Page 18 of Revenge of the Forgotten

Commanders of the army had an important job to do, having little time to lead a territory of their own, but they were still seen as part of the elite and included in every setting where a Curia member had been. And just because Marlena burned the Curia from the inside out almost fifty-five years ago didn’t mean she threw out all of their traditions.

Bridger hated it.

He stayed out of the whole running of the realm business. That was what Marlena had fought so ruthlessly for. Bridger had never wanted to rule.

Let him punish.

Let him fight.

Let him kill.

Do not ask him what tax should be placed on the territories with less power.

“Bring your A-game. I’ve got some shields to put back into place, and I’m not going easy on you like I did last week.” Bridger winked.

Meyer rolled his eyes and left Bridger alone to wonder if the shields he’d built inside his head had ever really been strong enough to keep Vega out forever.

7

Is that a disco ball?

Vega blinked the room into focus, the ceiling above her coming into full view after a few seconds. Her heart rattled in her chest as she shot up to a sitting position. She gasped, trying to remember where she was.

The walls were covered with fake wood panels better fitted for the 1970s, the carpet a red color that reminded Vega of her mom’s old velvet car interior. The comforter underneath her was fuzzy and yellower than the sun on a hot summer’s day.

Vega felt like she’d been sucked into a different decade.

She turned on the bed, eyes landing on the gorgeous stranger sitting at the end, watching her. Oh. My. God. I found Arlet.

“What did you see?” Arlet’s brows furrowed, the confusion evident on her face. She held a glass of wine, and suddenly, that was all Vega could focus on.

“Oh good, wine.” She wobbled when she stood, righting herself on the bedside table.

“Vega, what did you see?” Arlet asked her again.

Vega watched the red wine bleed into a paper cup made for to-go coffee as she poured herself a hefty serving. She met it to her lips, the bitterness a welcome taste.

Vega held up her finger before Arlet had the chance to speak again. She chugged the wine down to the last drop, refilled the cup, and finally spoke. “I don’t know. This one was fuzzy. It…” Vega paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “There was a fire. A house, a huge house, more like a mansion. It was engulfed, and there were little fires everywhere else in what looked like a city. I was looking down from a mountain.” She turned her attention to Arlet. “That was my home, wasn’t it? I remember that view. My bedroom overlooked a lake with snow-capped mountains in the distance.”

Arlet gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Vega didn’t know her, but it felt weird to see someone who seemed to be so sure of everything look so befuddled.

“What?” Vega barked, moving towards her, the wine bottle still in her hand.

“You’re really remembering. I can’t…” Arlet snatched the bottle from Vega and topped off her glass. Her plump lips met the rim, and she chugged with vigor like Vega. “This has never happened before. You’ve never had dreams of your life.”

Vega hadn’t taken her eyes off her—she watched Arlet’s every move. “I need you to tell me everything. Starting with how the hell you can afford a bottle of wine this expensive.”

Priorities.

Arlet’s brows had yet to unfurrow. “Really? That’s the first thing you decide to ask?” Vega shrugged her shoulders, waiting, and Arlet continued. “I stole it.”

Vega choked on the wine in her mouth. Am I supposed to trust anything this thief says?

“Don’t give me that look.” Arlet pointed her finger, making Vega relax the muscles in her face. “I’m not here to get a job, settle down, and start a family. I’m here to get you and go home.”

Home.

The word made Vega look down at the flimsy cup between her hands. She leaned against the old desk behind her. “What’s it like?” She looked up from her cup. “I’ve seen it, or at least some of it, but I don’t know it.”

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