Page 87 of Dhampira

My pulse picked up. “Is that what happened to my mother?”

Vander shook his head. “That explanation makes sense until you remember you’re speaking of Lilawen Trevil. She was”—his brow furrowed as he seemed to search for the right words—“a force. She joined the Crau Setra at six years old. There wasn’t a witch in Nocta who could challenge her. Anyone who ripped away her root power would have crowed about it.” He shook his head again. “No. I knew your mother, and I can’t believe anyone is capable of besting her in a duel.”

To an outsider, he might have seemed overconfident. But I knew my mother, too. “What was her root power?” I asked. And why didn’t she tell me what she was? How could she have kept something like that from me?

“She was Crau Setra,” Lorcan said. “The assassins go through elaborate rituals to cloak their gifts.”

And she’d started her training at six years old. Her blood ran through my veins. Surely, I’d inherited something.

I looked at the rock in the grass. Picturing a dancing torch, I envisioned the fire flowing from my head in a sizzling river before splashing over the rock. “Lar—” An invisible hand wrapped around my neck and squeezed, swiftly cutting off my air. Choking, I doubled over while pressure built behind my eyes. When the strangling sensation finally abated, I straightened, my eyes watering as I sucked in air.

Vander hovered, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but was unsure what kind of reception he’d receive.

“The rebound will get worse each time,” Lorcan said.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I asked, massaging my throat.

“Anticipation is the bane of soldiers in training.”

My fingers itched to slap the nonchalance off his face. “Can you stop making everything a surprise?”

“Very well.” Lorcan nodded toward the rock. “The next time you fail to earn laro, you’re likely to pass out.”

“That’s enough,” Vander said, moving to my side. “We’ll work on something else.”

Lorcan made a negative sound. “Rasimir expects her to return to the Drakhold with at least one vor under her belt.”

Vander took my arm. “She can’t learn if she’s unconscious.” He guided me to the stone path at the edge of the grass. “If the vor scapa is beyond you right now, we’ll start with something different. We already know you can see magic. You should be able to sense it, too. That gives you an advantage over Rasimir.” He swept a hand toward the statue and the soaring wall of arches behind it. “I’ve hidden chunks of feygeld in several places inside the Everless. See if you can find it.”

“Is feygeld the white rock you use to make wards?”

Nodding, he dug a piece from his pocket. “It’s common in Nocta.” Vander turned the stone in his hand, letting the sunlight play over the sparkling surface. “You can find pockets of it in Ghedda if you know where to look. It’s nothing special on its own, but it amplifies and anchors magic. Powerful witches won’t be caught dead using feygeld to enhance their wards. It’s a shameful practice among the covens.” Vander looked up, a playful smile on his lips. “Fortunately, I’m shameless.”

My stomach fluttered. Muted sunlight shone on his face, highlighting the sprinkle of golden freckles I’d first noticed in the Wendlewood. His lashes were tipped with the same color, making them appear to sparkle as brightly as the feygeld. I’d never noticed before. Then again, the other times I’d stood toe to toe with Vander, shadow had cloaked us. Like when I landed on top of him after the first werewolf attack. Or when we kissed in his study.

Or when he thrust his hand under my gown last night and ordered me to soak him to the wrist.

I took a swift step backward and swung my gaze over the ruins. “So, um, you want me to find magic?” My heart raced, warmth spreading through me. I had to speak to Vander alone. To clear the air between us. At the very least, I needed to learn the nature of his relationship with Lorcan. Otherwise, things between the three of us would quickly become intolerable.

“A scavenger hunt,” Lorcan said, stalking over the grass like a shadow. He stopped, his tone as frosty as the stare he leveled at Vander. “Is there a prize at the end?”

All right, so they were already intolerable.

Vander’s smile vanished. “Do you think you could stop being an arrogant ass for five minutes?”

“You’re confusing arrogance for competence.” Lorcan glanced at me. “We already know she can see magic. She might as well shout it from the top of the Drakhold she’s so obvious about it.”

Anger flared in my chest. “I didn’t know I was supposed to keep it a secret.”

Lorcan ignored me, instead pinning Vander with a hard stare. “You’re wasting time we don’t have. The stakes couldn’t be any higher.”

Vander’s eyes flashed. “I’m aware of the stakes, thank you.”

“Are you?” Lorcan challenged. “Because I’m not sure anymore. Our task is already impossible.” He stepped closer, cold fury rolling off him in waves. “You seem to have forgotten, so allow me to state it plainly: Rasimir wants her witch magic unlocked so she can duel for power and pass it on to him permanently. If she can drink creatures to death and steal their gifts without going mad, even better. Either way, he’ll use her. If she doesn’t learn, he’ll force her to produce heirs capable of doing what she can’t. And if that fails, he’ll kill her.”

My throat tightened, and not from my failures with the vor scapa.

Vander scowled at Lorcan. “You’re frightening her unnecessarily.”