Page 133 of Dhampira

“You can’t know that,” I said, my voice rising along with my anger and fear. “You haven’t seen her in decades.”

“I have,” Vander said. When I jerked my gaze to him, he nodded grimly. “I saw her in the Wendlewood. She said that if the time came when I needed to tell you everything, I should expect you to be skeptical. She said she’d raised you to question, so she said to tell you to remember the silver hairbrush from the actress. She said you would understand what that meant.”

The ground shifted under me. I didn’t realize I was unsteady until Lorcan was suddenly beside me, one hand under my arm as he guided me to the bench.

“Breathe,” he ordered, easing me down. I let the roses settle in my lap. Lorcan sat beside me and gripped my hand, the contact the one steady point in a roiling sea of pain and confusion. “In and out. That’s all you have to do.”

My throat burned. Or maybe it was betrayal, the blaze consuming me from within. Mama.

“Why would…?” I croaked. “How could she do this?” A hot tear sprinted down my cheek and splashed onto the roses.

Vander sat on my other side. “The Crau Setra never leave the order. Lilawen failed at killing Rasimir. But she has another chance to kill him now.”

I looked at him through blurry eyes. “You mean me?”

His silver eyes held a mix of anger and remorse. “She created a weapon,” he said quietly. “She’s using it.”

Are you a tool or a blade?

If Vander and Lorcan told the truth, I was nothing but a tool. Molded and shaped by my mother, who cared more for a guild of assassins than her own child.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. Staring sightlessly at the grass, I shook my head. “Marrigan spoke poorly of Mama. She said she was—”

“What?” Lorcan prompted, drawing my gaze.

I drew an uneven breath. “Marrigan said Mama was motivated by lust, and that I was the same.”

Anger clouded Lorcan’s eyes. “Marrigan is a manipulator, Corinthe. She meddles from afar, pulling strings to suit her goals. And her goal is to rule Nocta. At first glance, she might seem like a better alternative to Rasimir, but that’s not the case. Most of the witches are purists.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my unease growing.

“They believe only those who speak the vor scapa possess true magic. They don’t count vampires among those ranks. Nocta under the witches would be much the same as it is under your father.”

Vander touched my arm. “Not every coven believes this. A few holdouts celebrate all magic.”

But Marrigan believed it—and she didn’t seem like the sort of person to entertain different opinions.

“She pulled me into her temple through the maze,” I said. “If she’s so powerful, why doesn’t she do the same to Rasimir? Or gather the Resistance and storm the Drakhold? She could simply kill him and take over Nocta.”

“You assume enough Noctans would follow her,” Lorcan said. “Immortals have long memories. They remember what life was like when the witches and vampires battled for power before Rasimir’s rise. But even if that wasn’t the case, no Devout Mother has ever appeared outside the temple of the Crau Setra. It’s said the Mother’s departure would reveal the temple’s location, which no one has been able to find.”

Well, that was something at least. “She insulted my mother,” I said. “Why would Mama continue to serve someone like that?” More tears burned my throat. “How could she—?” I clamped my lips together before my voice could break.

How could she choose the Crau Setra over me?

Vander wrapped his fingers around mine, our joined hands resting next to Ruvien’s flowers in my lap. “Lilawen was raised from childhood to kill. She took vows, and she broke them. I don’t know if she chose. I don’t know if she’s capable of understanding she had a choice.”

“We almost always have a choice,” I said.

Vander’s sad smile let me know he recognized the words as Ruvien’s. “Lorcan and I choose you, Princess. In case there was ever a question.”

The world stopped for a second, then sped up, my heart speeding with it. I looked at Lorcan, my heart hitching again when his dark eyes lowered to my mouth. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“We both care for you,” he said. His fangs made a brief appearance as he gave a short huff of laughter. “That wasn’t part of the plan. It makes everything more complicated. More dangerous.”

“Then don’t do it,” I said, my irritation rising. He made it sound like caring about me was the worst thing that ever happened to him. “Stop caring.”

“I tried.” His gaze skimmed my mouth again. “It didn’t work.”