Grinning to herself, she shut her bedroom door and stripped the old sheet and coverlet off the cot. She wasn’t too sure of the proper way to make a bed, since her servants had always fixed hers while she was downstairs at breakfast. She tried her best. In the end, she did away with both fitted sheets, laying the clean coverlet over the mattress and cocooning herself in Merle’s thicker and softer one.
She tucked her knees to her chest at the edge of the mattress and scooted back until she hit the pair of pillows, hard as rocks. There, she curled up. Her body was tired, but her mind raced as she considered the journey ahead. Twenty-four hours ago, she didn’t know how she’d face the entire kingdom at her coronation ceremony. She might have lost against the stupid bedsheets, but her enchanted forest survival skills surely surpassed that.
A soft sputtering alerted her that the fire left over from Merle’s recent stay had begun to die out. The charred firewood had imploded onto itself in tiny piles of ember and ash. She shivered as she stared into the fireplace, knowing the feeling of warm comfort would soon disappear with morning. Lilac imagined embodying the flames—becoming untameable, feral light. Chasing the darkness away, she could become something even the most sinister shadows feared.
Isn’t that what everyone in the kingdom wanted? A queen strong enough to fend off the dark?
Lilac exhaled sharply in attempt to dislodge the anxiety. She considered the barkeep downstairs. The only person she could trust was herself, she learned that when the entire kingdom, including her own parents, had all but shunned her after that night. After discovering something of hers she couldn’t help, especially as a mere child. She’d been alienated by the very people who were supposed to protect her. Make her feel at home. Overnight, her sanctuary had turned into a cage, and it took a witch’s bribery to give her the courage—or recklessness—to leave, she thought bitterly, fury building in her chest.
No. No, no, no.
But despite what her conscious insisted, something in her bones urged her onward. She was on a mission, but perhaps Garin would tell her a faster route to Paimpont. Plus, had she spent the night holed up in her chamber, she’d only consume herself in rumination anyway.
Hadn’t she had enough of that?
Something in the darkest part of her soul pulled at her, begged her to let go. To experience what it would be to feel truly human.
A quick drink wouldn’t hurt.
4
The pub downstairs still teemed with creatures when Lilac entered. She had opted for a plain green Flemish dress that barely covered her cleavage and fell to her ankles. It had absolutely nothing to do with meeting the barkeep; when she packed it back in her room, she’d forgotten how low the front sat. Though she hadn’t anticipated it, a tavern seemed the most appropriate place to wear it.
It was a few hours past midnight and probably closer to dawn, but no one seemed to notice or care. The crowd of creatures flocked around the korrigan bards near the hearth. One of them sang and swayed to a folk song while the others had replaced their prior instruments for the pipes and a golden harp, which towered over the one playing it. Their haunting variation floated throughout the room and sent chills down her arms.
Garin was nowhere to be seen, and she felt a disgustingly strong pang of hurt. Maybe he’d left. Maybe his invitation wasn’t serious to begin with. That was a rite of passage to womanhood, was it not? Now that she was technically just a commoner, why did she think it’d be any different? He’d stood her up. That was that.
Two newcomers—a couple—canoodled at the bar, where a middle-aged witch had taken up the duty of drying the glasses.
“Good evening, child.” The new barkeep spoke with a wink, hazel cat eyes aglow under a fierce mane of curls. “My name is Lorietta. I’ll be serving you this evening. Now, what will it be?”
“Good evening,” Lilac replied, taken aback by the woman’s unexpected kindness. Fishing into her coin purse for a couple of gros, she chewed on her lip. “Mmm… I’ll have a glass of Bordeaux.”
The witch gave a booming chuckle. “They don’t take too well to your kind here, but a human sense of humor is always refreshing.” She placed her bare elbows unreservedly onto the bar top, a gesture that would have made her mother faint. “Really, dear. What’ll it be?”
Lilac tucked her hair behind her ears, grinning as if she had been joking. She kicked herself inwardly. Why would they serve regional wines here in the woods? How would they possibly gain access to that? Then again, someone had bewitched the bath tubs upstairs.
