“A bit more,” came Garin’s muffled yell through the burlap in his mouth.
When they finally reached an opening in the trees, Garin screeched to a halt. Lilac dropped from his shoulders and could only focus on the spinning ground. Hands out in front of her, she stumbled to the nearest tree, gripped it for balance, and waited for the world to grow level.
“That was thrilling!” Garin roared, laughing into the strong breeze. Then, when she failed to reply, he spun around. “Princess?”
Lilac retched, the wind blowing bits of her hair into the threads of bile hanging from her lips. She groaned in disgust, but a hand gathered the hair draped over her face and swept it back over her shoulders.
“What’s the matter?” Garin’s voice had been melodiously and charming when he’d feigned kindness; it was deadly saccharine when he was actually being genuine.
“I—I closed my eyes,” she groaned. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Ah yes.” He snorted. “I forgot the third rule: keep your eyes open. I don’t ever have to remember it myself.”
“Thanks a lot,” she muttered. “You call that running?”
“Vampire running.”
She spat to clear the bile from her mouth. “Why didn’t you do that on the way to the Mine?”
“I was trying to refrain from scaring you. Too much, anyway.”
Garin hooked his hands under her shoulders and slowly hoisted her up, not stopping until she was fully cradled in his arms. This time, she didn’t resist him as he carried her away from the copse of trees and into the open air.
“What are you—”
Lilac gasped. She knew that certain portions of Brocéliande were hilly as the rest of the Breton moors, but she never imagined quite a view from the forest existed. She’d certainly never witnessed anything like the scene unfolded before them.
They stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking Brocéliande. Her kingdom, but also—mostly—Brocéliande. The sprawling treetops of the remaining High Forest rose and fell like waves in a jade sea, leading into a patchwork scene of farmland, then Paimpont. Beyond the town, further east, the trees were shrouded in darkness, almost as if the thick canopy made it resistant to light. The Low Forest.
The air here was crisp, rejuvenating in her lungs while the moon cast a luminal glow upon the world. The black backdrop of sky was dusted in tinsel particles—diamonds encrusted in the neckline of some regal goddess. A sepulchral silence spilled into the gaps between the fluty warbles of a lone nightingale, and the princess’ decelerated breathing.
Mildly aware of Garin’s chest barely rising and falling against her back, she placed a hand over her own heart to ensure it was still beating.
To their right, back west, the minute spires of her faraway castle were barely visible in the late-night fog. Too far to spot, the black and white Breton flag rippled in the wind just above the towers in Lilac’s imagination.
Unlike the bustling place she’d visited as a child, the town seemed sleepy even from a distance. The bourgeois homes mixed with newer framework structures were hardly discernible by moonlight. Five or six flickering torch lights moved slowly, up and down the small maze of streets. Frowning, she tried to remember if Paimpont usually employed night sentries.
Then, her throat went dry.
They were searching for her.
A broad manor stood watch at the far end of town, complete with an extensive driveway branching off from the main cobblestone road. Her memory of the place swam with the dim vision of it before her, filling in the details the moon did not illuminate. Twelve large windows, six on the first floor and six more above, made up most of the front wall. Each brick in the limestone walls meticulously caulked, the Le Tallec estate maintained the illusion of perfection while housing the most monstrous family in the kingdom.
She hadn’t anticipated the dizzying emotion that would come with seeing Sinclair’s home again. T
he absence of light in the windows made her stomach churn with unease. Was no one home? Was it because Sinclair was at the castle, preparing to take her position as monarch? She shook her head and forced the worry from her mind. It was nighttime, the townsfolk were sleeping—hence, the absence of light. They’d get a better idea of how her disappearance had affected the kingdom once they got into town.
The vibration of Garin’s throat clearing shook her. “Nervous?”
“No,” she answered, as adamantly as she could muster while cradled in the Darkling’s arms.
“It’s fine to be afraid sometimes, in case no one’s informed you.” His lips moved against her hair.
