Page 70 of Stolen
I see familiar blooms like tulips and roses, but also others with glowing petals or pulsing centers that change hue with the shifting breeze.
A hanging vine shivers as I approach, and one of its fuzzy violet fronds reaches toward me.
“Is it waving?” I whisper.
“They are curious,” Shade says. “And not technically plants, though we call them flowers for ease. That one enjoys warmth. Offer your wrist.”
Tentatively, I extend my arm. The frond curls around it gently, tickling my skin.
“Oh wow. This is weirdly soothing.”
“It likes you,” she says, clearly amused.
“Okay, note to self: don’t eat the poison cubes, but make friends with the sentient flowers.”
Shade laughs, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her all morning.
“You adjust quickly.”
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
Everything is alive here.
The colors are brighter.
The air is sweeter.
The sky stretches wide and crystalline blue above us, ringed by the towering spires of the mountains surrounding the Eyrie like ancient guardians.
And the people?
They look mostly human. But Shade’s words keep echoing in my mind.
They’re not.
“They remind me of regular boys back home,” I murmur, nodding toward a group of teens loitering near a jewelry stand, their gazes locked on me like I’ve sprouted antlers.
Shade follows my line of sight and tsks. “Some of the young ones are changelings. You must be wary, Lady Jules. Spies for the SoulTakers come in many forms.”
I go still. “Spies? Kids?”
“They are not children,” she says simply, voice going cold. “Not truly. SoulTakers twist what they touch.”
I nod slowly, not fully understanding, but not ready to question her either.
She leads me to a fabric stall next, where bolts of shimmering cloth ripple in the breeze like living creatures.
I run my fingers across one the color of moonlight and gasp at the way it shifts with my mood—turning faintly lavender when I smile.
“The market is safe today,” Shade says gently, as if sensing my unease. “But it is not wrong to encourage caution. Nightfall is beautiful, yes. But it is also layered. Dangerous. And ever changing.”
“Like its people,” I murmur, watching a woman with eyes like flame barter with a merchant whose skin shifts between ice and coal.
Shade hums in agreement. “We call ourselves Demons, but we are not, as your world defines the word. No more good or evil than the average human, I suppose.”
“Have you been reading about my world?” I ask, having found some volumes about Earth in the library.
I’m delighted she’s taken an interest since, really, I could use a friend here. Alaric has many duties, and we can’t be together all the time.
