The Thief Queen’s Daughter
“Madame—Sharra?” Ven stammered.
The fortune-teller’s eyes seemed to cast around at each of the children. Then she looked back at Ven.
She said nothing.
Ven’s skin, already tingling, stung with nervous energy. He tried to look into the dark area behind her, but saw nothing. In the glow that radiated from her he could see the black satin symbols on the tent walls to the left and right of the opening more clearly. The one on the right closest to the door seemed familiar. He concentrated, trying to remember where he had seen it. When he did, his eyes opened wide.
“I know where I've seen that symbol before,” he said to Char. “That’s the same writing I saw on that thin stone in the Rover’s box.”
Before Char could answer, the woman's long arm shot out from behind the drape. She seized Ven by the collar of his shirt in a grip stronger than his brother Luther’s.
And dragged him into the depths of the tent.
With a soft whoosh, all the flaps of the tent slammed shut, plunging the remaining children into darkness where they stood.