Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  When Kestrel did not reply, Lilac continued. “In that regard, I was hoping you would be so kind as to allow me to continue my journey to Ophelia, so that I’ll be able to gain my place as queen with minimal pushback. And—”

  Garin cleared his throat before interrupting her. “Why would we allow that?”

  “Moments ago, you were protecting her.” The faerie appeared just as confused as she.

  Garin met Lilac’s look of confusion with one of disdain. “I was protecting us,” he answered Kestrel, “from wrath of their retribution. Now that you’ve confirmed humans are responsible for the death of my sire, I know my place well and clear.”

  He’d suspected Laurent’s death was by human hand long before they’d arrived. Why the abrupt change of heart? Lilac’s skin began to crawl.

  Or, maybe it was all an act? She returned Garin’s look of abhorrence with one of fury. “You’ll see to it that I am returned to the High Forest in time for my coronation.”

  “How would that benefit us?” Garin spat harshly. “You’re the devil spawn of the Trécessons, a prisoner of war. Your very blood makes you an enemy. Why should we release you?”

  Kestrel delighted in their animosity, trilling his fingertips together. He let out a high-pitched giggle. “Her blood,” he echoed wistfully. “Her blood makes her neither friend nor foe.” ”

  Garin ignored this. “I’ll tell you. You’ll scurry back to the chateau and continue to make our lives hell. You’ll corrupt your inherited kingdom even further, until it’s time to pass”

  She reeled as if he’d slapped her. It was familiar to something he’d said back at Sinclair’s campsite when she’d begged him to let the marquis go. Everything was different between them now. At least, it had appeared so.

  Through her suddenly tear brimmed glare, Garin’s coal eyes smoldered with slow-burning hatred—and suddenly, she understood what he was doing.

  “You, vampire, haven’t the slightest idea of what I have been through.” She stood straight despite feeling small, and her words rang out in the pit gone silent. “As much as I wish it was otherwise, I hold no more loyalty to the king and queen than you do.. Since my parents discovered my ability, they’ve grown fearful. Of me, of what I might do, what I might know. To this day, the townsfolk concern themselves with protesting my coronation. They have for weeks, and my own blood hasn’t spoken a word in my defense.”

  Emotion frayed the edges of her voice now. “I always thought our hate was driven by our differences. Byprejudice alone. I now realize the hardships my parents have inflicted upon your forest. They rescinded my grandfather’s law that gave you some sense of belonging.” Over the front of her cloak, she rested her palm upon the now silent dagger, considering her ancestors and what they’d think of her now, reasoning with a roomful of faeries. “That was partially my fault. And I’m sorry.”

  Kestrel, who’d been twirling his staff again, nearly missed it and scrabbled to catch the shaft. His eyes widened at her apology. Then, he nodded vigorously. “Your fault, indeed. Your father’s law is no law at all, but the reversal of one. He only did it when he discovered your ability, because thinks you’re wicked.”

  Murmurs arose from the crowd. Garin and Bastion exchanged glances. Kestrel did not take his falcon-like eyes off her, probably delighting in every nervous shudder passing through her body.

  “I take the throne in two days’ time. I promise each and every one of you that if I am so fortunate to take my place upon the throne, I will do away with my father’s selfish restrictions. I intend to sit down with willing representatives from each group, and we will draft a set of Accords that protect everyone’s interests—”

  The uproar in the room drowned her out, and she stopped, chest heaving. Some of the Fae jeered, infuriated, while others hollered in support.

  “You’re out of your bloody mind,” Kestrel snapped, all aloofness suddenly gone. “Humans and the Fair Folk will never fraternize.”

  “No, but we can work together to keep tensions neutral. To keep the peace, if a war is not what you wish.”

  She knew it would make no easy task; organizing an interspecies meeting might prove a double-edged sword. As if guided by an invisible force, she marched forward and snatched Ophelia’s letter from his hand. Gasps of horror filled the air, but she wouldn’t stop now. She finally knew her path, knew what she needed to do—and not even Kestrel would stand in her way.

