Bastion scoffed, squeezing the princess tightly. His calloused hand crushed her lips, causing her to yelp out against his palm. “Not now? You’re gone for decades and when you finally return, the princess woman has you spellbound? Was what happened with—”
“I’m not,” he replied unenthusiastically, but his darkened irises blazed with petulance. “You were the one who wanted me gone in the first place.”
“It all could’ve been avoided, had you been honest with me.”
“I could have—should have handled it better, brother. I was afraid of what had happened to me. I could hardly believe it myself. Forgive me.”
Fingering her hair, Bastion pressed his nose to the side of Lilac’s throat, eliciting a sound she’d never heard come from Garin. It was a warning growl. Fear thrummed through her body and she froze; in a split second of alarm she backed into Bastion.
“Tell me this, brother,” the blond vampire muttered against her skin. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” His voice was strained with defeat while Lilac’s heart thrummed erratically. She suspected Bastion certainly was faster, much stronger than Garin in the moment.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her. I am amazed at how you do it—how you haven’t truly tasted her yet. Times have changed.” Finally, he pulled away, though his grasp remained firm. “You do realize that if you fail, Kestrel will come after us.”
Garin’s nostrils flared. “I won’t.”
Lilac felt her pulse skip in her neck. Fail, she realized, meaning if she never became queen.
Because they hadn’t gotten there in time? Because the townsfolk made a big enough stink? Because Sinclair and his men returned with a vengeance? Because Garin had a change of heart and thought it enough to repay Laurents murderer by doing away with her?
“Let her go,” he snarled. “She doesn’t have time for this.”
Bastion released Lilac’s wrist and spun her to face him. Inhaling slowly, he passed his thumb over her mouth, parting her lips.
“Stop,” Lilac demanded against his finger, forcing bravery into her voice so its wavering was less noticeable. Bastion was repulsive—nearly but not quite as much as Sinclair—and reminded her of every nightmare she’d had as a child. Unlike the coniferous and alluringaroma of his brother, Bastion reeked of wet blood and the incense used at funeral rites.
“Get your vile hands off me.”
As if he could read her mind, he chuckled darkly. “Don’t go flattering yourself, human. Whereas it is obvious my brother is torn between the urge to kiss or drain you, I am only interested in the latter. I don’t associate myself with mortals and even if I did, you’re not at all my cup of tea.”
He released her with one last look of disdain and sauntered forward to thump Garin on the back. “Right, big brother. I suppose I’ll be a good old lad and occupy myself with tracking the rogue vampire. What shall I do once she’s found?”
“Do what you would normally do for a new fledgling.”
“Kill it?”
Garin shot him a warning look.
“Fine.” He dismissively waved a hand.
Lilac sized Bastion up as he passed her.
“If you know what’s good for you,” he muttered, ignoring Garin’s warning look. “You’ll take good care to watch the sort of company you keep.”
With a scorching parting glance, Bastion was gone.
The moon hung low as Lilac stared at the lake, the reflection painting a near perfect replica of the luminous crescent and its breathtaking stars. Without a single ripple to dent it, she could’ve set a goblet upon its pristine surface. Lilac peered down at her face, expecting to see fine lines after her journey so far. Or maybe a gauntness to her cheeks from the lack of regular meals. But instead of the imperfections she dreaded, her features appeared softer, even enchanting in the moonlight.
Her eyes were most noticeable. The biggest difference of all lay not in their sudden clarity; their usual childlike apprehension had shifted to a dark indigo—the swirling resolve of an explorer navigating treacherous seas.
Perhaps Brocéliande had driven her mad, after all.
It was an illusion. It was perfect—too perfect, unlike anything that had ever concerned her. Lilac extended a hand to touch the surface, driven by the reckless urge to break the tranquil plane. Fingers caked in flaking brown reached for her reflection, and with a start, she realized they were her own. She frowned. In all the commotion, she’d forgotten about the dried blood covering most of her upper body. She suppressed a shiver and hastily scooped a handful of water to rub her palms in. Once they were clean, she ran her wet hands over the sides of her throat; the blood there was thicker, and there was a lot more of it. The lake water soaked into the dampened front of her dress, and she cursed as endless rivulets of dull burgundy came off onto her fingertips.
Between Piper and Kestrel, she had no idea how much blood she’d lost. It was a miracle she hadn’t lost consciousness. Lilac’s fingers brushed against the scabbed cuts left by Piper’s teeth. She whirled when something shifted in the branches behind her.
“Must you?” Garin’s cutting voice floated down from the trees. When she ignored him, he loudly cleared his throat.
After he’d given her space to fume—after the hysteria from being portaled twice by the faerie king had worn off—she’d fallen for the lure of the lake, somehow forgetting all about him. By the time
she spotted him, he perched on the low bough of a tree.
She frowned. “If you think I’m going to acknowledge you after everything, you are highly mistaken.” With a haughty lift of her chin, she returned to the business of cleansing her wound.
“I already told you, I was only trying to convince him that I was on his side, so that he’d release us,” he said quietly. “I had to take that chance. These Fair Folk thrive on chaos. Seeing the plain horror on your face was enough to please him.”
