Stolen (The Blueblood Stories Book 1) Read online

  And yet despite the tranquility of the surrounds, my mind wasn’t completely at ease. In truth, I’d been looking forward to seeing Marcus since my father had ordered his return. Though he had been back for three days, this was the first time I’d had the opportunity to speak with him. Now that I had however, I couldn’t help but notice there was something different about him. Before he had left, he had been carefree. The fact that he didn’t treat me as royalty, was the main reason I valued our friendship so much. But now — now he seemed to feel the weight of responsibility. I guess he really had grown up.

  When we reached the bottom of the mountain and entered the city, the gentle hum of sorrowful music met my ears. But the mood was cheerful, not depressing, with crowds of people surrounding camp fires or else coalescing around the many marquees housing all manner of ale and food. It looked as though the entire city was celebrating the Sabbath. Musical trinkets meant to guide newly passed over spirits hung in shop windows, while thick puffs of sage smoke filled the narrow streets, leaving a soapy smell in the air.

  As we walked, people stopped to stare at me, no doubt surprised that a blueblood had chosen to attend the feast. I tried not to meet any of their eyes, too afraid of what I might see if I did . . . pity perhaps.

  “Would you like a drink or something to eat?” Marcus asked, as we approached a table.

  “Oh, no thank you. I’m not allowed, err, I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Curse Medeina, I should have realized,” he said, sounding mortified. My eyebrows rose at his outburst; I was not accustomed to hearing anyone curse my ancestor. Marcus must have noticed my reaction, because he quickly added, “My apologies. I’m just feeling a little nervous in your company.”

  “Marcus, we played together as children did we not?” I asked, wishing more than ever that he would treat me the way he used to — as though we were simply two people . . . two equals.

  “It is different now my Lady,” he said, looking down at the ground.

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be. In fact, I want you to treat me like a regular citizen.”

  “I shall try my Lady,” he reassured, bowing.

  “Do you usually bow to regular citizens?” I asked sarcastically.

  He smiled at me, his little dimples radiating. “What . . . you don’t?”

  His smile was carried all the way to his eyes. Just seeing it was enough to make me smile. I beamed at Marcus, so pleased to have him back in my life, not that he could tell. Perhaps there was hope that my childhood friend wasn’t gone after all.

  “Well, what would you like to do?” he asked, moving through the crowds and making his way to a more secluded part of the city. “There are some singers over there by the fire; would you like to listen?”

  I nodded. “But please, help yourself to food and drink. This is a celebration after all, of your father’s life just as with all the others joining the Nevers. I want you to feel at ease.”

  “My job is to protect you. I don’t think I should —”

  “No,” I commanded, moving to the nearest table and grabbing a chicken drumstick glazed in salt crust. “My father was very specific that I should ask you to escort me. I think he would want you to use this time to be merry and celebrate your father’s life. Besides, why would someone attack me?” Marcus merely stared at the food I held. “Please,” I added, thrusting the drumstick towards him.

  Reluctantly he took the chicken, taking a swift bite of the flesh and swallowing it in one fast motion. After that we moved towards the singers. There were dozens of them, all facing several large bonfires. In the center of the ring of bonfires was a totem of Medeina. Like the statue inside the temple, this too was cast of iron, though it was by no means as large or grand.

  We stood around the fire as Marcus ate, listening to the singing. It was soft and sweet, bringing to the surface wave after wave of emotion, most prominent of all, grief. But it was not a hopeless grief, rather it brought the promise of healing. All around the people joined in, swinging goblets or else dancing merrily.

  “Can I ask you something?” said Marcus, capturing my attention. I nodded. “What did you mean when you asked me, why would someone attack you?”

  “Just that. I mean, I could understand why someone would want to attack my father. He’s the High Priest of Carnell. And my mother and brother both have elemental magic, which might make them a target, but me . . . there is nothing special about me. I might be the princess of Carnell, but I wasn’t even supposed to be born.”