Next to her, the couple had engaged in a passionate kiss.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, noting the glass of deep red hooked in the man’s fingers.
With his back to Lilac, his opposite hand crept up and tangled into the brunette’s hair. The pair had no reservation, whatsoever. The woman mewed softly, eyes closed, as he planted kisses down the back of her ear.
“Whatever… he’s having,” Lilac repeated, blushing and averting her gaze.
“Are you certain?”
“Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all,” Lorietta replied a little too innocently. “I just don’t think you want what he’s having.”
The moment Lilac looked back over to her right, she regretted it. The man was locked onto the woman’s neck like a leech. The shoulder of her white smock absorbed a small rivulet of burgundy in a slowly expanding splotch.
“Casmir,” Lorietta called under her breath. “Take your business to your room, or leave. You’re upsetting my customers.”
The vampire stopped and turned, noticing Lilac for the first time. The expression she wore must have been a sight, because he snickered and threw Lorietta a sheepish smile. His eyes were glazed over and red as the blood that smeared his mouth. He leaned toward the brunette and uttered something into her ear. She nodded and left up the stairs without a word.
Lilac blinked. She’d clearly seen Casmir drinking from the girl—yet, her throat bore no wounds resembling his bite. Only the single smear of crimson. Mildly alarmed, Lilac inhaled sharply and nearly snapped her own neck glancing around.
Should she call for help?
And, if so, whom?
In a single swig the vampire finished his glass, slid Lorietta a heaping pile of gold medallions across the bar top, and slinked after the woman.
“ I’ll take anything, please,” Lilac said shakily, suddenly unable to take her eyes off the staircase. “Something strong. I—it’s a bit drafty in here, isn’t it?”
Lorietta nodded and disappeared into the back room for a moment before returning with a steaming mug of brown liquid.
Lilac cupped the mug with her palms. The aroma was strong, surprisingly floral for its unappealing hue—then, without warning, the scent morphed into something sickly sweet. She pulled away, hoping to mask her grimace with a quick smile. “Thank you. What is this?”
“It’s an herbal blend mixed with a little liquor.” Lorietta winked. “Not exactly a lady’s drink, but it should fix you in no time.”
Lilac made a face with the first sip. Appreciating the sudden warmth that spread throughout her chest, she took another. Something in the tea tasted oddly familiar.
“Rose hip?” Lilac asked, thinking of the tea Hedwig would serve after breakfast. She smacked her lips together, trying to place the herbal notes.
The witch’s eyebrows rose. “It’s made from the berry off the Hawthorne tree. Same plant family as the rose, though. Impressive palate.”
“It’s delicious, thank you.” She cleared her throat as her father always had when hoping to derail the discussion of something he did not wish to discuss. Garden roses were usually a shrub of the upper class; she’d have to be more careful.
“So, was he drinking blood? I mean, out of the glass?” Lilac asked quietly after the steam of the brew helped clear her thoughts.
“Indeed. Have a seat and stay a while, will you? You’re making me nervous, standing there.” Lorietta motioned to t
he stools beside her.
Lilac climbed onto one and scooted it closer. “How do you manage to serve that here? And whose is it?”
Lorietta gave her a grim smile. “I have it bottled down here,” she said, tapping the underside of the counter. “We keep it on ice. We only bring it out to serve late in the evenings, since we don’t have many customers requesting blood until sometime past midnight.”
Eyes widening, Lilac couldn’t conceal the small gasp that escaped her lips.
“New to Brocéliande, I presume?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Passing through.”
“We still have a few of our regular, more traditional blood donors,” she said, nodding to the staircase.
Lilac frowned, then rose her brows to make her concern appear more casual. “Oh. What about Henri’s Law?”
Lorietta shrugged. “What of it? Have you seen the place?” She cocked her head to her left, towards the riotous crowd. The room was now shrouded in a thin veil of cigar smoke, which no one, besides Lilac, seemed to mind.
