Stolen (The Blueblood Stories Book 1) Read online

  I smiled weakly to let him know I was ok, then started looking through the crowds of people, searching. I realized quickly that my family was not there. The worried and scared faces that looked up at me were all strangers. Craning my neck, I looked up at Mount Ieros, trying to find the palace. The smoke had settled much since the initial explosion and yet still I couldn’t see my home.

  Please Medeina, I thought, please watch over and protect my family.

  “We march south to Gunther,” called a soldier from the head of the line. “No rests. High Master Jader wants us to take that village and these survivors there for processing. Carnell survivors, you would do well to follow us without complaint.”

  At once the soldiers pushed the crowd forwards, herding them on their horses as though they were cattle.

  “Hold on,” Simon called to me, kicking his horse in the side so that it rushed forwards.

  Immediately my hands wrapped around the metal armor in front of me, holding on as the horse reared forwards.

  Chapter Three

  It was early morning when we finally reached Gunther, a village south of the city. The sun was only just breaking over the lands. I’d never been to Gunther before. In fact, apart from visiting the temple and occasionally attending festivals at the city, I’d never really left the palace.

  Gunther was largely a cropping village. There were enormous grain fields all around the city, stocked with wheat and some other flowering legume. The village was small but well built, with tiny homesteads popping up here and there, made mostly of timber slacks and no more than one level high.

  The townsfolk of Gunther put up no struggle when the Spinton soldiers stormed the place. Within minutes most of the men, women and children had been huddled into a large group in the town square, joining the hundred or so people who had walked through the night from the festival. The soldier I was with, Simon, pulled his horse to a stop and jumped down. He motioned for me to dismount, which I did, landing as gracefully as I could after so many hours of riding.

  Soon all the villages and the hundred or so captives from the feast were around me. We all sat on the dusty floor, looking up at the steps of an enormous household. It was clear from the grandeur of this homestead, that this must be where the Regent of this village lived. My father appointed Regents for each village, to ensure his rule was carried out across the lands. But the Regent of this village was nowhere to be seen. Instead, standing at the base of the steps, was a Spinton soldier.

  Like the soldiers who had captured us, he too wore the Spinton emblem, yet his tunic was much finer than his comrades. His metal armor was not cast from dirty iron but made of fine silver rings, each one joined to another to allow freedom of movement. It wasn’t just his clothes that set this man apart. There was something in his frame which demanded respect. He was large, with enormous arms and even larger legs. Yet despite his stature, he looked young for a man in such a position. He couldn’t have been any older than thirty.

  “People of Carnell —” he started to say, addressing the crowd in front of him.

  At once a group of soldiers appeared from behind me, pushing through the crowd as they made their way to the front. One of the soldiers knocked into me. I flew forwards, landing hard on the dusty ground. A sudden muttering erupted from the crowd, as a few villages helped me to my feet. It was uncustomary for men to be so forceful to women in Carnell — a trait the Spinton’s clearly did not share. I had barely brushed away the dirt covering my dress, when the soldier on the steps spoke.

  “Be careful soldier,” he warned, glaring down at the group of soldiers who had knocked me over. “She’s not yours to damage.”

  Looking up, I took in a sharp breath when I saw the great anger raging behind the speaker’s eyes. I’d never been so afraid of anyone in my life. Now that he was facing me, I could make out more of his finer features. He was handsome. From this angle, his eyes appeared light colored, perhaps green or blue, and there was a thin trace of stubble covering his cheeks and chin. His hair was short and dark, matching his heavy eyebrows.

  “Last night Spinton took Carnell,” the man declared to the cowering crowd before him. “I am Master Drake, a master of the Spinton army. You may think of us now as invaders, but in time, you will come to see us as allies. Most of the soldiers before you now, were just like you, from neighboring kingdoms. They swore their allegiance to Spinton, just as you will too.”

