Chapter 8
T he village had seen rain. Derryton’s roads always turned into mudslides during the spring.
My nape prickled, and a little voice urged me to turn back as I neared the bend in the road. But the sun already loomed over the trees. I was late.
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.
So I didn’t open the door. Hours crawled by, and as shadows lengthened outside my windows, Alon’s face had floated in my mind, leaves tumbling through his glassy eyes as he stared at the trees above us.
Suddenly the elegant riding habit had felt like a prison.
I’d struggled with the buttons, my shoulders aching as I twisted and stretched before finally going to the vanity and craning my head over my shoulder to find them in the mirror.
Freed of the habit at last, I’d curled up on the bed and let the tears come.
The balcony doors rattled, jerking me from my thoughts. A breeze swept into the chamber, swinging the doors wider. Rising, I went to the balcony and pulled them shut. For a moment, I stood with my hands on the latches, my gaze unfocused as the odd dream replayed in my mind.
Are you a tool or a blade?
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the morning’s hasty croissants. I was just tired and hungry. Guilt rose, and I swallowed against a suddenly thick throat. Exhaustion and hunger were privileges of the living. Alon would never feel either again.
Sweat cooled on my skin. Delphine’s elegant braid had unraveled, and now a thick black loop dangled over my shoulder. I fingered the curved lock of hair, other visions forming in my head. A pair of black eyes and a blood-stained mouth. Dark lashes and a bored expression.
My heart sped up, Rasimir’s declaration ringing in my ears. Under no circumstances was I marrying Prince Lorcan. If I did, I’d be trapped in Nocta. I had three months to figure out how to get across the Feyline and find my mother. But how? I had no allies in Rasimir’s court. Not anymore.
Vander’s silver eyes replaced Lorcan’s in my mind.
I can give you my word as a knight that I’ll protect you from harm. But I don’t expect you to believe me.
If only I’d listened. I’d probably never get another chance to speak to him alone—to ask why he’d put on such a convincing act when it would have been easier to simply knock me out and dump me at Rasimir’s feet.
But other questions lingered, too. Why did he help me before the hunt?
Why did Lorcan speak in my mind, warning me not to show compassion?
He and Vander had seemed to work together before the hunt, as if they’d coordinated ahead of time.
Was that what they’d spoken about in front of the maze?
A knock on the door made me jump.
“Princess?” a gruff male voice said. “The king requests your presence at the feast.”
I stood and faced the door. Request was undoubtedly a euphemism. Rasimir had sent his guards to bring me to the feast. I didn’t have to wonder how he’d react if I refused.
“The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” the man added.
Anger flared, along with a surge of fear. “I’ll just be a minute,” I called. Snatching the gown from the bed, I moved to the screen near the washstand and tossed the dress over the top of the wooden panels.
My hands shook as I poured water into the basin.
I washed quickly, then ducked behind the screen with water still drying on my skin.
Thank the gods, the gown had laces instead of the riding habit’s line of miniature buttons.
Maybe Delphine had chosen it for that reason.
Maybe she’d known she wouldn’t be around to attend me.
Yet another mystery on top of the others I’d encountered since I’d entered Nocta.
I pushed the lady-in-waiting from my mind as I went to the mirror and unbraided my hair.
With the guards at the door, even a simple style would take too long.
But the braids had left it wavy, so I brushed it and tucked it behind my ears.
My reflection in the mirror was pale, my eyes wide with worry.
What would Mama do in my situation? The answer came immediately.
Nothing . She’d do nothing, because she never would have ended up in my situation. Forget sneaking out to find the dragonstone gown. She never would have spoken to Cyprio in the first place. Never touched the tiara.
Another knock rang out. “Princess?” the man outside prompted.
Nerves knotted my stomach as I went to the door. When I opened it, two guards filled the doorway, their jackets identical to the one Vander wore to the hunt.
“Take me to your captain,” I blurted.
The guards looked at each other.