Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  “Is it any good?” Garin wondered out loud.

  She nodded, her nose halfway into the bowl as she gulped ravenously.

  “Must be nice.”

  “Do… people not have tastes?” Lilac wrinkled her nose. She immediately regretted asking.

  Garin didn’t answer right away. He shifted, pulling his knees to his chest. “I mean, no. People taste like people. But they do smell differently.”

  “What do I smell like?” The words escaped Lilac’s lips before she could stop herself.

  A thick silence filled the air.

  Finally, Garin cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, princess, I’d rather not answer that.”

  “That’s fair.” She placed the empty bowl beside her and pulled the covers up to her chin with a contented sigh. “When Piper worked for me, I never got the chance to tell her how thankful I was for all she did.”

  She awkwardly busied herself with picking at her nailbed. When Garin didn’t say anything, she peeked through her curtain of hair to find him staring off into the fire.

  “Seems a bit generous,” he remarked. “She was only a handmaid, after all.”

  Lilac snorted cynically. “Do you know how I discovered my Darkling tongue? Do people—erm, Darklings know that story?”

  “Bits of it. I at least know that night, a shapeshifter was killed at the hands of your parents. And after that, all aid was halted. Your father’s law was in place the next day.”

  “Yes. It’s my fault Piper was banished that same night. She’d stood post at my chamber door while I snuck down to the kitchen. There, I happened upon the wolf. It spoke to me, I spoke back. Before I knew it, I was in full conversation with her. That’s when my parents arrived with Piper already apprehended by the guards. I never saw her again.” She cleared her throat. “Piper, I mean. And Freya. The wolf.”

  Lilac gave a despondent sniffle. Friendships between royalty and the help were highly frowned upon, but how could anyone expect them to follow that rule? After all, they were only young children when Piper had been hired. They were unlikely friends, thrown together by fate.

  Just as she and Garin.

  Down below, he interrupted her silent reflection with an obnoxious yawn.

  “In the present economy, it is frowned upon to intentionally create a Fledgeling for no good reason. And if someone does, it’s usually out of desperation for companionship. It was quite obvious she was very important to you. I thought I’d turn her first, ask later.”

  He shrugged and ran a hand through his uncombed hair. “I much rather would have killed her.” Through a rough laugh, he added, “Much rather would’ve eaten her, but… you know. Not in the cards for me. Not today.”

  Sighing, Garin stole a sideway glance at her, a gesture he perhaps did not expect her to pick up—and when he caught her looking, he returned to plucking an invisible ball of dust off his black pant leg.

  Knowing Piper would be fine, or at least some variation of fine, Lilac’s adrenaline finally began to burn off. Her eyelids grew heavy as the past couple days’ journey began to catch up to her.

  The vampire had shifted down, now resting with his head soundly upon the pillow. When Garin felt her eyes on him, he scowled and turned to his side and shoved his back to her.

  “Your brother,” she began as a sleepy afterthought. “He’s… alarming. And his eyes…” Lilac shuddered. “Human blood really makes them that way?”

  “Yes. Mortal blood taken from the vein, though.”

  There was that phrase again. From the vein.

  “Can your kind ever feed off of other Darklings?”

  “Why on earth would we do that?”

  “I mean, if you ever had to. Like witches and warlocks, they at least look human. Would a vampire’s eyes be red, then?”

  “I’m not sure. Warlocks are easy to spot by their signature silver hair at any age. All witches smell strongly of sage and foxglove, which, I wouldn’t imagine tasting very good. I’ve personally never tried, but I’ll be sure to ask Bastion the next time he mistakes a witch for a mortal,” he replied sardonically.

  “Did he banish you? How would he have done that if you were rightfully second in command and next in line?”

  “He didn’t banish me. Not exactly.” He rubbed his eyes and grunted like a tired child. “Years ago, something happened, and suddenly, I wasn’t able to feed.”

