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  What did it mean, anyway—deflowering? Amalthia had said it was some kind of royal tradition and from the smirk on her face, it was probably humiliating in some way. She imagined wearing a ridiculous flouncy green gown, like the kind favored at Court, covered in some kind of flowers that her groom-to-be would have to pick off while everyone watched. That would be embarrassing…

  Brynn pushed it from her mind. She had enough to worry about without agonizing about the future. And anyway, though the rumor certainly was that her father was taking offers for her hand in marriage, she hadn’t heard that he’d accepted anyone yet. So maybe her joining and all the traditions and bother that went with it were far in the future. Brynn hoped so, but she really didn’t care. As long as she had Varin at her side, she felt she would be safe no matter who she joined with or where she went. She would simply have to wait and worry about the future when it happened.

  That night she tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep—restless again and not just because of the usual reasons. She’d had a short, unsatisfying talk with Varin that evening—it seemed as though he was tense and on edge, though she couldn’t tell why. Which was one reason Brynn hadn’t asked him about what Amalthia had said, though that ominous word—deflowering—still rang in her mind.

  At last she fell asleep but instead of dreaming of Varin practicing in the Arena, she found herself somewhere else entirely…

  She was in a dark cave of some kind—a humid, close tunnel that felt too warm and stank of something awful. Garbage? No—rotting flesh, Brynn realized. It smelled the same way it had in the music room at the convent after a rat had died behind the wall.

  Brynn shivered with disgust and covered her nose. All around her was a low buzzing hum that seemed somehow organic although she couldn’t exactly say why.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” She stepped carefully, finding that her slippers sank into the soggy ground in a most unpleasant way. When she reached down to feel what she was standing in, her fingers came away sticky and the smell on them was sweet and meaty. Disgusted, she wiped her hand on her skirts and called out again. But her voice didn’t carry very far—it seemed to fall flat in the moist, warm closeness.

  Brynn began to feel afraid.

  “Hello?” she whispered, taking another step. Still no one answered. Suddenly the narrow tunnel opened out into a large, dim room. The humming sound grew louder but she still couldn’t see what was making the noise. There was a gust of foul-smelling wind against her face and something flew past her—something huge.

  Brynn gave a cry and dodged to the side. Her hand found the wall and she followed it blindly, letting her fingertips trail along it as she walked, looking for something—anything—that might lead her out of here, wherever “here” was.

  After following the wall, which was filled with cool, bumpy rocks for some time, Brynn saw something pale that glimmered in the dim light and caught her attention. She dared to take a step towards it and saw it was embedded in the wall she’d been following but she still couldn’t quite make it out.

  Stepping closer, she saw that it was a white rock but it had strange hollows in it. And the curve of it was somehow familiar.

  The light got a little brighter and suddenly she saw the object for what it was—a skull. Looking at it in horror, Brynn realized the wall was filled with skulls—made of skulls. They were the cool, bumpy things she’d been running her fingers over as she felt for a way out.

  “Oh,” she whispered, snatching her hand away. “Oh, Goddess above…”

  And then the eyes of the first skull opened—although how it could have eyes in the black pits of its sockets, Brynn didn’t know. They flashed poison green at her and the white bone jaw unhinged and talked.

  “Kill me,” it said, and it spoke with the Lady Amalthia’s voice. “Kill me, Brynn—I want to die. I’m dead already—we all are. Kill me!”

  Brynn woke with a scream on her lips and suddenly Varin was there, a naked sword in his hand, scanning the darkness for threats.

  “What is it? What happened?” he asked in a low, tense voice. “I felt your distress and then I heard you scream. Is someone here?”

  “N-no…” Brynn gulped, trying to push back tears. “It was a dream” she said, trying to reassure herself as much as him. “It was only a dream…only a dream, oh Goddess.”

  “Brynn?” The big Kindred sheathed his sword and sat on the edge of her bed. The bluish-silver light from Galen’s moon showed a worried expression on his face. “You all right?” he asked her softly. “Want to talk about it?”

  Brynn didn’t. What she wanted to do was crawl across her bed and into his massive arms for comfort. She was already reaching for him when she remembered his obedience band. Not wanting to hurt him, she drew back and wrapped her arms around her knees instead, squeezing herself tight to try and stop the shivers that coursed through her.

  “Brynn?” he said again. “Come on, little one—talk to me. Tell me what you saw.”

  Hesitantly, she did, stumbling over the words as she tried to describe the terror she’d felt. Varin’s face grew dark as he listened and he frowned when she came to the part about the skull speaking in Amalthia’s voice.

  “It was awful,” she whispered. “And…and I feel so terrible for having it. Amalthia was being so nasty to me today but I don’t…don’t wish her dead. I mean, I don’t really want to kill her.”

  “Of course you don’t—you’re too innocent to take a life,” he growled. “But I don’t like your dream. It feels…wrong.”

  “It felt wrong to me too!” Brynn exclaimed. “And it was so real. I could smell that rotten smell that comes when something has died. And the ground under my feet was squishy and sticky and smelled like raw meat. And the skulls felt…” She trailed off, shivering—unable to talk about the bumpy, smooth texture under her fingertips.

  “I don’t like it,” Varin growled. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now. I’ll see if I dream it too—see what you saw—next time I rest. For now it’s best you try to get back to sleep, Princess.”

  “But what if it comes back?” Brynn protested. “I…I just can’t go back to sleep right now. Please…” She leaned forward, still wishing she could touch him. Varin leaned towards her as well and she had the idea he was wishing the same thing. “Please, stay with me a little while, Varin,” she whispered. “Talk to me. We…we didn’t talk much tonight.”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve just been kind of…on edge lately.”

  “Why?” Brynn asked, honestly curious. She tried to laugh. “Are you having the same kinds of problems in the Arena when you practice that I’m having with my ladies in waiting?”

  He smiled briefly, his teeth glinting white in the moonlight.

  “Hardly, although there are some pretty tough sons-of-bitches down in the training rings. But I’d rather fight any one of them any day than have a bunch of mean girls following me around all the time.”

  “I agree,” Brynn said wholeheartedly. “Even if I don’t know how to fight.”

  Varin frowned. “You should learn. It’s not always a safe world for females.”

  “But I have you to protect me,” Brynn said softly.

  “I know, little one.” He sighed unhappily. “But there are some things I can’t protect you from.”

  “Like what?” Brynn asked.

  “The male you’re going to join with—whenever your father picks one,” Varin rumbled, scowling. “I’ll be with you every step of the way but I won’t be allowed into your marriage chamber with you, little one.”

  “Oh,” Brynn whispered in a small voice. She thought of how the big Kindred had explained making love—of letting a male thrust his shaft between her legs and shoot his seed inside her. But when she imagined those things, it was always Varin’s face she saw above her, his deep, growling voice in her ear. She didn’t even want to try to imagine anyone else doing that to her, she realized. The very i