Then... Then, she’d escape, or at least go down swinging. That was, if she couldn’t convince Garin to let her go.
She cleared her throat and ruffled the front of her damp dress. “Politely declining won’t work, I presume?”
“It might be as useful as running from me.” He clasped his fingers together. “Consider my counter. There’s food there. And a place to sleep.”
Under usual circumstances, such accommodations would’ve been trivial to the princess, but now he was almost crooning. In her current predicament, she would kill for a warm bed and something substantial to eat. She studied him, gauging his sincerity. Food. Sleep. She needed to refocus on her mission, on reaching Paimpont. It had been such a long first day and a half, especially since Sinclair appeared. She couldn’t afford to lose any more time.
As if picking up on her hesitation, Garin’s dancing eyes remained fixated on her.
He wouldn’t budge in his resolve.
Of course not.
“I’ll come with you,” she agreed, drawing out each word, “if you—”
“If?”
“If you agree to release me after whatever it is you need me for. I’ve got a tight time constraint, as you can see.”
He blinked in astonishment. “You dare bargain your own fate?”
Lilac took a deep breath and exhaled. “You need me.” She held his gaze, and her ground. He needed her. He wouldn’t hurt her.
Fuming, Garin crossed his arms. He was finally listening.
“What I need is to get to Paimpont before the ceremony. I have to make it to my own coronation, or else Sinclair will surely try to take it over. At this rate, I won’t be able to stop to rest at all on my way back.”
Garin squinted at her as if seeing her for the first time. “So that’s really your story, then? You haven’t come to Brocéliande to shake hands and kiss babies.”
“I told you, I’m seeing a friend. That was the truth.”
“What friends do you have? Especially since your little affliction was discovered,” he sneered, raising a brow. “And just what about this friend is so urgent that you’ll risk the throne for them? Please, enlighten me.”
She stiffened. His trenchant wit was nauseating. “I’m not justifying anything to you, vampire. I’m not agreeing to anything, unless you tell me why exactly you need me, and that you’ll let me go. So, talk, if you don’t want to transport me kicking and screaming the entire way.”
He considered her for a moment. Then, he was at her side before she could blink, scooping her up over his shoulder and cradling her around the bottom like a large child.
“The truth is, princess,” he began as they walked, raising his voice over her protests. “I left the coven years ago. I was—”
“You—"
"—shunned, if you will, because—”
“—my father will hear about this—"
"—I had stopped drinking from humans. I took up refuge working at the tavern inn. A couple days ago, one of my kind was found staked in the middle of the woods. As you can imagine, my first thought was to return to find out what I could. You, princess, are—stop that moving or I will make you stop—my ticket back home. If I can make them believe I’ve been hunting mortals again, they just might see fit to let me back in.”
Lilac stilled against his shoulder, allowing his words to sink in. “Wait, that’s all you need me for? A pretend captive?”
She felt his head turn against her side, his hair tickling her elbow.
“Easy, there,” he snapped. “I already told you. There’s absolutely no reason for me to lie to you. If I wanted you dead, I’d be hiding your corpse by now. I’m unable to bite you, despite the deepest parts of me that might want to, so you needn’t worry about that. We can’t let them know you’re the princess, because then they wouldn’t let you go. But I highly doubt any of them have attended a castle soirée in your lifetime, so it isn’t likely anyone will recognize you. I certainly didn’t, back at the inn.”
He gave her rump a condescending pat. “If it makes you feel any better, this has nothing to do with politics or your position in the kingdom. I planned to use you to redeem myself in the eyes of my coven, far before I knew you were a Trécesson.”
Lilac stopped squirming while she tried to fit the pieces together. There were still a few parts that didn’t quite add up. “No offense, but what was the importance of finding a vampire staked in the middle of the woods? It was probably just… I don’t know, the Le Tallecs doing what they usually do.”
“It matters because the staked vampire was our leader. The leader of the Brocéliande coven.”
