Page 36 of Dhampira

Grabbing at my skirts, I grimaced as mud squished around my ankles. A man’s muffled cursing drifted in the air. Heart pounding, I stopped in the middle of the road.

“Have you thought about my offer?” Duncan Bagley’s voice came from directly behind me.

I whirled around. He stood in the mud, frowning, his blue eyes troubled. The cursing hadn’t come from him. The voice was all wrong.

Duncan’s frown deepened. “Your birthday is coming up, Corinthe. Ma says if you don’t wed now, you’ll end up an old maid.”

The cursing grew louder, and I turned again, searching for the source.

Silence.

When I moved to face Duncan once more, he was gone.

“Duncan?” I called.

The cursing rose again, louder than before. I whipped back around.

Birdsong rose above the cursing, the trilling sound sharp and insistent. The cursing continued, the words just a bit too low to make out.

I had to go back. I’d explain my lateness. Find some excuse that would satisfy Mama.

The birdsong climbed higher, the musical notes turning shrill.

Heart racing, I spun toward the village.

A peddler’s cart blocked my path. Trinkets and goods glittered in the sunlight, pots and pans shimmering alongside jewelry set with precious stones. My heart pounded harder, a sense of wrongness sliding down my spine.

Cyprio Kormaz strolled around the end of the cart with a tiara in his hands. He stopped abruptly, his thick, dark eyebrows furrowing as he locked gazes with me.

“You don’t belong here.” He looked me up and down, his expression turning shrewd. “But you’ll fetch a pretty price.”

I whirled and ran. Mud sucked at my shoes as I raced around the bend. I couldn’t let him catch me. But where could I go? Mama would be so worried.

Mama.

Chest heaving, I veered off the road and plunged into the forest. My toe struck a tree root, and I stumbled forward—and into a circular stone chamber. I staggered to a halt, my panting breaths echoing around the stark space. Blue flames danced atop torches set in rings on the walls. The floor was carved with intricate symbols, the grooves so deep and precise they must have taken great skill to chisel. Footsteps echoed, and my mother swept through a tall, open doorway.

Shock rooted me in place, my tongue sticking to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth. My mother’s blond hair was loose, and her long, shapeless robe was the same shade as the walls. Her gaze straight ahead, she passed me as if she didn’t see me. The blue torchlights flickered as she approached a small dais that hadn’t been there a moment before. For some reason, its abrupt appearance didn’t seem important.

A woman sat on a throne-like chair in the center of the platform, her face obscured by a black veil. My mother knelt at the foot of the dais and bowed her head.

“Are you prepared to serve?” the woman asked, her deep voice rippling around the chamber.

My mother kept her eyes downcast. “Always, Mother.”

I jerked my gaze to the veiled woman. Mother?

The woman turned her head and looked directly at me, her gray eyes gleaming through her veil. “Are you a tool or a blade?”

I shot upright in bed, my heart hammering and a scream in my throat. The dream—or was it a vision?—melted away, revealing my opulent bedchamber in the Drakhold. The balcony doors were still propped open like I’d left them when I returned from the hunt. Evening reigned, with the first twinkling stars appearing in the sky. Pressing a hand to my midsection, I swung my legs off the bed and sat with my chemise sticking to my sweaty back.

Had I been dreaming? The images felt too real, too vivid. My mother’s face, the veiled woman’s piercing eyes. And the way she’d looked at me like she saw straight through me. But I’d never seen her before. I was sure of it. I would have remembered someone like her. Visions weren’t one of my gifts. At least, Mama never mentioned it. Then again, Mama hadn’t exactly been forthright about my Noctan heritage.

Bitterness welled, but I pushed it down. I had bigger problems to worry about than my mother’s dissembling. Problems like my upcoming wedding.

After the hunt, I’d returned to the fortress to find Delphine missing. But someone had left a beautiful evening gown on my bed and a pitcher of hot water next to the washstand. The unspoken instructions were clear: Wash and prepare for the betrothal celebration.

Except Delphine never appeared—and neither did anyone else. The day had worn on, the muted sun rising above the trees outside my windows. Lunchtime came and went, and hunger gnawed at my gut. Pacing my chamber, I’d debated stepping into the corridor to search for Delphine. If I was truly Rasimir’s heir, shouldn’t I be permitted to roam the fortress whenever I pleased? Was I a princess or a prisoner? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.