She did a poor job at concealing a shiver. “I guess. But I’m not.”
“Whatever. Are you ready?”
“For Paimpont? To meet the witch?”
He shifted to meet her eyes shrewdly as he began walking at a normal pace back down the side of the hill. “We’ll head down through the pasture.” He began to pick up speed—faster than a walk, but not his bone-jolting run, either. “And until you’re safe at the castle, I’m here to make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”
Safe. Lilac frowned, unable to think of the last time she felt this safe within the confines of the castle walls. “I could’ve done it alone,” she muttered against his chest. “The rest of the trip.” She knew it wasn’t really true, but she didn’t have to let him know that.
“I’m sure you could have,” he replied with a confidence she didn’t expect from him. Then, came the light sarcasm. “You’ve done a great job avoiding korrigans—those vile, man-eating brutes. And marauders.” Lilac couldn’t help but grin against Garin’s shoulder at his smooth, indirect mention of Sinclair. “Homicidal vampires, insane faeries… the list goes on.”
“Ogres.” She said it without thinking.
Garin gave a rough laugh. “Not likely. Despite their size, ogres are extremely rare to come across—fortunately for all of us. They’re stupid, but will devour anything and everything in their path. But I think I can count the number of those remaining in Brocéliande on one hand. Then again, leave it to you to run into them.”
When she didn’t answer or return his jab, Garin stopped walking. The aroma of juniper berries filled her head.
“Tell me.” The scant color on Garin’s face paled, his smugness disappearing along with it.
A giggle suddenly bubbled up in her throat. He was hardly flustered, and she was more than happy to prove him wrong.
“Stop it. What happened?”
There was absolutely no use in lying to him. She couldn’t if she’d wanted to. “I came across a group of them—the ogres, I mean. It was within my first hour or so in the forest. I’d stopped to pee and—” she choked on a sudden burp-giggle as the terrifying memory rose to the surface—“I suppose I accidentally peed on one of them, waking the whole group.”
Garin gave her a long, hard stare. He didn’t seem to find it funny at all. The vampire sped up, his voice rumbling. “God, woman. You are mental. Good to know the kingdom almost lost their queen and no one would’ve had a bloody clue what’d happened.”
“I thought they were a bunch of large standing stones—you now, like the ancient menhir out in Carnac? Anyway, I escaped them in the storm. I think the rain dampened my scent. I ran for any shelter I could find, and that’s how I ended up at the inn.”
Garin only grunted in response and didn’t say much more after resuming their journey. Lilac’s stomach lurched as the ground finally evened out under his feet, and even then, Garin only spoke to ask her if she would like to walk.
Truth be told, she rather liked it in his arms, but walking was fine, too..
They continued side by side, though he insisted on holding her potato sack. The branches in this new part of Brocéliande hung lower, the trees a different type, though she couldn’t identify them. The forest eventually opened up to broad-branched oak trees, more widely spaced. The soft trickle of a brook nearby indicated they were still on track.
Minutes later and wi
thout warning, they finally broke out of the woods.
They stood before an expanse of rolling hills, lush and grand under the cloudless night just hours before dawn. The scene was probably picturesque by daylight. At the bottom of their hill stood several stout structures. Lilac couldn’t quite make them out—a well and stable pairing, some hay bales here, maybe a coop on stilts there. It was too dark to tell.
The building nearest them was close enough to identify as a single farmhouse; an older two-story structure of decent size for a peasant farmer home, Lilac thought. The central section looked like it was made of older lime mortar, but flanked with modest east and west wings crafted in timber frame. There was even a lovely wooden porch that must’ve been so cozy in the sunlight, Lilac thought idly. The only thing protecting the property from criminals or critters—or wayward Darklings—was a stick fence that wrapped along the building and around the vegetable garden out front. Beyond the property, the pasture continued until the next farm a while away.