Lilac jolted in shock, and Garin had to use both hands to steady her on his shoulder. He he wasn’t part of some rogue, offset faction, after all. He’d belonged to the Brocéliande coven—the largest known to central Brittany. And their head was…
“Dead?” She spoke softly.
“Indeed.”
Though frowned upon, an occasional Darkling casualty at the hand of a human was nothing new. Human-on-creature crimes were easily overlooked, but killing someone as important as the coven head was as unheard of as a Darkling attempting an assassination of the human monarch.
“It seems… intentional,” she managed.
“That’s the thing. To kill Laurent, it had to be.”
“It’s no secret that my parents dislike your kind, but they would never… Not without reason—” Lilac gulped. On the other hand, someone who didn’t care about keeping the peace—someone like Sinclair—would’ve hunted and killed Darklings freely for the mere reason of what they were. But surely, the creatures would be furious enough to attempt retaliation if they discovered one of their leaders had been purposefully targeted. It wasn’t just murder that had occurred. It could easily be interpreted as a provocation of war.
So could kidnapping the princess, Lilac thought bitterly.
“I know,” Garin said, interrupting her thoughts. “And it is unlikely any common creature or human could take him down. Laurent was always on his toes, always so vigilant. He was tricked. Manipulated to let his guard down.” As if sensing her concern, his grip slightly tightened.
“Who will replace him?” she asked quietly from over his shoulder.
“That’s unimportant.” He sighed, shifting her from one arm to the other as if she weighed nothing at all. “I need to find out what I can about his death. He was—is—important to me. He was my sire.”
8
“We’re here.”
Garin hadn’t said much more after revealing that Laurent had created him. Almost as if he regretted telling her, he responded to her offer of sympathy with a laconic grunt. He’d placed Lilac down once he figured she wouldn’t run, and side by side they made their way northeast for an hour more, not caring when another storm moved in, bringing with it a light drizzle. His mood reflecting the clouds, Garin’s penchant for provocative banter seemed to dissipate altogether. Lilac eventually grew sick of the silence and even attempted small talk; her efforts, however, were futile.
“Are you sure?” Lilac grumbled, her toes throbbing violently. Her heels would be covered in blisters when she finally had a chance to remove her damp flats. She was sure of it.
They’d come to a halt before an unremarkable hill, covered in heaps of dry leaves and brambles. Two massive, moss-covered boulders sat side by side, half burrowed into the side of the hill where the ground began to incline, but those looked no different from the rest of the mysterious stone structures scattered across the moors of Brittany.
“Is your Mine warded?”
Garin gave a sharp laugh. “No, the witches would never—” He frowned and squinted at her sideways. “How do you know about that?”
“The group of korrigans I came across before Sinclair found me had a ward around their campsite.”
“If their wards were up, how’d you end up finding them?”
She shrugged. “I heard them. I ended up making contact with them, and then the ward v
anished.”
Garin leered impatiently at her, as if he couldn’t be bothered with her insanity. “Stand back,” he warned, advancing toward the boulders.
Lilac did as he asked. Garin nestled himself between the boulders, settling his back against the one to the left and planting his feet onto the one on the right. The ground beneath her rumbled as he pushed, and the boulder at his feet suddenly jolted out of place. It slowly moved until Garin stopped pushing. Something large glinted dully through the dirt.
Her mouth fell open as he dusted thick chunks of damp earth off of the metal plate protruding from the cavernous indent the boulders had left. It looked like an ogre-sized shield, except it wasn’t a shield at all—but a door. He sidled up next to it and yanked hard; the door opened at the second pull. The orange flicker of torchlight and surprisingly warm air enveloped them as the plate creaked outward, making Lilac feel oddly welcome.
Just beyond the crude doorway, she could make out a dim passage that curved off into the unknown. Garin waved a hand into the dark from beside her.
“After you.”
