The creature snuffled at her shoulder before Lilac felt the wave of pain. It built slowly, then hit her altogether, its crescendo mixing with the cold. Lilac tried to scream for Garin, for anyone, but all that came out were incoherent sobs. Struggling against her assailant, she let out a hideous wail into the dead of night, her voice rising into a lilt as she felt the creature pull hard against her skin, drawing her blood out and into its mouth.
It wasn’t like the time she was out in her mother’s rose garden and decided to prick her finger on a thorn to see what it would be like; it wasn’t like the time she absentmindedly placed her hand on a bumblebee that’d perched on her balcony railing last Spring. The pricks of both fangs were monstrous, merging into a single searing inferno as her life ebbed away with each gulp.
But then… then.
The pain had faded to an icy sensation, seeping into her limbs and calming the primal panic in her marrow. Her screams died as the traveling sensation of liquid ice ignited every single nerve in delicious fire.
Lilac convulsed, gripping the vampire’s shoulders—and instead of pushing the creature away, she clung tighter. She closed her eyes, embracing the attacker. It felt as if she would float away…
The weight upon her hips abruptly disappeared, followed by a crashing thud.
The ecstasy was replaced by an unbearable pain. A shape—Garin—crouched over her, eyes black as pitch in the low light. Glancing her once over in panic, his desperation turned into a fatal rage. The adrenaline pulsing throughout her limbs was almost painful, pushing her to scramble to her feet in earnest—but Garin caught her before she stumbled back onto the damp earth.
“Be still,” he commanded. He gently pushed her back down. “You’ve lost blood.”
But Lilac wasn’t paying him any mind. Across the clearing, a crumpled form sprawled in the thicket near the base of a trunk. The creature sat up, the liquid burgundy smearing its mouth only a tad brighter than the cinnabar curls framing its shadowed face.
“Piper?!”
The creature froze at her scream. Lilac scooted back in case she was as fast as the other vampires she’d witnessed.
“Your Highness,” she croaked. Piper stood gingerly, assessing her own bloodstained hands, face twisted in disgust. For a quick moment, she started for the spot of moonlight illuminating the forest floor in front of her; then she hesitated, shrinking back into the shadows.
Though she couldn’t see it in the dark, Lilac imagined her friend’s green eyes now red as garnets, shimmering in remorse. Her voice was no longer the dry, dying croak she’d heard in the vestibule; it sounded as if her throat had been slicked with honey—the buttery, sing-song lilt Lilac remembered, but amplified.
She was the picture of perfection, even in her moment of self-disgust.
A brand new vampire. A fledgling.
Piper wiped her mouth on her sleeve and took another clumsy step forward, almost as if her strength was too much for her. She skirted around the ring of moonlight this time. Lilac scrambled to her feet and started toward her friend—but not before Garin flung his arm out, halting her.
“Are you mad?” he snapped, visibly bristling. “Leave us. Now,” he thundered toward the girl, his voice booming.
Piper hesitated. She threw Lilac a horrified look before spinning on her heel, sprinting into the trees without another glance back.
The princess stared into the trees and raised a trembling hand to her shoulder. Glistening blood slicked her fingertips. It was still warm. She shuddered. Though her neck had just been ripped open, she was no longer bleeding, or at least, it didn’t feel like it. Faintly, she struggled to coincide her memories of the cherub-faced stammering redhead to the volatile creature who had just attacked her.
“Lilac.”
Lilac turned to face Garin. In the chaos, she hadn’t noticed the newcomers and their blazing golden torches. Two stout men flanked Garin, skin olive, rippling muscles glistening. They each donned an ensemble of gold-plated chest armor over loin wraps. An array of coins, gold and silver, adorned the material that wrapped loosely around their waists.
Fair Folk.
