With every word, Lilac sunk a bit deeper into the floor—or so it felt. He was lying. For himself. And he’d made her sound like an insubordinate in the process.
Their time in the Mine had revealed a tender, different side of him. She realized with a sinking feeling that she’d probably revealed more of herself to him than was wise. She should have known better than to trust his kind. Vampires lied and manipulated for personal gain; his inability to feed had made him seem safer to be around, which, apparently wasn’t the case at all. Her heart beat unevenly against her ribcage.
She shouldn’t have been as shocked as she felt, so she swallowed it. Every pair of glittering eyes except Garin’s bore into her soul. Lilac teetered on her heels; sick dread pushed against her like an invisible gale.
“Who bit her, then? Was it your brother, since you are unable?” Kestrel inquired, noting the contrast between Garin’s grey eyes and Bastion’s deep red ones.
“It was a stray.”
“A rogue vampire?” Bastion looked as incredulous as Kestrel. “But how?”
Garin gave an uninterested shrug. “Probably an outsider,” he lied again. “Or maybe someone’s mistake. I intend to look into it.”
It was hard to tell if any of his half-truths held water with the faerie leader, and Garin was courageous for lying outright to him considering what Lorietta had said back at the inn. She’d implied that the vampires and the Fair Folk had at times worked closely together, but under that pretense, it seemed they were more reluctant servants than anything.
Kestrel whistled as he treaded closer to Garin. Smiling, he gripped the vampire’s chin and lifted his head, turning it this way and that. “Your story rings of truth. As such, I understand you were not willingly harboring a criminal—to your knowledge, at least. You are forgiven. Instead, I believe I need to congratulate you and your brother.” He stepped back and bowed extravagantly, first to Garin, and then to Bastion.
“Congratulate us on what?” Bastion snorted.
His cloak flapping behind him, Kestrel whirled and stalked toward Lilac. He filled her vision in an instant. She instantly retreated, only to brush against the guard behind her, who forcibly shoved her away with a grunt of disgust. She tripped and fell to the dirt, shielding herself with her hands over her head. Loud gasps were heard from the crowd. A stiletto boot nudged her leg, and Kestrel’s voice rang out from above.
“For bringing me the princess,” he answered, sounding satisfied. “A rather impressive token of your coveted friendship. A worthy prisoner of war.”
Lilac began to tremble again, and suddenly the open air of the colosseum felt too close. This was no meeting of formalities or introductions, as Garin had earlier suggested. Kestrel intended to keep her as a bargaining chip.
As if in response to her thoughts, Garin’s voice rumbled from across the pit. “With all due respect, Kestrel, you merely requested the presence of me and my thrall. I said nothing about handing her over. She remains mine.” The last sentence came out as a hiss.
Garin’s words did little to quell the icy dread trickling down Lilac’s spine. How much was his word worth in the Low Forest? If he still intended to protect her. All lines of loyalty had blurred all too quickly under Kestrel’s confusing interrogation. It was probably exactly what the faerie had wanted.
She uncurled from her ball and found Kestrel still towering over her.
The faerie cackled. “Really? And with your unfortunate biting curse, what will you do with her? Make her your chamber maid? Have her feather dust the windows?” Kestrel danced in place, hyping himself with every word. The crowd of hats and lace roared with laughter. “Will she serve your tea?”
Suddenly, he changed direction and returned to Lilac.
Without warning, he snatched a fistful of her hair and leaned in, angling her skull at Garin. “Will you make her your slave? She has the most vivid imagination, you know. The pressure of your hand on the small of her back… Of you, between her thighs.”
Cheeks now a muddled crimson, Lilac blinked through her hot tears. His chest rose and fell in piqued heaves, murderous steel eyes never once leaving Kestrel.
The faerie unceremoniously released her, leaving her scalp to throb violently as the blood rushed back. Once more the crowd above tittered; across the way, Bastion said nothing, observing the scene grimly.
He was toying with all of them. Perhaps Garin’s selfish lies had only provoked the faerie into further madness.