Lilac took one step forward, then stopped herself. What was she doing? Had she continued any further, she’d waltz right into her own doom. But hadn’t she done that already? The vampire before her had been pretty accommodating toward her since they’d met, minus the entrancement; but that was just Garin. There were more like him—possibly unlike him, not as tactful, not as forgiving. Wringing her hands, she glanced up at him.
“It would be in your best interest to ensure that I am back on my way to Paimpont by tomorrow,” she said, needlessly adjusting her dress sleeve. “If not, my family will have your head.”
“I know,” he whispered urgently. “You’ve mentioned it countless times. You have my word, and that has to be enough for you right now. Trust me?”
The hair on the back of her neck rose when he lightly placed his hand upon her arm. Trust him? Under normal circumstances, never. For now, it was the only choice she had.
Lilac nodded, silently accepting that whatever happened to her from this point, on—including the very real possibility of her demise—would be the sole result of her own choosing.
After ushering her inside, Garin effortlessly hooked his hands into two grooves chiseled into the closest boulder and pulled it toward them until it covered the opening over the door. Then, quietly as possible, he swung the metal plate shut.
“You don’t have a lock on that?”
He put a finger to her lips and gave a warning look down the hall before waving a hand dismissively. With a wink, eyes gleaming in the flicker of the distant torch, he whispered, “You tell me who else can shove a half-tonne boulder? Plus, we’re happy to devour any unwanted visitors.”
Lilac wondered if his morbid sense of humor was his own odd way of trying to make her laugh. Or maybe he was being completely serious. “Now, what do you need me to do?”
Motioning for her to follow, he began making his way through the passage, which followed a gradual downward slope. “You are here as my thrall… My underling, erm, personal servant—”
“I get it. And that’s strange,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“What? There’s nothing—God, it’s only strange if you make it strange,” he hissed, slowing as they continued around the bend. “So that’s our story. If they ask you if I’ve fed from you, answer yes. It will be ‘yes ma’am’ or ‘yes sir’ when addressing myself or anyone else.”
Lilac shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s nearing morning, so most of them might even be asleep. I’ll get us to my chamber as quickly as I can. And don’t, under any circumstances, do that thing where you get all defensive.” He stopped and turned to face her. “I hope, for your own sake, that you can stand to oblige.”
The princess stared at him, unease and fear settling into her emptying belly. She didn’t owe him any favors. Why was she knowingly playing into his grasp?
Despite the urgency in his voice, Garin cautiously placed a hand on her elbow. “Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise you.”
“You didn’t think to prepare me for this during the hour or two of walking silence?” she said through clenched teeth.
Garin ignored this. “If we get through this smoothly, you’ll be free to go as early as tomorrow evening. You have my word.”
With that, he slid past her once more and followed the bend to the left, motioning for her to follow. At the end of it, a single torch illuminated a wooden door. He took a deep breath and turned to face her. For the first time, she thought she saw a hint of wariness in his eyes; it scared her more than anything he’d said, and she felt her breath start to come in short gasps.
“The next room is our vestibule. It’s a long corridor leading into the main chamber.”
“Garin,” Lilac began dubiously. “I don’t know…”
“If it all becomes too much, keep your eyes on me. Just think of it as your parents’ dungeon without prisoners.”
The dungeon? Lilac had seen the dungeon at the castle a handful of times; it’s inner door with the wonky padlock—which her father had put off fixing because who, besides Lilac, would ever be deranged enough try to break into the dungeon—was how she’d sneak out to her mother’s rose garden whenever she couldn’t sleep.
She nodded.
“And one more thing.”
“Ye—” Her reply was abruptly cut off when Garin grabbed her by the back collar of her dress, pulling the ribbon even tighter around her chest and midsection. His strength in the single hand was crippling. She choked and grabbed at her chest frantically before realizing her throat was free of fabric. Her dress front scooped low, and she could breathe just fine. It was an illusion.