In contrast to the females, the soldiers’ sleek black hair sat knotted in black uniform buns atop their heads. Long, pointed ears adorned in cuffs poked through unruly wisps of escaped locks. Luminescent streaks of glowing orange paint traced angular patterns across their bare arms and calves. Both wielded wooden longbows and leather buckets of arrows slung over their shoulders. Though neither of them had touched Garin, the way he stood stiffly between them indicated that he was there very much against his own will, and that he didn’t dare challenge them.
The one on the right opened his mouth to speak, revealing several rows of razor-sharp teeth. His melodic voice vibrated through the dead leaves on the floor, echoing up from the ground, through Lilac’s bones and into her skull.
“The Ember Court requests the presence of the human girl.”
12
The guards remained silent, marching the reluctant princess and vampire further into the woods. Like soldiers heading into battle, the creatures walked in perfect cadence, the silver light from above never reaching their eyes directed stoically ahead.
Garin strode beside Lilac, so close that their pinkies almost brushed. The shock of seeing Piper had worn off, only to be replaced with growing dread.
It was common knowledge that the largest concentration of faeries lurked deep with the Low Forest, but that would make more than a few days’ trip on foot.
What could they possibly want with her? With Garin?
Perhaps they were simply wondering how his kind had handled their leader’s death. As Bastion had speculated, the Fair Folk had likely learned of the tragedy far before his coven intended to reveal the news to everyone else. She shivered involuntarily; if the Fair Folk truly had eyes and ears everywhere in Brocéliande—and they probably did, on account of how quickly they’d tracked her down—then it was possible they knew her identity, or were at least suspicious of it. If asked, they’d be in trouble; lying outright to the them would only create more problems than it could possibly solve.
Lilac abruptly cleared her throat in effort to derail the increasing horror; teeth grit, she forced herself to refocus on Garin through her peripheral. Only a couple of times did he dare shoot an anxious glance her way.
Court? She mouthed inaudibly to him the third time he looked over. His face twisted manically with panic. Had the situation been different, she might’ve even found the look they exchanged comical. She raised an eyebrow at Garin and let her right foot linger half a second longer on the ground; as she knew he would, Garin picked up on it right away. He then took the utmost caution in mirroring her slowed pace so that they both fell one unnoticeable step behind the guards.
Instead of answering, Garin shook his head, side to side, just enough for her to pick up. When one of the guards suspiciously snapped his head back at them, Lilac pretended to be preoccupied with picking pine needles from her messy braid.
Garin rolled his eyes.
The woods were silent throughout the rest of their journey with the exception of the satisfying crunch of footfall upon dry brambles, and the steady clink of sword and dagger awkwardly brushing on Garin’s baldric belt. A couple times she actually toyed with the idea of reaching over and retrieving her blade—one swift, upward movement and she’d at least have some means of self-protection on her person again. Lilac finally decided against it; after all, she’d wielded the stealth and skill of a slotted spoon. Garin had forgotten to return it to her upon their intimate farewell, and understandably so. She didn’t blame him.
Lilac nearly tripped over herself when the guards came to a sudden halt; Garin let out a breath so low it could’ve been an annoyed growl. The last thing they needed was another bleeding gash across her skin.
The four of them stood under the cover of a timeworn weeping willow. Lilac didn’t even know those grew in the area. A leaf-carpeted path paved the way to the opening of
a sizable hollow in the tree’s gargantuan trunk.
“What is this place?” Garin demanded of the guards. His voice was unusually sharp. “Well? Where is it, then? Where’s the Court?”
His breath hitched on his words, and Lilac wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cower from whatever he was anticipating. Garin was nervous.
Ignoring the urgency in his voice, they motioned silently toward the hollow. Lilac shot Garin a look, but he ignored it.
Instead, he cocked his head and led the way into the hollow, making sure the princess was close behind.
The moment they were alone and shrouded in darkness, Lilac turned to him to whisper. “Should we make a run for it?”
“What is this ridiculous obsession you have with running from things that can easily catch up to you?” he growled under his breath. “We‘ll need a better plan.”
“Did you tell them about me?” Her deep blue eyes searched his furiously.
