Page 8 of Stolen

For what? I wanted to ask. But some part of me already knew. Maybe it was his blood coursing through my veins. It flowed hot under my skin, rooting me to the land. Lending me an intuition I hadn’t possessed before. I took his hand and let him guide me closer to the barrier between the Wesyfeddan forest and the Thicket. He kept my hand in his as he gazed in the direction his men had traveled.

My stomach clenched. I peered between the trees. Snow drifted among the trunks and branches. Without warning, sound and motion exploded before us.

Horses burst from the trees, the men from Aberwas bent low over the beasts’ necks. They bolted toward us at full speed. Shadows swarmed behind them.

A wild cry caught in my throat. I squeezed Rhys’s hand, and I would have run but he held me fast.

“Stand, Given!” His voice boomed over the noise. “There is nothing to fear!”

The horses bore down on us. The shadows parted, and an elven rider appeared. Long hair whipped behind him. His eyes glowed an otherworldly blue. He bore down on the Wesyfeddan men, his mouth stretched in a wide grimace.

“Now is a good time to run.”

The words of the black-haired elf who chased me into Rhys’s arms rasped in my mind. But there was nowhere to run now. Even if I pulled from Rhys’s grip and sprinted as fast as I could, I could never run fast enough. I was going to be crushed…

Rhys flung out his free hand, and I watched in awe and fear as light gathered on his palm in a perfect ball. It glowed a bright, cheery yellow. At its core, it blazed like a mini sun, energy swirling in a mesmerizing dance. Rhys flung the ball hard. It sailed in an elegant arc and hit the elf squarely in the chest.

Light exploded all around us. I threw up my arm, temporarily blinded. Horses’ whinnies and men’s shouts reached my ears. Rhys’s presence left my side, and his deep voice joined the shouting.

When I lowered my arm, the men had the elf pinned to the ground on the border of the Thicket. Rhys stood over him with his back to me. The elf writhed in the men’s grip, his long hair trailing in the snow. His horse reared, its eyes rolling wildly. One of the men tried to grab its reins, but the animal whirled and galloped into the shadows, disappearing into the Thicket. The other Wesyfeddans struggled to hold the elf, who thrashed, his lean body straining. He was slight compared to their muscular bulk, but the men were clearly using all their strength to hold him. Their knees slid in the snow, digging deep gouges in the forest floor.

The elf glared up at Rhys with venom that stole my breath. “You must release me,” he hissed. “You have no power here, mage.”

Mage. A magic-wielder who wasn’t supposed to exist outside of legend and myth. Then again, neither was the elf sprawled on the ground. Now I knew what I’d tasted in Rhys’s blood. Not just power.

Pure magic.

Rhys’s reply boomed around the trees. “I have all the power here. Your evil can’t pass.”

The elf continued to fight. Against my will, I was drawn forward, my gaze locked on the creature in the snow. He was beautiful, but his was a brutal beauty. There was a sharp edge to it. Something that made me want to both look away and stare forever. I moved closer, my heart hammering in my chest.

The elf’s glowing eyes snapped to me. Suddenly, he stilled, and a smile curved his lips.

He’s too perfect. That was the problem, I realized. He was flawless, and something about his utter perfection filled me with a deep foreboding.

But I couldn’t stop myself from moving to Rhys’s side. The elf observed my progress, his smile growing. His hair was a deep, rich red that spread over the snow like blood. His blue eyes glowed like they were lit from within. They were almost too bright to look at, like staring into candle flame for too long. I blinked and jerked my gaze away.

Abruptly, icy tendrils snaked through my head. There was a distinct pressure to it, as if someone trailed an icicle along the inside of my skull.

I winced and clutched at my temple.

Rhys addressed me without taking his eyes off the elf. “Don’t let him in, Given. He’ll pull memories from your mind and use them against you.”

The advice came too late. The elf’s tone turned light, almost teasing. “You’re far from home, Princess.”

Shock rippled through me. I stared, disbelief mingling with terror. Because those were among the last words Laurent had said to me the night I ran away—and the elf had spoken in Laurent’s voice when he repeated them. If I’d listened with my eyes closed, I would have thought Laurent stood with us in the Thicket.

“Ignore him, Given,” Rhys said tightly. “Don’t let him in your head.”

The elf’s eyes gleamed brighter. “That’s right, Given.” His voice changed again, switching to Varick’s deeper tone. “Some power is too dangerous to be set free.”

The horror in my gut churned faster. Varick had said those exact words to me the night I discovered I was a farseer, when he pulled me back from the abyss before I froze to death. He’d held me on his lap before the fire, his eyes stark as he warned our elven blood made us a volatile combination. To drive his point home, he’d spoken the warning directly into my head, using the elven gift he’d inherited from his ancestors who escaped the destruction of Eldenvalla.

“That’s enough,” Rhys said sharply. He kept his eyes on the elf as he extended a hand to me. I took it with shaking fingers and let him pull me against his side. He moved his hand under mine and held it aloft in the direction of the elf. “You have the power to banish him,” he said, his accent thick. “That’s what you gained with my blood. It’s hot. Do you feel it?” As he spoke, his hand under mine grew warmer.

The elf’s expression grew somber. “You’ll never be able to do it. Weak little girl.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Rhys said. “He’s a liar. It’s his only gift.”

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