  “If you believe keeping me hostage is the right thing to do, fine. I’ll rot. I’ll fade away. And then, Sinclair will become king. If there’s one thing worse for the lot of you than a Trécesson monarch, it is a Le Tallec. If that man becomes king, he will tirelessly rain bloodshed and brimstone upon you all.”

  This time, silence followed her speech. The air around her was thick, and static energy seemed to flow through her body. As if drawn to it, Garin watched soundlessly, jaw clenched. Gradually, her pulse calmed, and she again shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  She didn’t know what would come next.

  Kestrel considered her for a long moment. “I see only one flaw with this picture you’ve painted of Darklings and your kind playing nicely,” he said, then drifted over to her. Then he leaned in close.

  His breath tickled her ear, but she dug her heels into the ground and steeled herself to remain still. “You think I don’t know of your petty human affairs? I know you are set to marry the very Le Tallec boy you claim will ruin us!”

  Lilac sighed in relief. It was his only complaint, and the solution was so simple. “That’s where you are wrong, Kestrel,” she whispered back. “I’ve let my parents and everyone else believe what they want to, but I’ll never marry him. Not upon my ascension, and certainly not afterward. The throne is mine, and mine alone.”

  The head of the Fair Folk took a long, hard look at the princess. From across the room, so did Garin. With her messy chestnut hair peeking at odd angles from her scratchy wool cloak, small chin jutting out in determination in a roomful of Darklings ready to destroy her… all she had was the truth to weasel her way out of this one.

  To her amazement, Kestrel blinked first.

  “I haven’t a problem in the slightest with bloodshed, princess,” said Kestrel after the long pause. “But I agree with one thing. If the Sinclair boy becomes ruling monarch, it might be more trouble than what it’s worth… For now. You, my fickle princess, are the lesser of two evils. But the cost of war is part of life, especially when born into royalty, no doubt. Your ancestors knew that.” He glowered pointedly at Lilac. “The vampires here know it well too; most of them were cavalry in their former lives, trained as lethal beings long before their Darkling transformations.”

  “I understand,” Lilac replied, swallowing hard.

  “Which is why I must ask you, before I allow you to depart,” said Kestrel. The words ignited a furious flame of hope in Lilac’s heart, detracting from the ominous edge to the faerie’s voice. “I must ask you. What does that Garin lad mean to you?”

  The memory of Garin’s lips, soft but urgent as they molded to hers, burned fresh in her memory, and Lilac wondered if Kestrel could see it, too. Keeping her face straight, she replaced it with the more recent and relevant memory of Garin questioning her involvement with Laurent’s murder, her competency as queen—not to mention how quick he was to cast the blame of her escape on her.

  “He’s a Darkling who had the nerve to kidnap me,” she answered decidedly. “He’s nothing at all.”

  The impish left Kestrel’s face. He cocked an eyebrow at Garin. “I see.” Then, he whirled back on Lilac. “So, your kiss… That was of free will, then?”

  Her clamoring heart nearly stopped. She didn’t dare look at Garin or Bastion, so she instead held Kestrel’s penetrating stare. The crowd stifled their gasps this time, probably fearful of missing her response.

  Finally, she spoke. It was a pathetic parry, but it was all she had. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

 
; Kestrel waved his staff once more; this time, the vines that bound both vampires snapped. They stumbled forward but quickly regained their footing. Garin quickly made his way to Sinclair’s sword next to Bastion, moving with such fluidity he appeared to be floating. With the elegance of a trained swordsman, he retrieved it off the floor and slipped the blade into its sheath while Bastion, already healed from his wounds, gathered himself, staring dumbfoundedly at his brother.

  Lilac watched, awestruck, and wondered if Garin had been downplaying this vampiric grace the whole time. Strangely, seeing him handle Sinclair’s blade brought her attention to her own weapon. It had stopped seizing entirely.