He grimaced at the accusation lacing her voice. “It’s guaranteed the entire kingdom knows you’re missing by now, and with the search ongoing, word could’ve easily spread through the trees. The Fair Folk probably just want to extend formali—”
The first guard entered and wedged himself forcibly between them, his torchlight revealing a surprisingly roomy chamber within the trunk. “Cease that muttering immediately. The Ember Court awaits,” he said coldly. The other guard stepped in and promptly raised his torch to the vines of dry bramble and cobweb lining the ceiling.
The motion was so fluid, Lilac didn’t see it coming. Neither did Garin. By the time they’d realized what had happened, it was too late.
The vines ignited instantly. Brilliant blue flames climbed down the sides of the hollow, quickly catching on the dry surface. The flames licked up and down the wood, rapidly creating a veil over the opening.
Lilac swallowed hard, fear crowding her.
They were trapped. Lilac swallowed hard, fear crowding her.
“Fucking hell!” Garin bellowed, grabbing the guard nearest him by the front of his uniform.
But the faeries remained expressionless. With a frustrated roar, Garin tore himself from the creature and instead moved to wrap his arms over Lilac, who gladly accepted his cover—even in front of the guards.
In a mere matter of seconds, they were completely engulfed. Through the cerulean blaze, Lilac’s mind cleared just enough to first take note of the strange lack of smoke—and the fact that they weren’t burning. The flames themselves didn’t scorch. Instead, she felt a pleasant prickling sensation that merely rolled over her skin.
Behind her, she felt Garin untense from his crouching position. He blinked and turned his hands over, marveling at the blue flickering over his arms.
As quickly as the hollow had combusted, the cocoon of flames abruptly dissipated. The fire was then quickly replaced by an unfurling cloud of indigo smoke. When it thinned, it left behind the spicy aroma of cloves.
They stood in the middle of a pit. A crumbling stone structure surrounded them, loosely resembling a miniature version of the Roman Colosseum. Several wrought iron candelabras floated above, winking against the sky’s impenetrable darkness. The light was just enough to illuminate the first few rows of seats elevated around the pit; Lilac squinted closer and gasped as Garin stiffened next to her: dozens of faeries, dazzling as ever, dressed in their silk and jeweled togas. Lilac shivered uncontrollably beneath their stares of unabashed reproach. Since the creatures were so elusive, she never imagined they’d existed in such numbers.
An explosive snarl from their right pulled her attention, simultaneously rousing a similar sound from Garin. She must’ve missed it in the commotion—Bastion, teeth bared, struggled against a third soldier. By the way his red eyes flitted scathingly between them, it was clear he did not know any more about it than Garin did—and, for whatever reason, probably felt his brother and Lilac were to blame for his unexpected capture.
Straight ahead of them sat a throne made of robust vines and what must’ve been thousands of sprigs of Baby’s Breath. Perched upon it was another faerie. Though the soldiers that had apprehended them were stout and built, his legs were long like Lilac’s, except, not in the lankily clumsy way. He sighed and uncrossed them, only to cross them again on the opposite side.
His glorious robe glinted from the ochre beads sewn into it, while fox fur brimmed the tall neckline. The faerie’s slight frame did nothing to detract from the presence of power emanating from him. His fingers remained clasped together as the weight of his gaze dragged across Garin and rested upon Lilac. Then he beamed, exposing his rows of fangs.
“Finally, we meet. Laurent’s wily protégé.. And, in addition, his little pet,” The faerie unclasped his fingers to motion flamboyantly at the cylindrical expanse of stone surrounding them. “Welcome to Cinderfell.”
Cinderfell? She’d never heard of it before. Lilac’s insides knotted with dread.
“Why have you brought us here?” Garin’s echoing voice wavered despite his attempted stoicism.
Lilac glanced sideways at him, realizing it was the first time he had spoken the Darkling Tongue in front of her. Addressing Kestrel now, the hesitance in Garin’s voice was unnerving. This was a creature who’d murdered two of the duke’s guards without blinking and told jokes while trying to kill Sinclair.