  “How can you say that?” he whispered furiously, taking a step towards me, afraid we might be overheard.

  “I’m the first sibling of a blueblood in the history of the realm. My father keeps telling the people that one-day Medeina will bless me with elemental magic, but the truth is — we have no idea what will happen. Surely, if the magic she bestowed on our family line was that liberal, the bluebloods would be a large family, with cousins and uncles and what not. But we aren’t. There has always only been a single line of succession.”

  “You don’t know that you won’t have an affinity,” he countered.

  “That’s just the point — I don’t know anything. No one does. Not when it comes to me and if I will have any purpose in life.”

  “You don’t have to have magic to have purpose. Look at the rest of the kingdom. The bluebloods are the only ones with any magic but that doesn’t mean that —” He stopped speaking the moment he looked up at me. “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, picking up the pace as we continued to circle the fires. “I don’t know what’s come over me mistress.”

  “I am nobody’s mistress,” I said, laughing at the thought.

  He looked at me, a small smile spreading across his face, bringing to the surface the little dimples I hadn’t realized how much I missed. We’d just reached the edge of the feast, so that we were at the north gates of the city, when a great explosion shook the earth, knocking me off my feet.

  I landed hard on the stone floor, so close to the fire, I could feel the heat right next to my ankle. Breathing in deeply, dust tickled the back of my throat and I coughed, screwing my face up in pain. When I sat up, my ears pounded. Off in the distance, at the top of Mount Ieros, great puffs of black smoke poured from the palace.

  “What in the name of Medeina?” I cried, trying to find my way to my feet.

  Suddenly, the air was rife with chaos. The ground beneath trembled violently. When I looked down, a great sinkhole appeared, creating a fault line that split the earth in two. All around, people were running and screaming, their faces stunned and fearful as they attempted to race away from the earthquake. Then another great explosion shook the lands, only this time I was sure it came from the palace.

  Where was Marcus? Someone clipped my waist and I fell back again, this time much closer to the fire. My leg scraped against something sharp and I cried out. Looking across, I realized that the trail of my dress had been swept into the embers. It caught fire in seconds. I tried to dampen the flames, but my feeble hands seemed useless against the quick blaze.

  “Natasha!” someone cried, and then I saw Marcus, on his hands and knees, quickly quelling the fire snaking up my dress.

  He didn’t wait for me to recover, simply grabbed me by the hand and swung me into his arms, carrying me like a child. For a second — just a second, I marveled at his strength. No longer was he the boy who I had hopes of out racing, or beating in a snowball fight. No — now he was a man. A man carrying me through a sea of panicked people. But what had happened? I struggled against Marcus’s grip, trying to find the palace. It was impossible to make out anything past the thick black smoke covering most of the mountain.

  Finally, after what must have been several minutes, or perhaps even longer, Marcus slowed and placed me down in tall grass. I looked at the little green blades in confusion. I hadn’t even realized we’d left the city and yet here we were, in a field surrounded by low hanging trees.

  Though the sting of smoke still hovered in the
air, there wasn’t a single soul in sight — it was just Marcus and me. Not that you couldn’t still hear the screams of terrified people. Their cries permeated the air, sending tendrils of panic right through me.

  “Are you alright?” Marcus demanded, panting heavily as he joined me in the grass. “Where are you injured?” For some reason, his words rattled around in my head without any meaning. I just stared back at him, blankly. He didn’t wait for permission. His hands reached out to run along my arms, searching for something. The gesture felt intimate and made me shiver. “The burn, is it bad?”

  Still his words made no sense. I blinked dumbly back at him. Burn . . . what burn?

  Marcus knelt in front of me, his fingers tracing delicately up my leg, searching. I found myself lost in his eyes, watching his every move. With every inch that his hands crept upwards, my pulse quickened. Then a sudden tearing pain made me scream out in alarm. At once his hand reached up to cover my mouth, silencing me. My eyes widened in fear.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, peeling his hand away. “I need to pull the fabric where it has burnt to your leg. Here,” he added, taking my hand in his and holding it firmly, “squeeze my hand. It will help distract from the pain.”