“Doesn’t seem the kind of establishment that attracts the most law-abiding citizens, now, does it? No one comes to regulate the tavern. At least, they don’t live to tell the tale. Human blood is costly, and donors are compensated, as are we.”
Placing the glasses onto a rack under the bar with uniform plinks, Lorietta lifted her nose to the ceiling. “Casmir is a rich one, and very old. He’s foreign, so when he’s in town, he gets all the women he wants; in turn, they want him just the same. Other vampires will opt for the cheaper, more organic alternative,” she added darkly.
Lilac swallowed. She hadn’t heard of many vampire attacks recently. Maybe they had gotten better at hiding it. “Killing people is illegal,” she said, sounding stupid stating the obvious. “Or so I thought.”
“I don’t think they kill anymore,” the witch said quietly. “The local coven tries to refrain from that, so they drink and entrance victims to forget instead. Mistakes are made from time to time, I’m sure. Illegal, by all means, but they live for the thrill of the hunt. Those creatures are driven by instinct. The king’s law doesn’t matter as much.”
“But Casmir had both,” Lilac pointed out, “the woman, and his goblet of blood.”
Lorietta laughed. “He likes to indulge himself. Regardless of how fresh, the bottled stuff isn’t the same to them. Straight from the vein is best, or so I’ve heard.”
Lilac shook her head, trying to process all of it. “So, no one else here cares? About them doing that? Right there in the open?”
“I asked him to go because, really, it disgusts me, too. And you’re here. But, no offense, why would any of us really care? The Fair Folk haven’t imposed any laws restricting vampires from feeding. Remember, your kind is only allowed into Brocéliande at our mercy. You’re in Darkling territory now,” she said, sternly. “It was never in King Henri’s interest to extend his laws to benefit or cover us. The only mortal laws that affect Darklings are those created to limit our power.” She gave a forced laugh. “And humans have the nerve to wonder why we don’t fancy their rules here.”
“So…” Lilac said slowly. It was impossible to keep up. The Fair Folk were something of a mystery to her, and conversely, to humans in general. As intriguing as it was to see them in the flesh, it was also odd hearing someone else refer to the species so casually. Something stood out to her. “What about the faeries? Imposing laws?”
Lorietta paused to hand a frothing jug of mead to the korrigan struggling onto the barstool across Lilac. Her books had painted the pint-sized creatures as thieves, but he didn’t strike her as such at all. Cup in hand, he contentedly sipped the foam off the top, threw her an attempt at a flirtatious wink, and wiggled back down onto the floor.
Lilac glanced back up to see the witch’s lips purse tightly together—almost as if she thought she’d said too much.
“It is in the nature of the fae to yearn control. They operate through manipulation and are baleful creatures by default.” She lowered her tone. “In fact, faeries don’t consider themselves Darklings at all… but on the occasion that they do need something, they’ve tended to work closely with the vampires.”
At Lilac’s expression of surprise, she added, “Vampires can communicate with creatures and humans alike, while faeries are limited to their Darkling Tongue. So, on occasion, the vampires serve as their informants… their confidantes, if you will.
“The Fair Folk turn their noses up at anyone who isn’t of kin. However, they despise the human race more than all of us combined, so most of us look the other way when it comes to vampires and their survival. The vampires keep the faeries out of our hair, so the majority of us could care less about their other affairs.”
“But witches are capable of speaking to both Darklings and mortals,” Lilac observed aloud.
“That we can. But we know better than to concern ourselves with the Fair Folk. They believe in karma like the French believe in God. When faeries are of service to anyone, regardless of how miniscule the favor, they will always demand something in return. Those beliefs don’t align with our values at all; we help when and because we are able, seeking nothing in return and knowing nature’s bounty is our pay. Fortunately, faeries are as uninterested in witches and warlocks as they are you humans. Magicfolk blood is impure to them.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Lorietta leaned in. Her breath smelled like cloves. “My father was a Darkling, but my mother was not.”
