Page 4 of Dhampira

“I should go,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. I took a step backward.

“Wait.” He put out a hand but quickly withdrew it. Something that might have been contrition moved through his eyes. “Showmanship is part of peddling. I sometimes forget that not everyone wants to be entertained. I’m not trying to trick you, Miss—”

“Don’t say Willdoo.”

He inclined his head. I braced myself for him to press for my real name. Instead, he spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. “I’m not going anywhere without a horse. I need your help. It’s only fair that I compensate you for it. My offer stands. Pick anything you want from the cart, and it’s yours.”

My offer stands. The same words Duncan had used in town. But Cyprio’s offer was a great deal more appealing. Against my will, my gaze was drawn back to the tiara. It was the last thing I needed. A frying pan was the smart choice. Mama would be delighted with cookware that bore King Hubert’s seal.

The tiara sparkled from its perch on the shelf. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and grasped the delicately curved metal.

Agony shot up my arm. Hissing, I leaped backward, clearing the road and landing at the edge of the forest in a crouch.

Cyprio gaped at me, his eyes wide with obvious shock. The tiara lay at his feet.

Silver. It had to be. Silver was the “bane of Nocta.” Every creature with magical blood knew to avoid it, since the merest brush caused nausea and weakness. Sustained exposure brought death. But the metal looked like gold.

My heart pounded in my ears.

“You…” Cyprio rasped, his face a mask of fear. “What are you?”

I didn’t think. I just ran.

2

Mama wasn’t in the cottage.

Her basket was missing from its spot next to the hearth, which meant she was gathering herbs in the forest.

I slumped against the closed door, my chest heaving from my sprint. Tears streamed down my face as I examined my injured hand. Blood dripped from three smoking wounds on the fleshy part of my fingertips. The edges of the gashes shivered as they drew together, only to spring apart again.

Bile burned my throat, and I jerked my hand back down. For a moment, I couldn’t move. Could only stand there and take shallow breaths as I struggled not to vomit. Regret churned in my gut, its edges as sharp as the pain in my fingertips.

Fool, I thought, letting my eyes slide shut. I was such a fool. For as long as I could remember, Mama had warned me to be careful. No lingering. No strangers. No surprises. Derryton was backward and boring, but it was safe. The tavern served beer in clay cups with copper lids. The townspeople dined on wooden trenchers. No one—not even the Bagleys—could afford real silver.

When I was a child, I’d begged Mama to take me to Sausberg. Just once, I’d wanted to see the big castle and the wooden sidewalks that allowed the nobles and wealthy merchants to walk above the dirt. I’d wanted to hear the rattle of a hundred carts and carriages bumping over the stone bridges that crisscrossed the Kingsway River. I’d wanted to smell the charred meat and cooked vegetables the street vendors stuffed in their pies and sold to the Sausbergians, who ate them right there on the sidewalk.

I’d wanted…something extraordinary, if only for a moment.

But it took only a moment for twenty-four years of secrecy and careful planning to unravel.

Swallowing a sob, I pushed away from the door and rushed to the narrow staircase that led to the loft. My fingers throbbed in sync with my heart as I raced up the treads and crossed the tiny space that served as my bedroom. Buttery yellow sunlight splashed over the quilt Mama and I had spent a whole winter making.

I grabbed an old shift from the laundry basket and wrapped it around my bleeding hand as I went to my chest of drawers. I couldn’t take much with me. Just a change of clothes, a hairbrush, and a little bit of food. Pain shot up my injured arm as I yanked stockings from the top drawer. Whirling, I looked around for something to use as luggage. I’d never needed any. I’d never set foot outside Derryton.

But I couldn’t stay. Cyprio had seen me jump farther than any human could jump. The fear in his eyes had been unmistakable. As long as I remained in Derryton, Mama was in danger. Although my leaving might not erase the threat. She’d hidden me for twenty-four years. Once the village learned what I was, they wouldn’t let her live in peace.

They wouldn’t let her live at all.

The sob I’d swallowed escaped. What were we supposed to do? Where could we go? Not to Sausberg. Certainly not across the Feyline. We didn’t have horses or money. We didn’t—

I sucked in a breath. Slowly, I turned toward the chest of drawers. Mama and I didn’t have money. But Mama had something special. Something that was probably worth a fortune.

Heart pumping, I went to the chest and knelt. Blood seeped through the shift as I removed the bottom drawer and set it aside. There was nothing remarkable about the floorboards underneath the chest—except for one with a tiny chip along the edge. I slid my fingernail into the groove and pulled, lifting the board away. The boards around it went more easily, and soon I’d exposed a secret compartment. Within it, black gemstones glittered, their centers burning with tiny red flames.

With a reverent hand, I pulled the gown from its hiding place. Material softer than silk brushed my skin. The gown was blacker than night and more beautiful than anything Horace Alderson had ever brought from Sausberg. Dozens of black gemstones with bloodred hearts swept down the bodice and scattered over the voluminous skirt. The sleeves were sheer and slashed to show the wearer’s skin. The back plunged indecently low. It was a gown designed to captivate. To seduce. The red centers of the black stones seemed to flicker and swell, each pulse like the breath of a living creature.

My mother claimed she remembered little of her time in Nocta. She’d been raised in a village that bordered the Feyline, and one day she wandered too close to the edge. The way she told it, she woke a year later on the edge of her village with the gown’s inky skirts spread around her and no memory of how she’d come to wear such an unusual garment. Fearing condemnation, she’d buried the dress, returned home, and resumed her life.