She looked over at Garin, expecting him to speak, but he was gone. Instead, he was a few yards away, bending over the edge of the brook.
“What are you doing?” For some strange reason, she felt like she needed to whisper in the shadowed vastness. She knew he’d hear her.
He took a moment before returning to her side. The blood that Kestrel had smeared over his face was gone, and he smirked as he held something out to her. It was Sinclair’s chalice. “Drink up.”
Lilac’s initial response was to shrink away. Then, she blinked in surprise.
“I’ve seen you eat and drink maybe three times during our entire time together. Since Cinderfell, I’ve had to listen to the incessant growling of your stomach. It’s harder to ignore than you’d think.”
“No, I know. It’s just… thank you.” She took the cup and sipped once, swallowing her surprise at his unexpected gesture, and then gulped the entire thing down. Once her lips had touched the freezing water, she realized how parched she actually felt.
“I am really hungry,” she admitted.
“So am I.”
They exchanged glances. When Garin slowly approached her, the blood went from Lilac’s cheeks. “No,” she tried to say bravely but choked on her own voice. Shaking, she held the chalice above her shoulder.
“Were you just about to bludgeon me?” he laughed.
Lilac rolled her eyes, the tension flowing out of her. It wouldn’t have been the first time she considered it.
“Ready?” he asked, stalking past her and toward the nearest farmhouse.
“For what?”
“For some food. Perhaps a warm bath.”
“Right now?” she hissed frantically, eyes bulging. They needed time to formulate a plan, and he looked like he either already had one or would act on the spot. “Doesn’t someone live there?”
“Indeed. A pair.” He paused to listen, and Lilac realized he was listening in, through the farmhouse walls. “A couple, I think.”
“People with whom you are acquainted?”
“No.”
“What?” Lilac stomped along, trailing him to the fence. Even in her desperation for a bath, and in her roaring hunger, she knew her blood-stained skin and dress would draw more attention to them than it was worth. “Slow down. I’m nowhere near presentable.”
“So now you want to change out of that dress?” Garin said, but he slowed down and obliged.
When she reached for her sack, he pulled it out of reach once more.
“Garin, look at me,” she said. “I’m covered in blood. I reek of it, everything’s a mess. I’ll have to rinse off.”
“That’s what entrancing them is for,” he said impatiently.
“You can’t—it didn’t work on me,” she protested. “If they make a commotion, surely that’ll draw attention.”
She ignored Garin’s annoyed glare and studied the farmhouse. She wouldn’t be able to wash off in time—they were running out of it, fast—but maybe they could use her appearance to their advantage, after all.
Lilac glanced back at Garin, who wore a subtle smile as he regarded the pine needles in her disheveled hair, the streaks of crimson across her skin, and the deep, unhealed bite marks over her jugular.
She swept a hand, motioning at her bodice. “Ruin me,” she commanded decidedly.
The vampire cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
“Ruin this dress for me.”
“Why?”
She scowled impatiently. “I’ve got dozens like it at home, it’ll be fine. My neck is perfect, but we need to make it look like I’ve just been mauled.”
Garin shook his head, trying to follow. “What are you rambling on about, princess? That’s hardly believable. There are no bears in Brocéliande.”
But Lilac shot him a wuthering look, and his eyes widened in realization.
He neared, raising his hands cautiously. “May I?”
She nodded urgently. “Hurry.”
Before she could blink, he was up against her back. Then came a loud ripping noise, like the sound of torn fabric. The night breeze was suddenly cold against her front—it was torn fabric. He’d effortlessly raked his nails through her dress like butter.
She shuddered and clutched the now-limp material to her front, but Garin gently released her and sidestepped
to lean against the vegetable garden fence, busying himself with inspecting the half-grown radishes and carrots.
“As I was saying,” she continued awkwardly, grateful for his decency. At least he’d acquired some basic form of manners some point along their journey. “We can tell the homeowner I’ve been attacked.” She smiled through her words as Garin’s skeptical grimace turned into a look of adoration. “I figured it was better than entrancing them to allow us in.”
