Page 47 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“The summer solstice will be here before long,” he said in a low voice. “Are you prepared to do whatever it takes, or not?”

I didn’t say another word, stalking back to the castle alone.

With Enhart’s warning ringing in my ears, I spent the following afternoon searching for someone to practice on. I still hadn’t warmed to the idea, but we’d spent so much time on psychal already, and the solstice grew closer with each passing day. Enhart was right, godsdamn him.

I wandered aimlessly through the corridors. Most of the castle’s inhabitants were asleep at this hour, and I was prepared to abandon my efforts when I spied a tow-headed valet leaning against the wall by the servants’ stairs. His name was Peter, if I recalled correctly. He worked the evening shift, so we had rarely interacted when I was a chambermaid.

He was alone, his nose buried in the well-worn book in his hands. Casting a quick glance down the corridor to ensure the coast was clear, I spied on him from behind a bushy fern.

His eyes widened as they raced across the text in his hands. I exhaled slowly, reaching out with my will like Enhart had instructed. Peter’s emotions reached me first, his nerves skittering over my skin. I pushed past them, coming up against something pillowy instead of an icy wall. It was inviting, almost. As if happy to let me in.

Captain Vindergard threw the frail maiden over his muscled shoulder, her copper hair falling over her face as she squealed with fear … or was it pleasure? Her round ass high in the air, he marched into his quarters as the drunken cheers from his crew rose around them. He planned to make her forget all about the husband she’d left behind when her ship took to the sea. He tossed her roughly onto his canopied bed, grinning as she sank into the pillows, her sea-green eyes wide. With one hand, he untied his laces to release his bulging—

I clapped a hand over my mouth to thwart the furious giggle that threatened to escape. Steeling myself, I dove back into his mind, pushing past the pirate’s titillating escapades and into his memories. An array of moving images appeared in rapid succession—skipping stones on a green pond where the air was warm and thick with the scent of wild sage. The prickle of lute strings against uncalloused fingers as an off-key note hung in the air. The slamming of a door as a woman, perhaps his lover, was swept into the arms of another.

Perhaps that explained why he was reading the adventures of Captain Vindergard? I marveled at the series of memories that seemed almost endless. I wondered if it was possible to get lost in someone’s mind, doomed to replay their memories over and over. The thought weakened my hold on him, and the adventures of Captain Vindergard rang in my ears again.

The captain let out a groan as Cassandra’s tongue ran down his—

“Finn?”

I was pulled roughly out of Peter’s mind, my heart pounding as if I had just sprinted from here to the cellars. My eyelids fluttered as remnants of the man’s memories seeped out of my sight. Niamh stood beside me, her eyes wide.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, you just startled me,” I said, straightening.

Her eyes flicked down the corridor. “Why were you spying on Peter?”

I retreated down the hall so as not to be overheard, Niamh trailing after me. “I wasn’t. I was just practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

“Prince Enhart is making me practice projecting my psychal magic. It’s like taking a look into someone’s mind.”

“That seems incredibly violating,” she said flatly.

I faltered. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise. Besides, I have to practice if I want to make it onto the council by the summer solstice.”

“I can’t believe you would do something like that.”

“Trust me, if you knew what he was reading you might actually find it kind of funny.”

She didn’t laugh. “Let me guess, you picked him because he’s a servant?”

My palms grew clammy. “No,” I insisted.

Her voice became icy. “You think you’re better than us.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” I protested.

“I know how their kind thinks,” she said. “How they treat the staff. You’re becoming one of them.”

I stiffened. “You don’t know how they think,” I countered. “How could you?”

The moment that the words left my lips, I regretted them. Niamh seethed, her face pinching into a scowl. I paused. She had always been so even-tempered. Now, though, the bitter tang of envy oozed from her pores. Images danced behind my eyes. Niamh sitting alone in my chambers on the night of the Winter Solstice, the whispers from the other maids about my burgeoning relationship with the King ringing in her ears. She promised she’d always be one of us, she said to Maxence, her eyes red.

“I am still one of you,” I said aloud.