He leaned in until she could feel his breath on her ear. “Do as I say, and you’ll be perfectly safe.” Maintaining his grip, Garin turned the handle on the door and pressed onward.
Before the door was even completely open, they were engulfed in the sickly sweet aroma of death. She gagged on the stench. A distinct taste like copper lingered at the back of her throat, so light that it was almost an afterthought.
The vestibule was a cavernous corridor, thrice as wide and twice as tall as the prior passage. At the far end an arched doorway led into another, larger room, though it was much too dark to make out any details.
Thick torches lined the stone walls. Staggered between them were iron cages. Several gaunt gazes met her own from behind the bars‚ theirs with almost no expression left to show. They were men and women of all ages, thought it was difficult to tell—some barely adults, and some with crude tufts of thinning silver hair, though at first glance, one would think them all at the end of their lives.
It was, she realized with crawling dread, because they probably were. She put her hands behind her back to hide her fists that had automatically clenched in anger.
Sneaking a peek up through her hair, she was shocked to see Garin seemed equally furious at the inhumane display. Something in his taught jaw twitched as his eyes flickered from one cage to another.
A short phrase was plastered crudely over the arched doorway ahead of them in red paint, dried rivulets reaching like tendrils down the stone:
Redemptio Sanguine.
Someone shifted in one of the cages as they slowly passed, and Lilac startled backward, bumping into Garin.
He squeezed her collar. “Do you wish to get yourself killed?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s sorry, sir,” he drawled, louder for anyone who might be listening.
“Sorry, s-sir.”
Slowly they continued walking toward the archway. Lilac might have been putting on an act, but the pretense of fear came far too easily.
Garin’s face was stoic, strangely enchanting and alien in the sinister light. It was a chilling reminder that although he was at times cordial toward her, friendly, even, she was still his prisoner. A piece of his ploy.
Nausea rolled over her like the pungent waves of decay, and she w
as unable to shake the nagging feeling that she’d made a mistake to even think of trusting him. Perhaps, the only way she’d survived all those years in the castle was by knowing there would always be a way out—a choice, if she wanted it. If she dared. She would escape through the dungeon and out to the rose hedges; if and when she’d wanted it bad enough, Brocéliande has always been there. Ophelia’s note merely fed the princess’s flames of desire and curiosity enough to warrant action.
Now, Lilac hated that there was no way for her to escape in case things went very, very wr—
A shattering clang broke her distraction. Lilac couldn’t help it. She glanced away from Garin and at the prisoner who’d leaped at the cage door. Her chalky hands clawed feverishly at the bars. Shackled at the wrists, it appeared to be a woman. A young woman, beneath the flaking grime on her cheeks, beneath the matted hair, flaming red and tucked into a bonnet. A soot-covered smock hung, half torn and falling off her shoulders.
“Princess!” the woman croaked through her feeble attempts to break the bars imprisoning her. “What a cruel illusion—”
Lilac stumbled backwards when Garin released her in his own shock. She’d never seen the frantic stranger, but pity and fear tore at her heart. The woman’s gaunt cheeks were suddenly wet with tears, and skin at her collarbone sucked in as she panted.
Garin gripped the cage and pressed his face between the bars. The woman shrunk away.
“You will hold your tongue this instant. How dare you address—”
He paused. Then, he tensed. The next thing Lilac knew, he had put himself between her and the wooden door behind them.
“What—”
“Don’t,” Garin growled through his teeth.
In a flurry of dust, the door flew open. When the cloud cleared, a man stood in the doorway of the entry passage, his dirty blond hair knotted at the nape of his neck. A distinct nose bridge and high cheekbones hinted at Eastern ancestry, and his eyes, exotic and deadly even from a distance, were a shade of deep garnet. As he took in the sight of Garin—and Lilac peeking out from behind him—his mouth, smeared with crusted mahogany, spread into a wide smile.
Disenchanted Page 14
