Page 126 of Dhampira

I didn’t encounter any other courtiers as I made my way through the rest of the Drakhold. Knights stared through me. Servants rushed past me, their eyes blank and their faces pinched. Cold nipped at my cheeks as I raced across the courtyard and slipped behind the merman. As I hunched against his pedestal, the hedges at the maze’s entrance stretched at least a dozen feet above my head. The greenery formed a straight path for about ten feet and then branched in opposite directions.

I looked at the Drakhold over my shoulder. Several windows were lit up. Probably servants were lighting fires and preparing for the coming day. But Delphine wasn’t. She was inside the maze with a werewolf on her heels.

And I was so stupid to run after her. If I entered, there was no guarantee I’d find my way out. Knowing Rasimir, the maze wasn’t a harmless diversion for bored courtiers. The Drachvi had traveled through it the night of the ball. Who knew where it led? The hedges probably teemed with traps and horrors too terrible to contemplate. But I couldn’t abandon Delphine.

Tugging down my hood, I moved away from the merman and ventured a few steps into the maze.

A growl at my back made me whip around. A second werewolf stood on four legs in the shadow of the Drakhold, its bright yellow eyes fixed on me. Its lips peeled back from its jaws, which dripped long strings of saliva onto the stones beneath its claws.

My heart stuttered and then tripped over itself, my ragged breaths loud in my ears. The werewolf leaped forward, flying straight at me.

I turned and plunged into the maze, yanking up the hood as I ran. The wolf’s growls followed, along with the scrape of its claws against the courtyard’s stone. I feinted left and then ran right, following a long line of hedges.

My feet flew over the soft grass beneath me. Growls and the thunder of heavy paws sounded at my back. Ahead, the maze branched again. I took a hard left, then a right. Foliage brushed my skin and tugged at my gown. My hood started to slip, and I held it in place as I moved through the maze’s twists and turns, fear spurring me faster.

The next time the hedges branched, I stumbled into the gray temple I’d seen in my dreams.

Blue torchlights flickered as I staggered forward, just managing to keep my feet under me. The veiled woman watched from her throne as I stopped, my chest heaving. Her gray robes puddled at her feet. Magic hung around her, the air humming with undeniable power. I was close enough to make out her features—or at least, I should have been. But no matter how hard I strained, she remained just out of focus, as if I peered through a fog. Every few seconds, parts of her face sharpened, giving me glimpses of a nose or a cheek or the curve of her lips. Just as quickly, the impressions slipped away.

The werewolf stalked past me, its body turning transparent. Just as its fur swirled into smoke, it bowed to the woman and then disappeared. My chest tightened, fear pumping fast and hot through my veins.

Marrigan, the Devout Mother of the Crau Setra, stared me down, her gray eyes sharp through her veil. The rest of her face remained blurry and indistinct, but her eyes were clear—and they pinned me in place. Unlike the courtiers and guards I’d passed on my way out of the Drakhold, there was no question she saw me. Apparently, the dragonstone gown was no match for her power. And she wanted to kill me. She’d sent assassins.

“To test your father’s resolve,” she said, her voice carrying over the hiss of the torches. “If I wanted you dead, child, you and I would not be speaking.”

Fear slid down my spine. I hadn’t spoken out loud. She’d read my mind. Something Lorcan had said flitted through my memory. Only a handful of witches possess the gift of pulling thoughts from another’s head. And it’s a heavy burden. Marrigan was a mind-keeper, the kind of witch Lorcan had said frequently went insane.

The Devout Mother’s lips curved behind her veil. “The dragon king says a lot of things he would dearly love to believe.”

“Dragon king?” I rasped.

Her gray eyes glittered. Gray, not silver. Marrigan’s eyes were nothing like Vander’s. His gleamed with life. With humor. Hers were flat and cold, like the sea I’d glimpsed when I claimed sezat.

“You surround yourself with men who would serve themselves before they serve a queen,” she said. “I should have expected nothing less. You are, after all, Lilawen’s daughter. Led by your cunt instead of your mind.”

The words were a slap in the face, the impact more forceful than any blow. Anger crackled through me, and I stepped toward her. “You—” My voice cut off as an invisible hand locked around my throat. It tightened as she continued speaking.

“You reek of stolen power, girl. Gifts taken by force and charmed by elves aren’t gifts at all.”

The hand disappeared. I doubled over, coughing and gasping as I dragged in precious air. “I didn’t…take them,” I said between breaths. And how did she know about the Everless, which was supposedly impenetrable? When my lungs stopped spasming, I straightened and forced my shoulders back. “They were given to me.”

“By men.”

My anger swelled. “It doesn’t matter where I got them. I want to defeat Rasimir. I would have taken the vials from anyone.”

“As you took power from the innocent?” She laughed, and the torches’ blue flames climbed the walls again. When the fire settled, her tone turned dismissive. “You will fail in your task, as Lilawen did. Your line is strong but flawed.”

“Then why bother speaking to me?”

Marrigan remained still—except for her eyes, which she narrowed ever so slightly. Tension coiled in my chest as she stared me down. I waited for her power to choke me again.

“I shouldn’t have,” she said finally. “You are exactly as I anticipated. Lilawen was just as impetuous, but she made up for it with breathtaking power. Magic came to her like a natural language, vors landing on her tongue like honey. You are a disappointment. A waste of time.”

“But you brought me here anyway,” I said. “You entered my dreams. If I’m a waste of time, you must be bored.”

In unison, the torches burned lower. “Come here,” the Devout Mother said.

My body complied at once, my feet moving me forward without my permission. I attempted to dig in my heels, but it was useless. My muscles weren’t my own as I walked to the base of the dais that held her throne. My head tipped back of its own accord, forcing me to meet her gaze.