Page 8 of Dhampira

She was right. The gown was a threat to the stability she’d given everything to build.

Wordlessly, I handed it over.

“I’ll find a safe place for the stones,” she said. At my nod, she went to the stairs, her back as slender and straight as a girl’s.

“Mama,” I said suddenly.

She turned, the gown’s voluminous black skirt concealing the plain linen dress she wore when she gathered herbs.

It took me a minute to find the right words, and even then, they emerged low and awkward. “I didn’t mean— I shouldn’t have asked you to relive painful memories. I’m sorry I brought up the past.”

“I’m not.” Her shoulders rose and fell once in a sigh. “I told myself it was better if you didn’t know. But I raised you to think for yourself. The truth is important, my love, even when it hurts. We ignore pain at our peril. Deny it long enough, and it can spread and kill you.”

I nodded.

“I found thistleweed in the forest. I can season the venison with it. We’ll have an early dinner.”

“That sounds good,” I said.

She left. Several moments later, the snip of her sewing scissors drifted up the stairs.

Long after dinner, I was no closer to sleep than I’d been when I changed into my nightgown and kissed Mama good night.

I lay on my back in bed, my gaze on the beamed ceiling and my head spinning with the day’s revelations.

I never asked my father’s name.

After the sound of Mama’s scissors ceased, the cottage’s back door had opened and closed. Then the scent of smoke had teased the air. Neither of us had said anything about the gown as we sat before the hearth with the venison between us.

We said nothing about my father, either. I told her of meeting Duncan in town. She suggested that I tell him he should marry Tess, and we laughed over sweet cakes while Mama separated her herbs.

But my questions remained—and now they burned hotter. Like the red hearts in the centers of the dragonstones, they were impossible to ignore.

Had my father ever laughed? Was he capable of kindness? I couldn’t ask my mother, who had fled the cliff’s edge before it could topple her into the sea. No one is good or bad. But Cyprio was human. He knew nothing of vampires. Possibly, I knew even less.

The blood I’d taken from Mama still coursed through my veins, heightening my senses and lending me strength. I’d been careful not to hold my cutlery too tightly at dinner lest I snap it in half. Outside, the leaves stirred as a breeze played through the trees’ branches. Moonlight glowed around the window’s frame and between the shutters, which I’d latched against the night. Downstairs, my mother’s breaths were deep and even.

I flung back the blankets and stood. For a moment, indecision ruled me. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I grabbed my robe from the end of the bed, thrust my arms into the sleeves, and padded down the stairs. My mother was a light sleeper, but I was even lighter on my feet. Flushed with blood, I moved in and out of the shadows, my night vision as clear as it was during the day.

The door posed a challenge, but I took my time, and I slipped into the moonlit night with a sigh of relief. A mix of fear and expectation replaced it as I crossed the grass in bare feet, my gaze on the burn pit with its ring of river stones. Steps away from it, I stumbled to a halt.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The gown lay in the center of the pit, the fabric whole and unburnt. The long, lush skirt gleamed in the moonlight as if someone had spread it out like a bride’s trousseau. But that was impossible. I’d seen the smoke rising from the ashes through the kitchen window as I mixed the batter for the sweet cakes.

Dew clung to my ankles as I moved forward, my heart kicking against my ribs. Dozens of tiny holes dotted the gown—further proof my mother had followed through on her decision. She’d removed the dragonstones and burned the dress.

And somehow, it had remade itself.

The gown shivered. Slowly, dots of red swelled and filled the holes. Black formed around the edges and solidified. Between one heartbeat and the next, new dragonstones glittered under the moon.

A whisper of sound brought my head up sharply. Cyprio Kormaz stood on the edge of the forest a dozen feet away, King Hubert’s livery replaced with dull brown clothing that allowed him to blend in with the trees.

He glanced at the gown and smiled, displaying the gap between his front teeth. “I guess it was a new dress you wanted after all.”

I turned and ran toward the cottage. Something hard struck me in the shoulder. Pain exploded across my back, and I stumbled. I twisted as I fell, hoping to land on my back so I could keep him in my line of sight. But he was faster than he looked. As my shoulders hit the ground, he tossed something at me. Silver flashed, and a chain landed across my stomach.