  “We will never bow to you,” someone from the crowd called, a middle-aged man dressed in clothes stained by coal dust. “Our royal family has affinity over the elements. They will protect us. Medeina has blessed us, just as she will curse you for this abomination.”

  Master Drake clicked his fingers. Two guards grabbed the villager who had spoken, pulling him from the crowd and towards the steps. Forcing the man to kneel, they then tore the shirt from his back.

  “Sadly, it always comes to this,” Drake lamented, moving over to the man. “Usually a single display is enough, but I can see that you are a people of faith. Always when there is hope, it leads to rebellion. But I promise you — there is no hope of fighting us. Let this serve as proof as to why your bluebloods won’t be able to save you.”

  My eyes were large and wide as I waited with the rest of the crowd. What was going to happen? Would they torture the man who dared to speak out — whip him — perhaps Kill him — just to prove a point. A man holding a long black iron with a strange glowing head appeared on the steps. Without warning, the guards restraining the villager reached down and thrust his shirt into his mouth. Then the hot iron was pressed to the rebel’s back. I screamed in horror, though my scream was nothing to that coming from the man who was being branded. Even with the shirt acting as a gag, it was impossible not to hear the torment in his muffled shrieks.

  Drake moved over to the kneeling man. Though his gait was strong and powerful, there was something in the way his eyes flickered, that made me think he was troubled. He reached for his belt and withdrew a small dagger. I held my breath, fearful of the worst. But he did not use the blade on the cowering man.

  Instead, he pulled the knife-edge so that it sliced through his own palm. Blood dripped from the wound, which he held over the burning brand on the back of the rebel. A soft sizzling sound erupted, when Drake’s blood landed. The brand glowed brightly red before turning into what appeared to be a tattoo. The moment this happened, the rebels back slackened, as if the pain had somehow been taken away, and he looked up at Drake.

  “Come my brave man,” said Drake, holding out his bleeding hand for the man to grasp. To the crowd’s surprise, the rebel accepted the help and was pulled to his feet. “The brand this man bears, is my own personal household emblem. It states my ownership of him, but it does more than that. When this brand is sealed with my blood, it allows me control over him, should I wish to use it. Let me demonstrate. Rebel, what is your name and trade?”

  The man looked out at the crowd, apparently confused and stuttered, “I am, I’m Harnath, son of Gothith and I’m — I’m a blacksmith.”

  “And to whom do you swear allegiance?” asked Drake.

  “To you my lord,” the man proclaimed, his voice suddenly steady.

  The crowd hissed in awe. What was this magic, that it could take away the will of a man?

  “Excellent,” said Drake, gesturing for the man to join the rest of his soldiers. “The noble art of blacksmiths is a talent I wish to hone. You will do well for this village and my army. I thank you for your sworn service. As for the rest of you, you will bow to me one way or another. The Spinton high master has instructed many masters to remain within the vast villages of Carnell, to ensure the kingdom is under his control. The grand assigner will now place each member of the public to a station. You will live as you always have . . . be merry, have normal lives, practice your own religion, but you will be forever more, under Spinton’s control. I’m sorry if this displeases you, but I beg you, lest you wish to feel my brand and control, do not fight against me. You will
lose.”

  After that, Drake left, retiring inside the large house behind him. As my eyes followed him, I couldn’t help but cower. That man was a monster. The moment he was gone, the crowd broke into a soft hiss, each undoubtedly thinking what I was — what chance did we have? Next to me, Marcus appeared, grabbing my hand.

  He squeezed it gently then asked, “Are you ok?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, careful to keep my voice low. “But what are we going to do? How can we fight a man who can control us?”

  “For now, we need to lay low. Natasha, listen to me. You must make sure that they never find out who you are. If they do, they will stop at nothing to brand you and have you under their control. I think you should pretend to be my sister. We’ll say that we are from Holdup — and that we were visiting the temple for the day of Thantos because . . . because both our parents were killed in an accident. Ok?”