Garin’s lips curled away from his teeth.
Kestrel’s laughter ceased abruptly and he cocked his head, a curious expression washing his features. “Perhaps…You’ll taste her?”
“Stop it,” Garin said quietly. He was almost begging.
The faerie king gasped, cupping a gigantic palm over his mouth. “My! You haven’t—has she not let any blood for you? Even with your inability? Not even a little?”
“She has,” Garin croaked insistently, but his anguish only gave him away.
“Lo! Apparently, she hasn’t,” Kestrel roared along with the crowd. “A cruel lass, she is. That’s to be expected.” He clucked sympathetically, tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Typical, really.”
Then, he swiftly rose the staff over Lilac’s head.
“Please,” she blurted, speaking out for the first time. She instinctively shielded her face with both arms, but the guards on either side of her yanked her up to her feet and pinned her arms to her side, also stilling her writhing torso. She stopped struggling and tucked her neck, bracing herself for the blow—
And felt nothing.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
A warm sensation made its way down her shoulder and trickled onto her cleavage. She clamped a hand over her neck—the incisions from Piper’s teeth had painlessly reopened. Like lightning, Kestrel lunged forward and grasped her chin with one hand, talons clinging to her cheeks while his other hand dug deeper into the teeth marks. That part wasn’t painless; Lilac’s piercing scream choked off by the crushing pressure of his palm on her windpipe.
“Why is he protecting you?” he murmured softly against her hair, nails digging deeper. “Why, especially after what you did to that poor shapeshifter.” Then, louder for everyone to hear, he repeated the question. “Why is the head of the vampires protecting the daughter of the very humans who have caused Brocéliande to live in such misery?” he bellowed. “Who treat us, as though we are lower than dirt!”
He released her before she turned blue, his right palm slicked with her blood. He then flounced over to Garin, who held his breath and turned his head as far as it would go—but even Lilac knew what Kestrel was doing. The faerie raised his red hand and smeared it unceremoniously over Garin’s face. Over the lower half: his nostrils, his chin, last trailing his thumb across the vampire’s lips.
At first, Garin retched and spit a globule of red onto the dirt. Then, the apparent nausea on his face morphed into something else entirely. Something sinister.
Lilac blushed and stumbled back into the arms of Kestrel’s soldiers. It was easier to fear him now, as she supposed she always should have.
Garin was struggling even harder now to free himself from the vines. Every trace of humanity in his eyes were now absent. An uncontrollable fear shot through her, along with the urge to bolt. But her legs were stuck in place, and the rippling Fae arms that surrounded her may as well have been chains. The wild buzzing on her hip started afresh. She was relieved her cloak helped the dagger’s vibrations remain undetected by any but her.
“Those ropes are quite strong,” Kestrel remarked. “Fortunate for you.”
“Kestrel,” muttered Bastion. Even he was visibly shaken. “Crazy ass fae—"
“I’m merely trying to help remind your brother what side he’s on. It seems he’s a bit lost.”
Garin made another gagging noise, and for a moment Lilac thought he would be sick. He coughed and took a moment to regain a portion of his composure. “I’m on your—on our side,” he sputtered.
<
br /> Kestrel jabbed a finger at Garin’s face. “Don’t play with me. You’re protecting her, Darkling. To what end? You said you’d met her at the inn. That means she entered Brocéliande on her own accord. She’s ours now.”
“She’s thefuture queen, Kestrel. If anything happens to her on our end, there will be war.”
Kestrel’s brows rose, and his tone took on a childish delight. “War. What an enticing concept. Any excuse to murder humans is fine by me. And I bet you miss the bloodshed of the battlefield, don’t you?”
“Come on, Gar. Let them have her.” Bastion spoke softly from his corner, almost as if afraid to be heard. “Let’s leave.”
“The humans have made your kind miserable.” Kestrel stepped back from Garin and cracked his knuckles. “We owe them nothing, including sparing the daft girl who meandered into the woods and into our very hands. The more she means to the kingdom, the better. Tell me, vampire, first sired of the late Laurent… How can you defend her? It was her kind, after all, who’d murdered your former leader.”