Here, he was on the verge of hysteria.
“Now, now, Gerald,” the faerie on the throne murmured.
Although he addressed Garin, he stared at Lilac, whose face climbed with color. She was suddenly aware of the crusted blood on her throat.
The faerie paused, then frowned. “It is Gerald, isn’t it?”
“It’s Garin.”
“Ah, yes. Garin. My apologies,” he said unimportantly, ignoring the mutinous expression on the vampire’s face. “You see, Garin, I’ve held the pleasure of meeting the late Laurent Beaulieu. We’ve had few conversations over tea, a splendid specimen indeed—my condolences to you both,” he said, nodding to Bastion. “However, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the honor of meeting you or your brother in the flesh.”
While Bastion seemed bent on destroying the faerie with his glare of loathing, Garin’s eyes merely narrowed at the faerie’s casual mention of their sire.
“With all due respect, I don’t consider the term pleasure so synonymous with anything involving your kind’s affairs.”
In contrast to his wariness when the Fae soldiers had first appeared, Garin stood with his fingers curled and muscles tensed, like a cornered wolf ready to spring. His unexpected response only drew more amusement from the bejeweled onlookers above; Lilac shrank into Garin’s shadow as the crowd above tittered and hissed.
“Where are we, Kestrel?” he demanded.
Kestrel was fiddling with the fur on his collar, but upon hearing his name, he leisurely looked up. He stood and began to pace in front of his throne, the black and ochre material scintillating like molten amber.
“Neither here nor there,” he replied airily, giving a nonchalant shrug.
The response—a vague truth meant to skirt around Kestrel’s inability to lie—only kindled Garin’s bristling anger. Perhaps it was what the faerie leader wanted. A palpable energy radiated from every fiber of his being. Lilac stepped back and away from him, but Garin automatically mirrored her move, stepping aside to place himself between her, Bastion, and the faerie.
“The tree—that blue fire. Was it a portal?” Garin asked behind his simmering rage.
A twist of unease knotted in Lilac’s throat. The way his even baritone raked against her skin implied exactly what she’d feared. There were strict laws in place preventing witches and warlocks from practicing acts of powerful, darker magic. So if they’d been portaled—and they certainly had—it was obviously outlawed. And the Fair Folk didn’t give a damn.
Kestrel dodged his inquiry again. “Curious how you dare question me, when it was me who summoned you.”
Garin was across the room in no time, gripping both
sides of the fox fur shawl that wrapped Kestrel’s throat. “Answer me,” he hissed. “Or I’ll choke you with your own garments. What is this infernal place? When you sent your men to find me, I’d agreed to talk—on the grounds that we remain in neutral territory. And my brother—”
“Lidnaat. Taniot,” said Kestrel warningly. Unconcerned with the snarling vampire at his neck, he swept a hand downward, motioning for the pair of guards behind Lilac to lower their arrows.
With the patience of a parent talking to a small child, Kestrel plucked Garin’s fingers off his garment neatly, one by one. Above them, the audience gasped.
“We’re still in Brocéliande,” he said with a wry smile. “Just in an area you are less familiar with.”
“You brought us to the Low Forest.” The vampire eyed Kestrel as he retreated to position himself once again in front of Lilac. “You can’t just—”
Unmoved, Kestrel’s smirk widened into a watchful grin. “I would heed caution in telling me what I can or can’t do, vampire.” The word dripped poison.
Garin ran an exasperated hand over his face. “Then, why are we here? And why is Bastion here?”
“Ah, finally you ask the right question.” Kestrel’s tapered ears wiggled in delight. “You see, your brother is just as guilty as you are.”
“Guilty?” The incredulous voices of both brothers bounced off the weathered stone walls.
“Guilty indeed! Guilty of harboring a criminal.” Kestrel looked pointedly at Garin, and Lilac’s pulse jumped.
Bastion turned, garnet eyes flitting questioningly between Lilac, who’d frozen in horror, and Garin’s twisted grimace.
Disenchanted Page 19