“She was… human?” Lilac scratched her elbow, wondering what kind of Darkling the witch’s father was, and how inebriated her mother had to have been to allow it to happen at all. Suppressing a violent shudder, she sipped her mug. She wouldn’t dare ask. “But… but that’s outlawed. How is that even possible—”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Lorietta snapped, narrowing her eyes.
Lilac bit her lip. There was more to this otherworldly forest than anyone had ever led on. Perhaps these were things she wasn’t supposed to know at all. Her stomach churned, and she raised her mug to gulp the guilt away.
As if sensing her alarm, the witch exhaled while toweling the counter. “Contrary to your belief, I’ve not shelled out any information forbidden to you. Your kind simply has not seen fit to enlighten themselves. You know, Brocéliande is the best place for an… open-minded adventurer such as yourself, determined to discern lore from reality. Well, what I’ve told you is our reality. A word to the wise: knowledge is power. Knowledge is survival. And in this neck of the woods, you’ll need it.”
Lilac rubbed her eyes, feeling like she’d need a full day of sleep to digest the bits of information Lorietta had bestowed upon her. The Darkling world she’d been taught to fear was not what she’d expected at all. Frightening, by all means. But, even more so, it was spellbinding.
Lilac leaned back into her seat. A bitter taste rose in her throat and her palms prickled with sweat as she tried to keep the sudden memory of Freya from bubbling to the surface like air trapped at the bottom of a cauldron.
Sarcasm penetrated a familiar voice behind her. “Have you served the poor girl your Lorietta Special?”
Lilac whipped around in her seat. Garin stood there, hands in his pockets and grinning pointedly at the witch.
Lorietta pursed her lips again, refusing to further acknowledge Garin. This did nothing to deter him. An unmistakable warmth seemed to emanate from him, and Lilac blinked through the sudden urge to lean in. His persistent badinage was more than enough to offset the charm.
“A few months ago, she confused a death cap for a toadstool, and, well,” he explained to Lilac, “that didn’t fare too well for the mushroom galette, nor the korrigan who devoured it.” Garin flashed a toothy smile at the both of them. “She’s just fortunate I’m good at disposing corpses.”
“And that’s my cue,” Lilac muttered to Lorietta, hopping off her barstool and turning to leave. Her cozy bed called. Handsome as he was, he wasn’t personable in the slighte
st. And he certainly wasn’t worth being stood up—save the uncomfortable commentary.
Before she could leave, Garin slid in front of her. The angles on his face suddenly softened in sincerity. “Don’t go—I was only joking. And I’m sorry I’m late, I had to take care of something.”
Lilac tried to squeeze past him, but he continued to block her exit from between the barstools on either side of her.
He bent his head, brow knitting with concern. “You’ll still join me for a drink, won’t you? Please, allow me to treat you. I insist.”
His eyes were doing the thing again. Lilac rubbed her elbows absently, her mind starting to cloud. There was something layered between his words and fluid gestures that she could not place.
She turned to Lorietta, who stared curiously past her at Garin. They were obviously acquaintances; the witch then rolled her eyes and continued wiping her counter. If Lorietta wasn’t worried for her, he was probably harmless, Lilac decided. And interacting with him might be worth it; if he was brave enough to work in the middle of Brocéliande, he obviously knew what he was doing and where he was going. He might even provide useful advice for her trip ahead.
As much as she hated admitting it, she’d need an ally sooner or later. Even if only for the night.
As if sensing her guard dropping, Garin leaned over. “What’s that you’re sipping on?” He peered curiously into the mug.
“Some tea.”
“Hey Lori,” he called, casually sliding an arm past her and pushing the mug away. “I’ll take a glass of Scotch,”—he held up three fingers—“and your best red for the lady.”
Lorietta threw him a sharp warning glance. “You know Meriam doesn’t approve of us drinking here. You work here, remember?”
He licked his lips and repaid it with a saccharine grin. “It’s my off time. She can bite me.”
At this, the barkeep shot him a look before sighing resignedly. “Whatever. I’ll bring it over. Anything to eat? Keep in mind we don’t have very much to offer,” she directed curtly at Lilac.
Disenchanted Page 6