  Just then, two guards moved over to us, followed by a feeble looking third man wearing a pair of pince-nez. The guards indicated us and the man with the pince-nez nodded and moved towards us.

  “You two were captured during the raid on the religious festival?” said the man, sizing us up. Marcus nodded, standing in front of me, as though he thought he might shield me. “I am the assigner,” the man added, pulling his pince-nez high onto the bridge of his nose, as he looked down at his list. “You man, you look to be a fighter — what is your trade and name?”

  “I’m Marcus, a — farmer,” said Marcus, hesitating. “My sister — Nat and I, have been traveling. We both came from a farm east of here for the day of Thantos.”

  The man looked Marcus up and down, his lips pursed, as though he didn’t quite believe him. “Well, a young strong man like you, you will be better suited a soldier’s life. You will join the guard. As for your sister,” he added, turning his attention to me. His eyes lingered on the make shift bandage wrapped around my leg. “Are you injured?”

  “It’s just a burn,” I said, then added quickly, “from a camp fire.”

  “Well, I think you will be best working as a field attendant. There is scarcely enough crop in this region to support the townsfolk, let alone the Spinton guards. You will sow the fields with the other women, but first, you will go to the Healer and have your injury attended to. Master Drake wants everyone in working condition. You — Marcus, you will wear this black ribbon on your wrist. Nat, is it? You wear this green one. Be sure not to take them off or lose them. Severe punishment will follow if you aren’t wearing them.”

  We took the little ribbons, quickly wrapping them around our wrists and tying them in place. Once the assigner was satisfied, he clicked his fingers for the guards to come. They did, at once.

  “Take her to the healer; once she is fit, she will join the field staff as a farmer. This man will join the guard,” the assigner said simply, writing our names down on his list.

  When the soldier nearest me made to direct me towards the house, Marcus reared into action. “No!” he yelled, fighting to stay close to me. “I won’t be separated from her.”

  Three more guards moved over, attracted by the commotion. Within seconds they dragged Marcus away from me, two men restraining his hands, while a third placed a knife against Marcus’s throat.

  “Ah, so I see you do have the spirit of a fighter,” said the assigner. “But be careful young man,” he warned, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a white cloth. “This is the exact behavior Master Drake wants to avoid. Best you do as you’re told, or you may end up like your rebel friend, licking the master’s boots.”

  “I would rather die than —” Marcus threatened, but I cut him off quickly.

  “Brother please,” I said, resting my hand on Marcus’s chest, thinking of calming him. “They only want to help us. When I’m done, I’ll come and find you before I tend to the fields. I’m sure that would be ok — wouldn’t it Grand Assigner?”

  The man with the pince-nez looked at me, his eyes softening slightly as he nodded his head.

  “Very well,” said the guard with the knife against Marcus’s throat. “I’ll take the girl to the healer now. You’re done with the heroics.”

  The tall guard sheathed his blade and directed me towards the Regent’s house. I had no thoughts of escape. After that display, I decided to follow Marcus’s advice. The best chance we had was to wait for this army to get complaisant and slip out silently. Only then would I be able to find out what had happened to my family. After all, what would the Spinton’s care if one girl and her brother disappeared?

  Inside, the Regent’s house was particularly grand, certainly not as fine as the palace, but more extravagant than I’d expected. Whoever the Regent was, he obviously had great wealth and taste. The entire building was cast of sandstone, with impressive pillars stretching to the second level, allowing for large and open living areas. There were tall green plants housed in pots at every corner, with high windows letting light into the place, making it feel almost tropical.

  Once we were in the foyer, the guard left me, instructing me to wait. I used the time to admire the tapestries on the wall nearest me. From where I stood, I could make out what looked like an outdoor entertaining area in the center of the house. I was just about to take a closer look, when a tall woman appeared right in front of me, startling me.