  “The vampire, for all its human seemings and trappings, remains a monster and will always regard itself as such,” Kestrel begun to explain airily, to no one in particular. “The foolish, often younger blood drinker boasts some control over the agonizing hunger, but the older and wiser understand they are forever powerless pawns of its desires. By nature, vampires are protective of their prey. Dear princess, I advise you to keep this in mind, especially if the end goal for you is surviving your journey to Paimpont and back to the castle. Remember… any unseemly relationship between the two of you will only alienate those you wish to bring to your side.”

  “I can assure you that won’t be the case,” Lilac agreed. As much as she wished she could melt into the floor after being lectured by Kestrel, she was also fiercely happy she’d soon see the light of day again.

  “Not so fast, queenie. What will you be paying her with?”

  “Paying?”

  Kestrel nodded. “Invitation doesn’t always guarantee free service.”

  “No one loves free shit more than the rich,” Bastion muttered under his breath.

  Lilac’s heart sunk. She’d brought a hefty coin purse of gros and livres, but it wasn’t exactly something she’d considered. It was Ophelia who had invited her, after all.

  But what if it wasn’t enough?

  As if reading her thoughts, the faerie twirled his hand in the air. From a blue puff of smoke, he produced a small black drawstring pouch. “This is for the witch. I’m sure she intended to offer her services from the pure darkness of her pitiless heart. Nevertheless, it is always in good taste to leave an impressive gratuity. I’m sure you know that.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  He waved the pouch. “Think of it as a token of our temporary acquaintance. I’m sure the favor will be repaid in due time.”

  Ignoring Garin and Bastion’s warning looks, she accepted it cautiously. She cradled it in her hands. It wasn’t money. The item was firm, rotund, and fit perfectly cupped in Lilac’s palm. She sniffed at it, but Kestrel made a noise.

  “It is rude to peek in on a gift that isn’t yours.”

  She tucked it neatly into her knapsack.

  “Garin,” he sung. “It is my wish that you accompany Her Highness on this journey of hers.” The faerie raised a palm up to forestall Garin’s exasperated protests. “You will see to it that she holds up to her promise. You will ensure she becomes the sole monarch. And if she does not,” he added, the twinkle returning to his eyes, “or if she tries to run from you… kill her.”

  “Fine,” he replied through his teeth.

  Lilac swallowed a bitter sigh. There was no doubt in her mind that Kestrel was being serious, but the threat was futile. There was no way she’d forfeit the throne, and there wasn’t one person she could think of who would be foolish enough to challenge Garin—save Sinclair, who wouldn’t dare. As long as they kept the Le Tallecs out of the way, there’d be no problem.

  Right?

  “I’m not finished with you, vampire.” The faerie king winked at Garin. “I have something for you.” He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small, white square. It was a folded piece of parchment sealed with a glob of golden wax. Pinching it between his long fingers, he motioned for him to come hither. Bastion warily kept his distance.

  Just loud enough for the three of them to hear, Kestrel whispered to Garin. “I’m sure this will motivate you, if nothing else will. You may open it after, and only after the Trécesson girl is crowned. If you attempt to open or tamper with it at any point before, or if you fail, the message will incinerate and be lost forever.”

  Garin squinted dubiously. “What is it?”

  “This letter holds the answer to the question that has burned brightest in the desolate pits of your mind.”

  The faerie’s secretive smile only widened at Garin’s bleak grimace as he took the envelope and hastily stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Or should I say, the answer to one of the questions?”

  Kestrel leaned in further still, cocking his head ever so slightly at Lilac, who glowered blackly at the both of them.

  “What do you say, boy? Hmm? Better a human this time, than a witch.”

  15

  With a single wave of his mysterious staff, Kestrel had deposited them unceremoniously in the midst of a moss-covered glen beside a small body of crystal-clear water. Lilac’s head throbbed as she sat up; she’d landed flat on her back, missing the surrounding thickets entirely. She cupped her right temple and sat up among a tall patch of reeds—although her sack had miraculously softened the impact on her spine, the fall still sent a dizzying jolt of pain throughout her joints. She gingerly loosened the kinks in her neck with two satisfying cracks and glanced around.

