Page 22 of Stolen
Boots appear.
But not just boots. These areimpossible.
They mold perfectly to my feet—soft, supportive, like some glorious union of buttery leather and memory foam.
They’re heeled, which should be a crime, but somehow the three-inch wedge doesn’t feel like punishment.
It feels like power. Balance.
I gasp, blinking down at them. “What—how did you?—?”
“There,” he murmurs, repeating the same conjuring motion with my other foot. “Now your feet will be protected,Myrrin.”
That word again.
He’s said it twice now.
I know he told me what it means, and really, it’s innocent enough. But every time it leaves his lips, something inside me reacts.
Like it knows. Like it wants.
I feel like I’ve stepped inside a dream spun from someone else’s memory.
But it’s mine now.
Alaric rises in a single, elegant motion and offers me his hand.
“Come on,” he says softly, “I want you to see.”
I take his hand before I have time to overthink it. His palm is warm, strong, rough in all the right places.
He leads me to the far end of the chamber, where heavy curtains of deep indigo part at his command.
Beyond them is a glassless window, more of an arch, really, that opens to the world outside.
And, holy cow, what a world.
I step to the edge and stare.
Below, the landscape of Nightfall stretches out in eerie, breathtaking splendor.
Black grass ripples beneath a violet moon. Silver trees hum as wind moves through their branches—not rustling, but singing.
Rivers shimmer with upside-down reflections that ripple skyward instead of outward.
Winged beasts spiral across skies carved by stars that pulse like slow heartbeats.
It’s beautiful.
Terrifying.
Alien.
Like looking into the soul of a place that remembers everything and forgives nothing.
I tear my eyes from it long enough to look at him.
He’s watching me, his expression unreadable.