  At first, all I could feel was his fingertips against mine. His hand was rough, his palm sweaty, and I found myself lost in the moment. Then Marcus’s face changed — he suddenly looked determined. In one fast motion, he pulled the singed fabric of my dress away from my leg. The burn across my thigh was deep and raw, as though someone had taken a hot poker to my skin. I forced myself not to look at it, instead searching for something to distract me. That’s when I locked onto Marcus’s eyes. They were large and apologetic, almost pained.

  “There’s a bit of wood stuck in the burn,” he said, leaning towards my thigh. “You must have fallen on a branch or something.”

  But I didn’t care about the branch. Marcus was close now . . . so close I could feel his hot breath against my thigh. His hand reached out, just as his eyes looked up at me, searching my veil.

  “This will hurt,” he warned, squeezing my hand, as though he meant to remind me that I could hold onto him if I needed to.

  Nodding, I tried to look braver than I felt. A second later, Marcus pulled the splinter from my thigh. My jaw clenched, and I tried to focus on anything but the pain. Thick blood leaked from the wound, trickling down my leg and staining the grass beneath. Marcus’s eyes widened, and he released my hand at once.

  “Your blood . . . it’s — it’s blue,” he said, clearly horrified.

  “We are called bluebloods.”

  “I know and I heard rumor, but I didn’t realize . . .” quickly he shook himself.

  “It doesn’t matter. What happened? What caused the earth to shake like that? It looked like an explosion at the palace. Did you see anything?”

  Marcus’s head shook angrily but he did not reply immediately. Instead he reached for his tunic, tearing the fabric at the base of his shirt and quickly wrapping it around my leg like a bandage. It was all I could do not to scream from the pain.

  “Marcus?” I repeated, waiting for his answer.

  “I don’t know what happened.”

  A loud scream off in the distance stopped me from saying any more. A thundering clapping noise followed it. I jumped to my feet. Several meters away, coming from where the city lights were, was a group of riders.

  “The guards,” I exclaimed, pleased to see that they were headed straight for us. “Thank Medeina, we can —”

  But before I could say anymore, Marcus rushed at me, placing his hand over my veil, covering my mouth again.

  “They aren’t Carnell guards,” he whispered, looking at the group of soldiers riding towards us. “That is a Spinton uniform. Don’t you understand? The explosion at the festival — that was the Spinton’s attacking us.”

  “Oh no. Just before I came to find you, my father told me that the Spinton’s had some sort of new weapon at their disposal. That must have been it . . . whatever caused the explosion. Marcus — what are we going to do?”

  Marcus’s gaze left mine and he looked around desperately. “We won’t be able to outrun them on foot,” he blurted. “Shit! There’s no chance of escape. Our only hope is if we can hide you. We need to protect your identity.”

  Without so much as a warning, he reached for the veil covering my face and tore it away. When I looked up at him, he was staring at me, his mouth slightly open in surprise. He was the first person, outside my family, to see my face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, looking at him in confusion.

  “Huh? Oh no. It’s just — just nothing . . .”

  His words trailed off and I was left wanting more. “What?” I repeated, my own dark eyes locked on his honey colored ones.

  But there was no time for him to say anything else. The soldiers in the distance had spotted us. One of them called out and then a pair of riders broke off from the company and hastened to reach us. As they got closer, I saw they were clad in metal armor, with a strange unfamiliar emblem sewn on their tunics.

  “Put this on,” Marcus ordered, hastily removing his jacket and handing it to me.

  Hastily I buttoned up the jacket. At the same time, Marcus tore the hem of my dress, removing the singed train and discarding it in the bushes. I shivered as a breeze brushed my body. The dress was now so short that it revealed Marcus’s makeshift bandage on my thigh. But that wasn’t the reason why I shivered — it was the absence of the veil. Never . . . not once in my whole life, had I felt as exposed as I did now.