“So just to be clear, we’re swindling them? I’m impressed.” Then, he made a face. “One of them is a horrid snorer.”
“Swindling indeed.” Her resolve was almost unrecognizable, but she couldn’t mask excitement that accompanied the flowing adrenaline. “I was thinking, we come up with a story, and—"
But he ignored this. He carefully scooped her up, cradling her sideways. She clutched the ripped material to her chest as he made his way past the vegetable garden.
“Wait, we have to plan—”
Garin grunted above her. “I’ll go along with your plan of deception. However, you’re leaving some improvisation to me.”
As they approached the porch steps, her heart began to race. They weren’t prepared—what would they say?
He bent his head to brush his lips along her earlobe, sending chills up her spine. “Must you be so dramatic? Please play along.”
He reached up with one hand and tousled his hair in his fingers. Where his luscious hair usually fell perfectly, it now looked disheveled as she probably did. Garin’s usually soundless feet were boisterous as they clambered up onto the porch. Then, with a force that made the timber rattle in its frame, he pounded his fists on the door.
17
“Help,” he cried in despair. “Somebody, help!” He knocked frantically again. “I beg of you!”
She stared at him in shock, but an odd shuffling sound broke the thick silence. Out in the field, past the garden, the hay bales were moving. Lilac’s hair stood up on end. “Garin—”
He swore under his breath. “We’ve woken the sheep.
Go limp,” he commanded, as a few of them began to bleat.
“Excuse me?”
“Limp.” He slammed his closed fists upon the door again.
“You’ll wake the neighbors!” she hissed, dread crawling down her limbs.
“The sheep will first, their sound carries.” Garin spun halfway, lips pursed in frustration. “I’ll kill them all,” he groaned.
Just when Lilac was so sure no one would come, that they’d be stuck outside like bumbling idiots they were until Garin was forced to turn the garden into a fuzzy bloodbath —a flurry of footsteps rumbled from within the bowels of t
he house. The door opened a hair, revealing only the flicker and smoke of a handheld torch.
Lilac went limp, letting her limbs fall slack.
“Who goes there?” The croak of an elderly man’s voice floated through the door crack.
What happened next, Lilac only got brief glimpse of as she lay there in Garin’s arms, covering her bosom the best she could manage. One minute they were outside, and the next, the door swung open. Peeking discreetly, Lilac saw the faces of an older couple, the woman holding the torch and the man, the pickaxe. Lilac stifled a cry at the weapon, then let her eyes flutter open and shut just enough to indicate she was alive. The woman clutched her sandy curls first, and then the front of her nightgown.
“My heavens—”
“Is she…?”
“Please, kind madame,” Garin begged, “monsieur.”
He stuck a foot in the doorway, his voice cracking heavily with emotion. “She was attacked by a Darkling.” His shoulders began to tremble, and Lilac had to force herself to not look up at him when a lone tear plopped onto her cheek.
The old man’s voice quavered. “Was it—is that a…" he trailed off.
Lilac could well imagine how she’d appeared to them, skin and hair matted in blood, moments from death, even. She suppressed a shudder.
Garin choked a sob back. “Yes. A vampire, sir.”
“Well what’re you waitin’ for, idiots,” the old woman screeched from another room, her brogue accent thickening with each word. “Get her in ‘ere. Quickly now.”
Garin stumbled—pretended to stumble—under Lilac’s weight, and she felt a second pair of hands slip under her shoulders.
“Have you been walking long?” The old man’s voice came from above her head; he was assisting Garin. “It wasn’t in the town, was it?”
“No sir, not at all. We were foolish thinking we could take the short way, cutting through the woods from Rennes without running into trouble. Fortunately, it was toward the end of our journey, it attacked just up there in the trees. Your home was the nearest,” Garin panted as they shuffled down a corridor toward the woman’s grumbling voice.
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