  “From the vein,” Lilac echoed distantly.

  “As you can guess, Bastion didn’t like it. Believing I’d stopped feeding as a matter of preference, he convinced the entire coven to abandon me. I left and found work and a place to stay at the Fenfoss Inn that doubled as a tavern.”

  With a groan, he shifted on the pillow. “Bastion was right… It would’ve been laughable for me to take on the role as leader. The one member who couldn’t even drink from people anymore. And I wasn’t second in command; it isn’t anything like that. Vampires don’t have special ceremonies or coronations, ascensions or anything frilly like you humans have. The leader dies, the next one immediately takes his place. It’s that simple. I was the one set to take Laurent’s place had anything bad happened to him, because I am his first sired. Bastion was his second. So on, and so forth.”

  “So, Bastion doesn’t know the real reason you can’t drink from people anymore?”

  He paused. When he finally answered, he sounded annoyed at the fact she’d clung to that detail. “No,” he said curtly.

  Lilac cleared her throat, curiosity burning at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to ask him about it again but thought better of it. Whether he was aware of it or not, he was opening up to her. He was a hard nut to crack, so to speak, and any prying she did needed to be tactful. If she could tap into any sort of vulnerability, if they actually opened up to each other, maybe then he’d consider releasing her sooner.

  “Do you plan on telling him?”

  “Certainly not.” Garin’s sullen laugh was tinged with bitterness. “The only one I should’ve told was Laurent, but he was so polite, so fatherly that he never pushed. Laurent wasn’t convinced that I one day decided to stop hunting humans out of choice, but he respected me enough to know I’d tell him when I was ready. Even as our leader, he was extremely… progressive. He was different.”

  Garin rolled slightly to peek over his shoulder. “If I share something with you, do you promise to keep it between the both of us?”

  “That depends.” Lilac’s stomach swam at the sudden intimacy of the question. “Is it incriminating?”

  He snorted. “Your botched attempt at murdering me and then agreeing to follow me was incriminating, as is every unhostile word we’ve spoken to each other thus far. Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t really matter now that he’s dead—Laurent looked forward to your reign.”

  At this, Lilac propped herself up on her left elbow to look down at him.

  “He did?” she asked, unable to suppress the small smile that crept onto her lips. She foggily recalled the korrigan chief mentioning something similar.

  “After it became known publicly that you speak to Darklings, it was like a light went on in his head. I put the pieces together over the few times he came into the tavern; he didn’t know what had happened with me, either, but he was the only one who’d cared enough to track me down and visit on occasion. I’d always speculated—by the way he spoke anyway—that he secretly hoped you would somehow form a bridge between us. Humans and Darklings, I mean. Bring us to a sort of reconciliation, or at least smooth tensions out. Something along those lines. He had this ludicrous vision of a sort of harmony. No pressure, of course,” he added.

  Lilac opened her mouth to speak and closed it again when she couldn’t find the words. The only hope in her as leader that anyone had ever voiced aloud, was that she would accomplish the impossible—unite humans and Darklings? Brocéliande and the kingdom? That was a first. And not out of the mouths of townsfolk, but creatures, instead.

  “Not to worry, princess,” Garin said, yawning around hi
s words again. “Laurent was a dreamer. Head always in the cosmos.”

  “But is... is that something that Darklings want?” she asked quietly. She suddenly felt very small.

  Garin didn’t answer for a couple minutes, and Lilac thought he’d drifted asleep. “I can’t speak for everyone,” he replied softly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? About you being their new leader?” It was a feeble attempt to swing the subject, but Lilac didn’t know what else to say.

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me you were the princess?”

  Touché.

  She had journeyed into the forest seeking the witch, hoping to get rid of her ability; to become the sort of simple princess the townsfolk would appreciate. They feared her, despised her, and as much as she hated yearning anyone’s approval, she’d wanted to change everything, every wayward perception of her that had existed. But, as she was slowly finding out, the Darklings seemed to have more hope for her reign than her kin ever had.