The air audibly expelled from Lilac’s lungs. Garin winced. The Fair Folk were incapable of lying.
What they’d feared was true.
She knew what any Darkling would believe to be the right choice—for Kestrel lock her away until her parents made fairer choices for all. But she would be queen in a matter of days; such responsibility would then fall under her.
And if not her, then…
No. The throne was hers, and hers alone. Even if she had to burn the kingdom to the ground.
The Fae were a stubborn bunch, and they weren’t likely to let up unless a better plan was presented.
“Was it the royal family?” Garin couldn’t seem to help himself. “Are they behind Laurent’s murder?”
There was a twinkle in Kestrel’s eye. The faerie’s gaze flitted briefly over Lilac before he responded. “Does it still matter?”
“What’s wrong with you?” The vampire bristled. “That is the princess. Don’t you understand? There will be unprecedented destruction and bloodshed on both sides if she is hurt or dies at our hands. I am not prepared to be responsible for a loss of that magnitude. How can we support a war when we are already struggling for survival?”
“You sound just like your late father,” was all Kestrel said.
“I’m not defending her, Kestrel. I speak on our own best interests.”
Lilac rocked on her heels. She didn’t give a shit who Garin pandered to if it got them released.
“Now… No one said I planned to kill her. They can have her back, eventually—dead or alive. No matter. She’s mine for now. For ransom.”
“Ransom?” Bastion scoffed.
Kestrel stroked his chin, nodding to himself. “Her parents will consider lifting their wretched law. That is, if they ever want to see their girl again. Or else, I’ll send her head back in a gift box.”
Across the room, Garin opened his mouth to reply, but a peculiar noise stopped him. First it was shrill, then it deepened into a coughing rasp. Garin frowned while Bastion leered across the room.
The hysteria had finally broken through.
Lilac was laughing.
14
Lilac had lost it. She sounded like a dying animal, but she couldn’t help it.
The crowd held their breath. Through her giggles, she could almost hear them.
What would the girl with the Darkling tongue would do next?
But as her laughter died, the hysteria only grew. Mere days ago she’d escaped the turreted castle confines, shortly after which she’d fallen prisoner to a vampire who turned out to be the new leader of the Brocéliande coven. And, moments after he granted her freedom, she found herself held for ransom by a deranged faerie.
Kestrel was either psychotic or ignorant enough to believe she would have any influence over her the king and queens’ decisions. This revealed how little he truly knew of the human realm. As the only mortal in the room, only she knew better.
“Something... the matter?” Kestrel arched a brow.
“You have the audacity to think,” she replied, snorting again, “that my father would consider rescinding his law?”
It was evident the faerie did not appreciate being scoffed at. “Of course, they would. Don’t be a fool. You’re to be crowned in a couple of days.”
She shook her head condescendingly. “That doesn’t matter to them.”
“I’ll do what I have to, even if it involves having your vampire at your throat.”
“No, I don’t think you comprehend what it is I’m saying. King Henri and Queen Marguerite would rather let me suffer, even die, than change their policies. Such actions would show cowardice—furthermore, it might upset their supporters. Something they will never do. That, I am sure of.” She hiccupped twice and grinned lazily at the faerie. “It won’t matter that I am their daughter. I was their prisoner for nearly a decade because of my Darkling tongue. What makes you think my missing would change their political stance? They would simply replace me with Sinclair—the only son of the duke, as you know.”
Kestrel watched her intently, and so did the vampires in the background.
Like my parents, the Le Tallecs harbor a deep hatred for you all. Deeper, still. My parents are steadfast in their ways. I can promise you, their resolve would remain immovable.”
With the underlying bitterness to her words, the humor finally left her. Whether or not it was true, she did not know for sure. To her mother and father, she’d already been tainted by the same darkness plaguing Brocéliande. What more would it be to simply let her go, never to be found again—especially if threatened by the Fae? Giving into a ransom would only display weakness.