  “No peasant would wear a lace dress,” he explained, grabbing my hand and pulling me away, trying to put as much distance between us and the soldiers. “Curse Medeina,” he cried, hearing the horses gaining on us.

  There was no chance of out-running them. They were right behind us, their screaming horses hot on our trail.

  “Stop,” one of them yelled.

  “Listen to me Natasha,” Marcus whispered, grabbing my face and turning me so that all I could see was him, “those men will take us, but you need to protect your identity — you can’t let them know who you are. No one knows what you look like — no one has ever seen you without the veil. Tell no one who you are. Do you understand me? Tell no one who you are!”

  Blinking back tears, I nodded. A second later, the horses had found us. They reared up, blocking our path, and then two men jumped down, holding out their swords as they advanced on us. The pair were enormous, built wider and stronger than normal men. They had bristly beards, filled with dirt and what looked horribly like blood.

  “RUN!” Marcus screamed, flinging me away as he produced his own sword.

  “Looks like we have a fighter,” the man nearest us said, laughing with his friend. “Bout time we saw a sword. Master Drake said no one was to die, but that don’t mean we can’t take one ungrateful bastard down who won’t play nice. I’m itching for a good fight.”

  I stood there, my eyes plastered in fear as the two brutes approached Marcus. I knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against them. I also knew he would die defending me.

  “WAIT!” I screamed, before the men could reach Marcus. “If we go quietly, you won’t kill us?”

  All three men turned to look at me in surprise and yet, it was Marcus’s expression that shocked me most of all. He looked horrified . . . as though I had stabbed him myself.

  “If you come with us now, we won’t kill you,” the second man agreed, much to the first’s displeasure.

  “But Simon —” the first man argued.

  “No Potrick,” Simon interrupted, cutting off his comrade before he could say any more. “The master’s instructions were to take Carnell without casualties.” He then turned to me and said, “You have our word. Surrender now without a fight and no harm will come to you.”

  “Every other master don’t mind a bit of bloodshed,” Potrick argued, turning to face the man called Simon. “I think we should —”

  “We have our
orders Potrick,” said Simon. He then turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes,” I agreed, and before Marcus could say or do anything, I moved so that I was an inch away from the two soldiers — surrendering myself.

  Thick arms reached out to grab me, wrapping so tightly around my shoulders, I thought my bones might shatter. Marcus didn’t come so easily. Reluctantly he dropped his sword, but when the man called Simon tried to restrain him, he fought against him, earning himself a punch straight to the face.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt us,” I yelled angrily.

  “Yea, and you said you would come quietly,” Simon countered, shaking his hand as he winced in pain.

  “Marcus please,” I hissed, when Marcus stood again, this time holding his fists up, ready for a fight. “I can’t — can’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Oh, a’int that sweet Simon?” Potrick jeered.

  Marcus swore loudly, though he allowed thick ropes to be tied around his hands, all the while looking at me as though I had betrayed him. I knew what he must be thinking. That I had surrendered myself to the enemy — even though he had been willing to die defending me . . . that I had robbed him of the valor that would have come from protecting a member of the royal family. Still, I didn’t let his icy gaze melt my resolve. Marcus was alive and that was all that mattered.

  After that the man called Simon jumped back onto his horse, pulling me with him, so that I was saddled behind. Marcus however was forced to walk, tethered to Potrick’s horse. We rode in silence for a few minutes until we re-joined a large company of soldiers at the north entrance of the city, each of them donning the Spinton crest on their armor, an unrecognizable symbol surrounded by flames.

  There must have been thirty soldiers in total, all saddled on horses. Another twenty or so foot soldiers were on the ground, herding scared residents. When we reached them, Potrick pulled on Marcus’s binds, forcing him to join the group. His worried eyes looked up and found mine.