  Muscles tensing, Lilac shifted her arm out from under her and glanced down at the newly appointed coven leader. She didn’t quite know how to perceive him, now knowing that it seemed his own kind, too, disapproved of his new position. He was, as Bastion had chided, a sort of Prince of Night. Like the korrigan chief, Blitzrik, Garin was now in charge of the Brocéliande coven. She wasn’t even sure what they’d look like in numbers; the mine didn’t look that big from what she’d seen, at least. The forest didn’t have its own monarchy or anything like it, instead consisting of a variety of communities with their own leaders—a sort of ducal system, she thought realized hazily, and suppressed a sudden giggle at the comparison of Garin to Sinclair and the duke.

  Hearing her snort, Garin sighed extravagantly. “Is there… something intriguing you’d like to share?”

  “May I ask you something else?”

  “Look. I’m tired. It’s the morning, and I’m exhausted.”

  “Look,” she mirrored unintentionally, then only finding it funnier. “You’re the one who kidnapped me.”

  “If I had known you’d be this annoying, I definitely would’ve let the Morgen drown you back there.”

  Lilac bit her lip, refusing to let his scathing words deter her. It was obvious there were many thin fibers barely holding her captor together at the seams; her fingers itched to tug them like delicate threads. One of them had been begging to be unraveled.

  “Who cursed you?”

  Garin paused. He flipped onto his back, stretching out, then folded his arms under his head. Again, such a normal, human gesture.

  “Who said I was cursed?”

  “You can’t drink from the vein, as you like to say. What does that mean, exactly? No vampire just stops drinking human blood, as no human stops breathing air.” And the more she thought about it, the Morgen could have been referring to Garin’s curse—not her own. “If not a curse, then what else would it be?”

  When he didn’t reply, Lilac sidled sideways on her belly, back to the edge of the bed.

  As if expecting her advance, Garin already glowered up at her. “What now, Miss Trécesson? Don’t you have some important journey to go on? What of your beloved betrothed you’re so eager to get back to? Why not bother him?”

  Lilac’s eyes widened, but he kept going.

  “Just because you’re on this brilliant, epiphanic quest through Brocéliande, doesn’t mean you can go meddling in matters which aren’t yours, human. Go spout your spurious reasoning to someone who cares.”

  Lilac rolled away onto her back once more. She absentmindedly rubbed her right cheek; the cut of his words stung almost as much as his brother’s blow to her face. Her skin was flaky—the dried blood from her nose, she realized, panic settling. She made a mental note to wash it off later, if—when—Garin released her.

  “You’re the one who asked me to come with you.”

  “I needed you in order to get back into my coven’s good graces. I would have picked you up and slung you over my shoulder either way.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I trusted you enough to come here, not entranced, but of my own will—all because you couldn’t do it properly,” she spat, meaning the words to sting him just as hard, “when just twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t know what you were, or that this place even existed. I’ve never asked you to blindly give me your trust the way you’ve required it of me, time and time again.” Lilac took a deep breath, swallowing her anger. He was a stupid, stubborn Darkling, there was no point in getting upset. “I was only wondering what your story was. That’s all.”

  “There is no story,” he replied. “I have no story.”

  Snuggling further into the blankets, Lilac yawned. Her eyelids were leaded with exhaustion. “Preposterous. Everyone’s got a story.”

  To her surprise, Garin let out a quick snort. Again, with his mercurial moods. “Preposterous,” he piped in mock falsetto.

  “What’re you mumbling, there?”

  “Nothing at all. Goodnight, princess.”

  Just before drifting off, she rolled over once more to peer sleepily at the creature beside her. His back faced her again, shoulders rising once every minute or so with his slow, controlled breath.

  Since departing the castle, she’d been chased, assaulted, and held captive.

  Yet, Lilac had a nagging feeling her journey had only begun.

