there was also an undeniable connection between us. And now I knew why.

We were both elven-born. Descendants of elves who fled the elven capital Vai Seren as earthquakes reduced Eldenvalla to rubble and demons overran the elven kingdom. The survivors had hidden among vampire families, diluting their blood with Nor Doruvians for generations until all of Ter Isir believed the lost elven descendants were nothing more than legends. I’d believed it, too—until the night I left my body standing on a freezing balcony in Nor Doru and traveled to my brother’s castle in Sithistra. I might have dismissed it as another dream, but when I tried to wake, I was locked out of my body. Trapped in a black, soundless void, I’d quickly spiraled into panic.

Until Varick’s voice guided me back. If he hadn’t saved me that night, I would have frozen to death.

He’d spoken in my mind, using his own elven gift to prove we shared the same ancient blood. And he’d kissed me, forcing me to acknowledge that our blood didn’t care about our differences. Varick didn’t want me in Nor Doru. He most likely didn’t want me in Laurent’s bed. But he wanted me. And I wanted him.

And I refused to accept that he was dead.

Leaves crunched under the horses’ hooves, pulling me back to the present. The beasts were smaller than the mounts the Nor Doruvian knights rode, but they were sturdy. They were also seemingly undaunted by the trees, which had grown thicker and taller. Much taller. We skirted the edge of the Thicket now. A light snow fell, and the temperature had dropped. I huddled more deeply in Igrith’s cloak.

The men fanned out and let their horses pick their way over the uneven forest floor. Rhys rode at my side, his knee occasionally brushing mine. If he was nervous, he was skilled at hiding it.

“We won’t venture too far in,” he murmured. “To the border and no farther.” He pointed to a line of trees just ahead. “The barrier starts there, where the trees are taller. See the difference?”

I saw it, but it didn’t put my mind at ease. “Why are we here at all?” Irritation prickled through me. The Thicket was the last place I wanted to be.

He reached over and took my reins. “Whoa,” he murmured to my horse, his accent making the ordinary word sound richer, almost whimsical. One of his men glanced back, and Rhys nodded at him. The man returned the gesture, then faced forward and motioned to his fellow riders. They moved deeper into the trees.

“Rhys…” I began, nerves replacing my irritation.

“It’s fine, I promise.” He turned in the saddle and covered my hand with his. “Do you trust me?” The look in his eyes was the same one he’d given me the night he saved me from the elves. He’d appeared at precisely the right moment, a halo of light around him. And he’d beaten back the darkness. I wasn’t sure where my certainty came from, but I knew the shadows couldn’t pierce that light.

“Yes,” I said. “I trust you.”

Satisfaction gleamed in his gaze. He swung out of the saddle. Once again, his big hands gripped me around the waist, and he lowered me to the ground. His men were out of sight now, but the sound of their horses moving through the leaves drifted back.

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