  Her skin was a dark, rich, chocolate color, contrasting the long white robes she wore. Her face was severe, all pointy angles with sharp eyebrows and thin lips.

  “You are injured?” asked the woman, speaking in a strange accent and talking very formally.

  “My leg,” I said, indicating the bandage. “I burnt it and . . .” But my words trailed off as I remembered the other injury I’d suffered — the splinter of wood that had caused me to bleed, and not just normal blood . . . blue blood. I was such a fool! That was why Marcus had been so unwilling for me to be tended by the healer. Would the Spinton’s know of our blueblood legend?

  “What is wrong little one?” she asked, looking at me sadly. “Does it pain you? Were you injured in the battle? Come, I will give you something to take the ache away.”

  “Actually — it doesn’t really hurt anymore. Besides, it’s an old wound. Your assigner told me to come here but I think he was overreacting. It really isn’t that bad — healed probably by now, or if not, a good night’s sleep will see me right again.”

  “It is no trouble child,” said the woman, reaching for my back and steering me past the magnificent entrance and towards a corridor running behind the grand staircase. “Master Drake is a kind leader. He would not wish harm to anyone, least of all a young girl, caught in the battle between nations. Let me look at it at least.”

  There was nothing I could do. If I ran the guards would catch me and then they would know that there was a reason I wanted to avoid having my leg examined. All I could hope was that the injury had healed enough that it was no longer bleeding — there was no chance.

  “Come inside,” said the woman, when we’d reached the end of the hallway.

  She held open a heavy door and I walked inside. The room was small and looked to be the prayer room of the former Regent. A large statue of Medeina stood in the corner, surrounded by other altar preparations, while a crackling fire roared in the hearth.

  “Master Drake has assigned this room to me for healing,” said the woman, leading me towards the fire. “He’s a kind man, as I am sure that you and your people will realize in time. What’s your name little one?” she added, sitting down on a large couch and patting the seat next to it, inviting me to join her.

  I froze — what name had Marcus assigned me?

  “My name is Raven,” she added, gesturing towards my leg, as she patted her lap this time.

  Reluctantly I placed my leg in her lap, waiting with baited breath for her to remove the makeshift bandage.

  “Come now, you really won’t tell me your name?” she asked, pulling the bandage away, piece by piece.

  “It’s Nat,” I said, finally rememb
ering.

  “Nat,” said Raven, musing as she continued to undo the bandage, “that is an unusual name for this province; is it short for anything?”

  “No.”

  “Not one for conversation, are you?”

  “Or maybe I just don’t feel like talking to someone who just invaded my home.”

  Raven’s hand faltered on the bandage as she considered me. “You’re not the only land to have been conquered by Spinton,” she said, her voice delicately reflecting her anger. “I came from a small fishing island more than ten thousand leagues north of here, called Harlowland. When Spinton invaded, we had no army to even attempt to fight. I thought I would be slaughtered, with my countrymen, but the master wanted me — Master Harp. He was . . . cruel but years later, Master Drake became my lord. He cared for me, sheltered me and allowed me to journey with him as a healer. I’m not saying your situation is not difficult little one, but everywhere there is war and sadness. Be glad that Master Drake took this village and will lay claim to your loyalty, rather than one of the other masters, but do not assume that all who serve this household are from Spinton and share the same values.”

  Her words shocked me. I was ashamed that this woman, who had been taken from her home land so long ago, was willing to be kind to me even after how rude I’d been.

  “I apologize,” I said, just as Raven pulled the last of the bandages away; she was bent down so close to my leg, I was unable to see my injury or her reaction.

  “Would you mind explaining this to me?” she asked, turning to face me.

  I still couldn’t see my leg, but Raven’s tone gave me a pretty good idea what she was referring to. I was just thinking up some reason for why my blood might appear blue, when her dark fingers ran across my skin, sending goose bumps in their wake — why wasn’t I screaming in pain? Surely, if she was putting her hand anywhere near my burn, I would be in agony.