Page 22 of Dhampira

And I forgot how to breathe.

Magic.

Nocta.

It spread before me in a dazzling array of colors more vibrant than anything in Ghedda. Soft pink clouds floated in a lavender sky studded with stars that shimmered like diamonds. The wildflowers that had dotted the incline were everywhere, their blooms as vivid and varied as gemstones. Tall emerald grass swayed in a warm, gentle breeze. Mountains rose in the distance, their sides thickly forested and their peaks kissed with snow. A waterfall cascaded down one slope like a length of glossy blue ribbon. Everything sparkled, as if someone had flung sugar into the air and let it settle over the land. A soft glow emanated from nowhere and everywhere, making each flower and blade of grass gleam like they were lit from within.

People used the word breathtaking all the time, but they didn’t really know what it meant. This. This was breathtaking.

“Is it always like this?” I asked, hearing the wonder in my voice. It was like a painting…or a dream.

Vander’s voice was soft behind me. “It’s always beautiful. You’ll get used to the magic in the air.”

“The sparkle?”

“Mm-hmm.” He stretched an arm around me and pointed at a patch of rosy pink sky over the mountaintops. “The sun is there. The magic is so thick, it diffuses the light.”

And made it possible for vampires to walk around during the day.

A thousand butterflies took up residence in my stomach. “How long will it take to reach my father?”

“The Drakhold is an hour’s ride north.”

I tensed. “Is that a castle?”

“It’s King Rasimir’s seat.”

The wildflowers around us shivered and dipped their blooms toward the ground.

As if he sensed my unease, Vander touched my shoulder. “You’ll be welcomed with honor, Corinthe.” Just as the warmth of his skin sank beneath my gown, he replaced his hand on the reins and nudged Maddox into a trot. Magic thrives in twilight, whispered a voice in my mind. The people of Derryton said it in hushed tones when they spoke of Nocta. The words had always been an abstract thing. Now they pulsed around me, every thump of Maddox’s hooves carrying me deeper into the twinkling, perpetual dusk.

Minutes later, Vander and I clattered onto a wide stone road lined with trees bursting with fat, colorful blossoms. A sweet, intoxicating scent perfumed the air, which continued to sparkle. The temperature was perfect, neither hot nor cold, and the hum of magic was like the low, pleasant strum of a harp. Before long, I relaxed against Vander with a smile tugging at my lips.

The thunder of approaching hooves made me bolt upright again. A man with a muscular, nude torso that blended into a horse’s body galloped toward us. He nodded but didn’t slow as he passed, his long hair streaming behind him.

“Centaur,” Vander said in my ear, his voice laced with amusement. “They look fierce, but they’re big softies.”

“Are there a lot of centaurs in Nocta?” I asked, twisting in the saddle to watch the centaur’s retreat. Before Vander could answer, a buzzing sound made me whip back around.

A group of winged creatures swept toward us, their bodies hovering off the ground.

“Pixies,” Vander said, and now he sounded like he’d eaten something bitter. “They’re not softies.”

The buzzing sound swelled as the pixies approached. Three women and two men, roughly the size of cats. Pointed ears peeked from their hair. Their features were beautiful but otherworldly, with sharp angles and skin that shimmered as brightly as the magic in the air. Arrows bristled from quivers strapped to their backs. Their eyes were cold, their expressions haughty.

One of the women inclined her head as she zipped past, the draft from her wings tugging at my hair. At first, it appeared the other pixies would ignore us. Then, one of the men doubled back, mischief in his eyes as he circled us like a hornet.

“See something you like?” he demanded, one dark eyebrow raised.

Maddox shied and tossed his head. Vander tightened his arm around my waist as he struggled to get the horse under control. “Shove off, pixie!” he growled.

The pixie flashed an insolent smile as he groped himself. “Shove this, bloodsucker.”

The woman who’d passed us dove out of nowhere and seized his arm. “Simpleton!” she hissed. “Do you want your head to end up on a pike?” She dragged him away in a flurry of wings. When she got a short distance down the road, she spun around and bobbed once in the air. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then turned and streaked out of sight.

Vander swore under his breath. “Pixies,” he said, as if that explained everything.

I might have laughed, but the female pixie’s statement gave me pause. “What did she mean about his head on a pike?”