Page 16 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“I imagine that you’re using psychal magic without realizing it,” he said. “As if your targets have forgotten to close the door to their innermost thoughts, and you’ve peered in.”

“It’s rare, though, and never intentional.” I swallowed, unsure if I’d said the right thing.

“I promise I’m not trying to interrogate you, it’s perfectly natural,” he said.

“It is?” I asked.

He nodded. “Many vampires can do the same, even if they’re unpracticed. It’s an instinct inherited from our ancestors. I assume it’s the same for witches.”

“I didn’t know that vampires had magic.”

“It’s a different kind, although I would defer to an expert to explain the differences to you,” he said as if sensing my next question.

He flashed a grin, the tips of his fangs visible in the moonlight. “I have a confession,” he continued. “I do not think that we crossed paths in the early hours of this morning purely by chance.”

My brow furrowed. He’d said something to that effect in Dr. Murrows’s study. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Your Majesty.”

“An idea came to me recently,” he continued. “Did you know that it used to be commonplace for a witch to sit on the royal council?”

I shook my head.

“There are so few of you left that the tradition was lost nearly a thousand years ago,” he explained.

“How, er, fascinating, Your Majesty,” I said.

He smiled softly. “I’ve heard stories about the mages who sat on my distant grandfather Fane’s council over one thousand years ago. Zaneth the Wise, for example. He held his seat for over three hundred years.”

I balked. “Three hundred? How can that be?”

The King chuckled. “King Fane himself ruled for over seven centuries, you know.”

My palms went clammy. “But King Fane was a vampire,” I whispered. “And I’m only six and twenty.”

“I believe eight hundred years is a normal lifespan for your kind.”

His words lanced through me like a blade. How could it be?

“As I was saying,” King Mordric continued, “Zaneth was instrumental in brokering peace between Valen and the Kingdom of Borges during the borderland skirmishes of the year 560.”

His voice faded into a distant buzzing in my ears. Eight hundred years. Would I age as slowly as a vampire? Only earning the first of my wrinkles after five hundred years? I brushed my fingertips over the smooth skin at the corners of my eyes. By that time, everyone I knew would be long gone.

Except for the vampires.

I glanced up at the King, who appeared blissfully unaware that he’d lost my attention. I forced myself to focus on his words, shoving my shock deep down.

“The way my father told the story, Zaneth was able to use his power to see into the mind of the Borgian king without even leaving Valnar. You see, Borgian crops had failed across their kingdom earlier that year, and the only fertile soil within their reaches was in disputed borderlands. And so, as often happens in times of panic, violence ensued. Their king, of course, refused to ask for aid outright. However, once Zaneth was able to unearth the information hidden in the man’s mind, he devised a plan to appease the Borgians without forfeiting any of our lands. As such, it was through cunning, rather than force, that he was able to bring an end to the bloodshed.”

“I never thought that magic could be useful in that way,” I said.

His gaze dropped to meet mine. “Because you haven’t been given the chance.”

I stilled, locked in his obsidian stare. “I suppose,” I said, my words a whisper.

He leaned toward me, causing my breath to catch in my chest. “Finn, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’d like to reinstate the tradition.”

“Your Majesty?”

“I’d like to hire you.”