  Regardless of all she’d studied and read, nothing could have prepared her for Cinderfell and the bizzare wrath of Kestrel. It was no wonder those journals and manuscripts said so little about the Brocéliande Fair Folk—no wonder the scholars’ conclusions were spun with mere speculation; likely, she was one of a handful of humans who’d witnessed the terrifying creatures and were spared to give a firsthand account. Her shoulders prickled with the memory of the dark, tittering crowd above them. Their glittering eyes and jewels still burned into her mind, blazing in stark scrutiny.

  Faeries weren’t mysterious, all-elusive beings after all—not so much as they were hostile entities, despising both humans and Darklings alike… Creatures, whose capacity for logic had been blotted out by vanity, or madness, or both.

  At the nearby sound of sloshing, Lilac suddenly realized she was sitting in the mud, staring blankly at the pond’s glass-like surface. Garin appeared above her an instant later, cold hands slipping under her arms. His lips moved as he mounted her on her feet, but no discernable sound came from them. Beyond the muffled mumbling, she heard a tinny ringing, her own breath hitching in her throat.

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what he was saying by the movement of his lips. He shook her shoulders and grabbed her chin, but she jolted at his sudden touch and batted his hand away.

  “Don’t,” she snarled through the fading haze, shocking even herself. But she was too worn to care.

  Antsily, Garin crossed his arms across his chest as if to restrain himself from checking her over. His irises danced with urgency as her senses slowly returned, his voice finally rushing in. “—you all right? Are you hurt at all?”

  “Are we safe?” was all Lilac asked.

  “For now,” he admitted distractedly. “Can you move all of your limbs?”

  The slow return of her senses brought the barreling return of her memory, albeit foggy. In a burst of fury, Lilac shrugged away from him. He let her.

  “Like hell I can,” she growled. “You were going to let them take me. After everything, you really still believe I was involved in Laurent’s death?”

  “That’s not what I said at all,” he countered, suddenly scathing. “Why does that matter, since I mean nothing to you?”

  “You implied that I might’ve been aware of Laurent’s murder, even when I said I wasn’t.” Lilac poked a trembling finger at the vampire’s chest, trying hard to remember all the cruel things he’d said back in the colosseum to throw back in his face. “You had the nerve to tell him that I’d escaped. Look, I trusted you!”

&nb
sp; “Exactly what else was I supposed to do, princess,” Garin shot back, his voice now raising. “Tell me. Should I have admitted to the faeries that I’d let you go? That we’d bargained my coven entry for your release?”

  Garin reached for her hand, but she yanked it away. “By pitting you and I against each other, I tried to put it in Kestrel and his jury of lunatic’s minds that we weren’t friendly whatsoever. I was afraid of him growing too suspicious and using that as leverage to keep you; he’d figured it out and released us, anyway, but I couldn’t be sure. Kestrel is as unpredictable as he is unstable. To be quite honest, I’m surprised he let us go.”

  “And what if he hadn’t?” she snapped, kicking a plump leech off her flat.

  “Then…” He ruffled his hair and pretended to consider it. “I suppose, we’d be fugitives careening toward the High Forest by now, you and I both drenched in faerie blood. It’s a little abrasive on the skin, or so I’ve heard.” He threw her a devastating wink that he’d probably intended to be reassuring.

  “Either way,” he added. “We’ll both owe Kestrel largely someday; I hope you know that.”

  Lilac stared at him long and hard, the incandescent rage in her glare promptly scorching the amusement in his. “Was any of it true, though? Partially true? Is there some part of you that thought I deserved to be locked away by tho—”

  Cold fingers clamped over her mouth, cutting her off abruptly. The too-familiar scent of something like metal coins stifled her gasp as, who she could only assume was Bastion, pressed her body against his.

  “First of all, brother,” he snarled from over her shoulder. “What. The. Fuck?”

  Garin reached out a calm, surrendering hand. “Relax, Bast. We’ll deal with this later. You heard Kestrel—she and I don’t have a lot of time. I have to get her back to the castle for her ceremony.”