  10

  With a startled snort, Lilac jolted up in bed. A breeze chilled her back as she left the sheets, sweat soaking through her dress. Despite a vivid dream she couldn’t quite remember, she somehow felt incredibly rested. It must have been about the forest; she could still hear the rushing of the Argent, and in the second it took her eyes to readjust to the firelight, she realized the floor next to the bed was empty. The bookcase along the far wall had been shifted to the right to reveal a sizeable opening in the limestone—the source of both the cacophony of rushing water and the biting breeze that had chilled through her dampened clothes.

  The light from the fireplace revealed little of the passage beyond the doorway. The edges were rough, as if someone had taken a wedge and pick haphazardly to the walls. A cerulean glimmer illuminated the makeshift entryway, like sunlight through crystal.

  Surely Garin was in there; his baldric belt was gone from the room. She stood, grabbed her sack off the floor and set it on the bed, fishing out a clean set of undergarments and her last dress—the nicest she’d brought. She saved it for last, knowing now she had been foolish to think such an ornate garment would be useful in the forest. Stitched in gold trim, the red brocade hugged her hips and draped all the way down to her toes. She clasped her dagger-less belt around it and began braiding her hair‚ an easy style she could manage without a vanity.

  She was in the middle of pinching her cheeks for color before she realized what she was doing. Why was she was fretting about how she looked before seeing him? It reminded her of the other evening at the inn, when she’d seen him for the first time—the humiliation she’d felt at stumbling into the tavern, the bottom of her dress then soaked. Of course, that was back when she didn’t know very much about him at all, and, she realized with a chuckle, he’d seen her much worse off since then. She retrieved her cloak from the sword rack—the cold swirling in from the passage was biting—and donned it quickly.

  With one last look around the room, she slipped her flats on and hesitantly stepped into the opening. Carefully, she followed the gradual descent of the passageway. Even the lightest footsteps on the dusted stone floor produced a flurry of bouncing echoes, and she wondered how Garin could have possibly walked down without waking her. After a few seconds of the roaring water growing louder with each step she took, the passage turned sharply. She rounded the corner, and her jaw fell slack.

  Before her, a high-ceiling cave was illuminated by a magnificent wrought iron candelabra. It was embellished in multicolored jewels, set upon a wooden table. Upon further inspection, she discovered the far wall was made of running water—a wide waterfall, lit by the orange and re
d sunlight beyond it, sparkling as it also reflected the contrasting aquamarine glow from within the cave. It fed into a small pool before her, filled with crystal clear water. A few hardy water plants swayed black in the shadows of its shallow depths. Along the right side of the pond, a raised stone path led through the water and around the waterfall—out into the open forest, she presumed.

  It wasn’t a true cave, but a grotto, and an absolutely enchanting one at that. The ground under her feet was a crude mixture of sand and clay; it squelched when she took a hesitant step further.

  “Good evening,” the voice came from behind her.

  She whirled to face him and let out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t even see you there. And… evening?” She scratched an eyebrow. The reddening sunlight outside the waterfall deepened quickly now, as if taunting her for mistaking it as sunrise. “Is it nightfall already?”

  “You slept through the day.”

  The entire day. No wonder she felt so rested. Her joints were ache free for the first time in—she began counting in her head. It was the end of her third day in the forest. How was that possible? She would have to spend the rest of the night walking. If she was lucky, she’d reach Paimpont by morning, spend the day undergoing whatever Ophelia saw fit to do to her to remove her curse, sleep a few hours, then walk the next day and a half home. Despite all the setbacks, at least she’d made decent time; her entire last day would need to be dedicated to the journey back. She was fine with that, considering what she’d gain.

  Or, what was at stake. What she could lose.

  Hands in his pockets, Garin looked more boyish, somehow. He stuck the toe of his boot into the water, sending a small wave of ripples outward. “Are you well rested?”

  “Yes, thank you.”