She squared her shoulders and glared at her audience of three in the foreground. “I’m sure you’re aware of the Paimpont riots. My own people don’t want me as queen.
I know, deep down, they too believe the duke’s son is more suited for the throne than I. However, the kingdom ruled by Sinclair would only lead to your destruction. The man is insane. He kills Darklings for sport and gets away with it.”
Kestrel put a finger up as if he were going to interrupt her. Instead, he noticed his floating finger, frowned, and put it down again.
Shaken and mpassioned, Lilac took that as permission to continue. Her voice wavered, but no longer out of fear. “Without thinking, he would set the entire forest ablaze. It took the first half of the Hundred Year’s War to destroy the forests that used to cover our country. It would take him but a moment to destroy all of Brocéliande. If he becomes king, he’ll ruin everything. For all of us.”
Kestrel’s mouth had grown taught. “You are a curious thing, little girl. Yearning to serve a kingdom that despises you. Dare I ask… What brought you to Brocéliande?”
“As I told Garin, I am passing through to see a friend in Paimpont.”
He spun on his heel to face Garin, who gave an honest shrug.
“You believed that? Diddly-eyed idiot.” Kestrel shimmied sideways, placing himself directly between the vampire and princess. “What’s the real reason, human? I wouldn’t lie if I were you.”
Lilac’s mouth went dry. At this point, there was no reason she shouldn’t admit it. Everything was already out on the table. Maybe she was just afraid to hear the words come out of her own mouth. “I came to see a witch who lives at the edge of Paimpont. She’s going to help me reverse my curse. She’ll… help rid me of my Darkling Tongue.” She tried not to blush, tried to appear confident—and failed miserably. It sounded so stupid out loud.
“Wait. Why?” It was Garin who spoke now, to her for the first time since they’d entered Cinderfell.
She glanced at him incredulously. Excuse you. “Ever since my Tongue was discovered, my parents have kept me out of sight, so as not to stoke the discontent of our people. Hiding away is impossible as my own coronation approaches, and still, they riot. They see it—see me—as a wicked omen. The witch Ophelia is willing to help me.”
A round o
f hushed whispers encircled the room, but Kestrel held up a hand to silence them. “Ophelia… Ophelia of Paimpont?”
Lilac nodded hesitantly. She supposed; this was the first Ophelia she’d known, ever. “You know of her?”
“Our paths have brushed. She did me a small favor, eons ago. An enigma, that woman. From what I know of her she’s a transplant, a nomad most of her life before settling here. She hails from Paris, one of those—” he waved his hands in a noncommittal gesture—"Renaissance types. Word around the marsh is that she’s an addictive hag and notorious gambler.” Kestrel peered at her through his thick lashes. “So, what in heaven and hell makes you think she would help you?”
Lilac gulped. Whatever she’d imagined of Ophelia, it sure wasn’t the portrait Kestrel had painted for her. But the witch’s word was her word, and simply, she had offered a cure. Heart leaping into her throat, she moved to retrieve the letter in her cloak pocket—only to receive a sharp squeeze from the guards clutching her arms.
“May I?” she said to Kestrel.
At his impatient nod, the guards released her. She reached into her cloak pocket and pulled out the envelope and out of that, the still-damp piece of folded parchment. She shook it out and prayed the ink was still legible. Careful not to brush his fingers, she handed the parchment to Kestrel.
Lines appeared on his forehead as he scrutinized each line. When finished, he glanced up and yanked it from her reach when she tried to grab it back. His expression was unreadable. “You’re serious then. Had you been in contact with the witch before?”
“No. No sir,” she added for effect, anxiously fiddling with the now empty envelope. “The other day I’d just ended brunch when one of the maids brought that letter in from the courier. I almost didn’t open it for fear it was from Sin—” She stopped herself before accidentally giving the Fair Folk any more information about herself that they needn’t know. “A wayward admirer. But something told me to open it.”
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