Lilac gave a disjointed grunt.
“You know what? Believe whatever you want, I won’t argue,” he grumbled, watching intently as she then brought water to the neck of her dress.
It was freezing.
“Seems like a lost cause, doesn’t it?”
Lilac paused, straightening. “Excuse me?”
“You’re only soaking your dress further. You’ve re-dampened the dried blood and made it even more pungent.”
Anger spiked through Lilac. He was laughing. After all they’d been through in the past forty-eight hours, Garin had the big-headed audacity to laugh at her.
“If I didn’t know better,” he continued, “I ‘d think you’d never laundered a single garment in your life.”
She whirled on him, the red-stained water dripping freely from her dress and back into the lake. “You know, Garin, there are certain instances in life where you might find it more appropriate to hold your tongue.”
He crossed his arms. “Are you advising me on my manners?”
“I’m advising you on not being a fucking asshole, Garin.”
“Well, if I’m expected to be anywhere near you tonight, you need to get rid of everything soaked in blood,” he said, suddenly grim. “While it isn’t completely unbearable, an extension of common courtesy toward me would be so kind of you… Gracious princess.”
The too-fresh memory of Garin’s uncontrolled reaction in Cinderfell sent nausea roiling through her. Though she would’ve liked to change out of her once marvelous, now carnaged red dress, she didn’t have anything else to change into. Her original white shift and green dress were in her bag, but both were also damp and filthy.
Plus, Garin had no right to be ordering her about.
“No,” she said resolutely.
“No?”
“No.”
Suddenly, the weight of her sack leaning against her foot was gone. She stood up, gut heavy with dread. With a small thud Garin landed behind her, boots planted firmly into the grass and her potato sack hanging in his hand.
She lunged for him, but he swif
tly stepped out of her way with ease.
“Give it—”
He shook his head. Lilac lunged for him again, but this time, he whipped the bag out of the way and caught her arm with his other hand. She glowered up at him after a momentary struggle to free herself.
“Tell me, princess… is it valor or your stubbornness that plagues you so?” Garin uttered softly, his long fingers scrupulously dropping from her arm to rest upon her lower back. The effortless fluidity of his motion made her shiver. “I’m not returning your precious belongings until you agree to change out of that maddening dress. I was ordered to play babysitter. However, it should not mean that I need to suffer endlessly. Not that I’m sure it’s entirely preventable,” he added under his breath.
She shook her head vigorously. “You don’t need to listen to Kestrel. You don’t need to see me to Paimpont. You’re free to go. I declare it.”
He squinted, eyes deepened to a shade of slate at her challenge. “No offense, Your Highness,” he said, poison dripping from his voice, “but I’m afraid your word doesn’t hold much weight here in Brocéliande, especially against Kestrel’s orders. I’m keeping my word.”
“You aren’t coming with me,” she exclaimed, balling her hands into fists. “I am doing this alone, as I intended.”
“And I wish I could see you try. I foresee great success in that, indeed.” Impudently, he grinned as she rolled her eyes. “Let’s disobey the faerie king with the portaling powers, right after he miraculously let us go. You remember his stipulation, don’t you? Shall I kill you now, or later?”
Heat prickled under Lilac’s feet. She was lost, and unable to shake him. The confusion of loyalty in Cinderfell was a harsh reminder that, even if he looked human, Garin was far from it. As she watched him closely, his need to feed grappling with his protective instincts became obvious.
It might be a good idea not to tempt him with her bloody garments, but still…
“I don’t have anything else to change into,” she admitted, shoulders slumping in humiliation. It wasn’t an issue she was accustomed to dealing with.
He released her, his mouth agape. “That’s it?” He peered down at her through this hick lashes, viewing the red brocade as if it were a paper sack. “What kind of princess are you? What’d you bother to bring, three outfits?”
Fuming, Lilac shoved past him. She began trailing the edge of the lake, scouring it for the smallest hint of a brook to follow. She would make it with or without her stupid potato sack. Specks of mud flung onto her legs as she furiously stomped into the damp earth of the pond bank. Her reprieve from the vampire’s company was short-lived. In an instant he was on her left, walking backwards and easily matching her inelegant stride.
“Well, do you plan to make your triumphant return to the chateau dressed like that? All shoddy and, well…” He motioned up and down. “Like that?”
“What do you care?” Her belly twisted painfully with hunger, making her even more irritable. She hadn’t had anything to eat since the Mine.
“I can wash your garments for you,” he offered simply, as if it were a normal thing to say. “All of them.”
Lilac stopped in her tracks. The unexpected kindness of his first sentence made the second feel particularly violating.
Upon realizing the implications of his words, Garin froze. “Well your clothes are botched, and I thought I could—I mean—” he cleared his throat. “If you would like, I’ll help you,” he muttered.
As his voice trailed off, Lilac’s frown also turned into a reluctant half-grin that she couldn’t help. He didn’t slip up often, and seeing the vampire flustered made her feel that much better.
