Page 66 of Dhampira

“He retains the gifts he steals,” Lorcan said with a grimace. “Not permanently, but longer than any other vampire I’ve met. I’ve seen him wield a gift for decades before the magic fades. When he began to rise to power, he targeted witches with rare magic.” Lorcan huffed. “He was strategic about it, I’ll give him that. He knew which gifts he needed to defeat whatever enemy he faced at any given time. One by one, every group that challenged him fell.”

Vander looked at me. “But there’s a price for stealing magic.”

“Madness,” I said, suppressing a shiver at the memory of the gills flexing in my neck.

Lorcan offered a grim nod. “It doesn’t happen the first time. Or the second, or even the tenth. But every time a vampire drains a creature to claim their magic, they risk insanity. We drink at our peril, and the deeper we drink, the greater the danger. It’s exceedingly difficult to fight the spiral. Doing so rips away our sense of right and wrong. It muddles our minds, filling our heads with memories from lives we haven’t led. Accumulating power makes us want more of it. Eventually, we become insatiable, our thirst never satisfied. Our ancestors knew this, but Rasimir dismissed their ancient wisdom. He believed his ability to hold on to magic meant that he was born to rule, so he set about collecting gifts. The more powerful the witch, the more he coveted their magic.”

“That’s why he drank your mother,” Vander said.

I startled. “My mother doesn’t have any magic.”

Lorcan gave a short, humorless laugh. “Your mother is one of the most powerful witches to walk this plane.”

For a moment, I could only stare, denials mounting in my head. Finally, they forced their way out of my mouth. “My mother is human. She’s a healer.”

Lorcan’s stare didn’t waver. “Lilawen is an exceptionally skilled liar. It’s one of her gifts.”

Anger was a sudden brush fire in my chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Easy,” Vander said, putting a hand on mine. “Lorcan speaks the truth.” An edge entered Vander’s voice as he shot Lorcan a disgruntled look. “He could be more diplomatic about it, but it’s true.”

Lorcan glanced at Vander’s hand on mine. “Diplomacy is generally best suited for preventing wars, Captain. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of one.”

Vander ignored him. “Lilawen wasn’t honest with you about her past, Corinthe. Your mother isn’t human. She’s a witch. And not just any witch. She apprenticed with the Crau Setra as a child. They’re a secretive order. Always female and always exceptionally gifted. Their Devout Mother is the most powerful witch in Nocta.”

Mother.

In my head, Mama crossed a shadowy temple and knelt at the foot of a throne. A veiled woman looked down at her before turning to me.

Are you a tool or a blade?

A flash of black pulled me from the memory of my dream. Lorcan moved closer, the dragonstone pommel flaring red under the fold of his cloak.

“The Crau Setra are famous witch assassins,” he said. “A sisterhood of killers. They train their acolytes to seduce. The current Devout Mother is called Marrigan. She sent the witch with poisoned blood you saw last night. And twenty-five years ago, she sent Lilawen to the Drakhold with orders to charm Rasimir and then kill him.”

Despite the garden’s warmth, a chill crept through me. Could it be true? Vander had served Rasimir for two centuries. I looked at him. “Did you meet her? My mother?”

“Yes.” He withdrew his hand, and he and Lorcan exchanged a look. “We both did.”

A knot of nerves, hope, and curiosity formed in my throat. “What was she like? She always spoke of my father as someone to fear.” Heat touched my cheeks. “Did she…charm him?”

Vander nodded, sunlight gilding his bright hair. “I believe she loved him. And I believe he felt the same. They were happy for a time.” He hesitated. “I thought maybe…”

“What?” I prompted, every part of me straining for more. For a happy ending, even though I knew it wouldn’t come.

Lorcan sighed, but the sound seemed more resigned than impatient. “If anyone could have saved Rasimir from himself, it was Lilawen. He was different with her. Softer. For a time, he stopped killing. And then Lilawen warded the Drakhold and fled.”

“She created a magical fence,” Vander said. “Lilawen had many gifts, but warding was one of her strongest. When she wanted to keep someone out—or in—no one could stop her. One night, she locked down the entire fortress. Her ward held for two weeks. When it finally fell, she was safe in Ghedda. But Rasimir already knew why she left.”

“He’d tortured the servants,” Lorcan said quietly. “Two confessed that Lilawen had missed her monthly bleeds. She was pregnant.”

With me. It was too much. If Lorcan and Vander told the truth, my entire life was a lie. Still, things didn’t quite add up.

“My mother has no magic,” I insisted. “I lived alone with her in a tiny cottage for twenty-four years. She couldn’t have hidden something like that from me.”

The men exchanged a look. “We’ve wondered about that,” Lorcan said. “It should have been impossible for Lilawen to hide. Witches can sense other witches. The most powerful among them can see magic, especially when they hear the vor scapa.”

The words jangled loose a memory. “You said that in the dungeon. Vor—” My throat closed, a ring of fire circling my neck. Coughing, I pressed my hand to my throat.