“Look, hear me out,” Garin said, running his fingers through his hair as if he’d managed a smoother recovery. “Your ceremony is to be held the day after tomorrow, right?” Taking her stubborn silence as a yes, he continued. “The town isn’t far from here at all. About halfway between the Lake of Mirrors,” he jutted a thumb at the serene water next to them, “and Paimpont is a small patch of farmland. I propose we stay there for the remainder of the night into morning, and—”
Lilac shook her head and started walking again, reminded of the urgency at hand. “No. I need to get back in time. You realize that’ll be wasting an entire day?”
“And you do realize what I am?” He scowled and jabbed a pale finger at his chest.
She couldn’t help but follow its direction and examine him. His skin looked ghostly now, almost ethereal in the silver light.
“I can’t travel by day,” he reminded her softly.
Lilac suddenly couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs. While focusing on his dietary needs, she’d forgotten all about his aversion to sunlight. She’d never make it back in time if he came with her. Maybe, deep down and despite her frustrations, she had been counting on him to come with her—to guard her from the worst of the forest, certainly.
But, despite Cinderfell, and despite his promise to Kestrel… also, just to be with her.
She closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply through the sudden panic at the thought of traveling through the forest alone. The kingdom would be in the best hands under her rule, but fate was surely intent on convincing her otherwise. She began to cry, and she clenched her eyes tighter. Perhaps she was never meant for the crown, after all. Never meant for the great things shed dreamt of. The Le Tallecs would be the perfect family to run a kingdom stuck in such tradition and unfaltering prejudice.
She wasn’t meant to be feral, untamable light. She was but a dull, timorous flame—a flint whose spark was fierce, but might never ignite. She let out a sob of frustration.
She barely heard Garin approaching before he folded his arms around her shoulders. Her sobs turned to a hiccupping laugh as he gingerly pressed her against his chest. He’d had no idea why she was crying; she probably seemed insane to him. Still, she placed a hand gently on his chest as it rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths. “I’ve realized that we won’t get there in time if you come along.” She sucked in a deep breath. “You have to let me go, Garin. I’d use the entire day tomorrow to travel, hopefully getting there by dawn.”
Pity washed over his face, softening the vampire’s striking features. He grasped her cheeks between both palms, and Lilac’s heart thudded at the thought of him kissing her again. Instead, he shook his head condescendingly.
“I don’t remember being this dramatic when I was human,” he whispered tenderly. “As I was saying, we take shelter near the farmland and get going by tomorrow evening. We’re almost to the town. I say we take care of your business at the witch’s, then head out to the castle immediately after that. You’ll be there before dawn.”
His insistence at the impossible wiped the warmth she felt toward him. She swatted his stone-cold hands off her, unable to grasp what he wasn’t comprehending. “Do you struggle with a warped sense of time? We’re not going to make it back if we wait till tomorrow night to get moving. We won’t.
“Have you forgotten what I am? Garin turned so that his back faced her and squatted, reaching back to pat his shoulder.
“Get on.”
“You’re stupid if you think I will.”
He straightened, throwing her a patronizing grin. “And you’re in denial if you think I won’t pick you up again. Now, please.”
Fighting the urges to punch him on the lip or run, she sighed loudly. “I can’t wait until I no longer need entertain your ridiculous endeavors.”
He turned and crouched again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wash off your garments here?”
“Positive.”
“Brilliant. Your funeral, then.” With that, he patted his shoulder again.
Grace evaded her once more—as if it were ever hers to begin with. She awkwardly straddled the middle of his broad back. As he straightened, she immediately lost her already-poor balance, lurching forward and almost hitting her face on the hilt of Sinclair’s sheathed sword. Lilac fought for her balance, one arm ho
oked around his shoulder while the other took turns pulling her drooping neckline back up over her cleavage, and the hem of her dress down.
He placed the sack between his teeth and looped his arms under her bent knees. Without warning, he crouched forward onto the balls of his feet, his back muscles tensing under Lilac’s legs.
“Are you ready?” His voice was slightly nasal now; she sat at such a close proximity to his own nose and mouth, and the incision at her throat was still only a couple of hours old.
She struggled around his wide shoulders, finally latching her arms around his neck. “Ready for?”
“Whatever you do, please be sure of two things: your fingers stay locked around me, and you’ll need to remember to keep breathing.”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why would I—”
But Garin suddenly bounded forward, her burlap sack hanging in his mouth—and Lilac found her hands straining to maintain their interlocked position as her weight slung back against his forward momentum. She scrabbled to regain her grip, her braid and cloak hood whipping behind them.
The trees began to disintegrate into darkened streaks of umber-brown and night. To her right, the only thing she could make out was the bright reflection of the moon off the lake, and it too disappeared quickly.
Garin was running.
16
The only sources of light were the tiny flashes of tinsel dew tinting the damp brambles. They were in the thick of the wild wood, now. She stifled a scream when their position abruptly changed, and they jostled up a steep incline. The moisture in the air seemed to thin around them, and soft things began to whip at her bare forearms and cheeks. Even as Lilac hoped they were only leaves touching her, she knew Garin wouldn’t possibly let anything dangerous near. She shut her eyes when their bobbing and swerving grew too overwhelming—but that wasn’t a good idea, either.
“St—stop,” she managed past the lump in her throat. “Stop!”
Disenchanted Page 23
