“I—”
“You and I both were under the impression that your unwanted ability was the result of a third party’s sinister magic. Through my tried-and-true trial, this was proved wrong and thus, it is not so. Contrary to what you believe, you have not been duped. Princess Lilac,” Ophelia said dispassionately, clasping her fingers, “the Darkling language is etched in your blood through some peculiarity—a random deviation in nature’s usual course. It happens from time to time; there are babes out there born with two heads or no genitals, princes; you could’ve even been born a troll or shifter or a witch. To me, you’ve won the luck of the draw, all circumstances considered. So, this,” she snapped, tipping the vial sideways. The liquid went haywire. “This is how you rid yourself of it.”
“And how exactly does it work?” Lilac said, her voice cracking.
“All you must do, is envision the trait you dislike most about yourself. Concentrate hard, then drink. It acts almost instantly.” Ophelia set the container on the desk in front of Lilac.
Lilac stared hesitantly. It didn’t sound very promising. Ophelia had just upended everything she’d believed for nearly half her life. She’d never considered anything else, and all the new information was nearly too much to swallow. Ophelia was a gambler and an addict, after all. She was drinking faerie liquer in front of her as they spoke; the witch was delusional at best.
But Ophelia leaned forward, looking very much sober, and furiously rubbed her temples. “I’m going to have to take one of my own headache elixirs after this ordeal—look, you can either take it, or you can leave it here and be on your way. Whichever you choose will not perturb me in the slightest.”
Biting her lip, Lilac exhaled in surrender. She was running out of time, running out of time she already didn’t have. “Fine. I’ll take it,” she said, reaching for the vial.
All this way, for a bottle the size of a swig of brandy.
But the dazzling cure was yanked out of reach. “Not so fast,” she purred, the gold glitter under her eyes shimmering. “I’d forgotten my own formalities in all the commotion; first, what have you brought me?”
Lilac’s face reddened, but only for a moment. She silently thanked the Brocéliande heavens for their encounter with Kestrel as she reached into her sack. The black drawstring pouch was still intact—and, as far as she could tell, so was whatever the bag contained.
Ophelia’s mood seemed to perk up when Lilac handed it over. “You brought me a parting gift after all.” Reaching into the pouch, she withdrew an amber ball of leaves. The witch gasped, displaying the most emotion she had since Lilac’s arrival. “Love in a cage? These aren’t even in bloom yet…” Thrice, she turned the bundle in her palm to examine it. “But how did you…”
“An acquaintance said you were fond of them,” Lilac explained, gauging the witch’s incredulity as a good sign. She had no clue what on earth love in a cage was, but knew she should be careful with revealing the details of her trip—including contact with the Fair Folk and fraternization with vampires—to Ophelia.
“But these plants only grow in the Far West, across daunting seas. Unless…” Fingering the leaves, she squinted at Lilac as if seeing her for the first time. “Did Kestrel happen to mention how we met?”
Her throat went dry. “How did you kn-know,” Lilac stammered, astonished.
“I suppose not, then.” Ophelia held the bundle in her palm and delicately peeled each leaf back to reveal a glistening golden berry. Love in a cage. Lilac had seen a number of rare and exotic fruit in her lifetime, but never before had she seen this.
“In the deepest reaches of the Low Forest is Cinderfell, the nest of the Fair Folk, so to speak. There, they covet an enormous orchard, where they grow plants, ferns, and trees from just about every climate on earth. Every fruit and vegetable you can think of, a literal Garden of Eden.” The witch crossed her arms and once-overed Lilac as if gauging her trustworthiness before continuing.
“Years ago, I’d mustered the courage to explore the Low Forest for the first time when I stumbled upon this very orchard. Intending to forage and escape with my newfound ingredients, I happened upon a young faerie boy choking on a cherry pit. The sound was wretched, there was no mistaking it. No one was around, but I figured letting the brat succumb and risk someone witnessing it would do me more harm than good.” She grinned appreciatively. “After I saved him, Kestrel appeared. Turns out, the boy was Kestrel’s son. Do you know the deep shit I would’ve been in, had I chosen to let him die? Just when I thought the king of the Fair Folk would smite me, he gifted me a berry, just like this. One from his personal garden. It was magic, and ever so powerful.”
Ophelia’s ochre irises glinted as she sniffed the fruit once more, then tucked it safely into her bosom.
“What do, erm, faerie berries do?”
“Never you mind.” Ophelia waved her off, suddenly scooting her chair back with a grating creak. “Let’s have you on your way back to the castle, shall we? You have a ceremony to attend.” Smirking, she pressed the tiny bottle in Lilac’s hands.
The sensation of butterflies warmed Lilac’s stomach. Right. She nodded in agreement and trailed the witch to the door.
Lilac turned to her, a small lump forming suddenly in her throat. “Thank you.”
“No, dear. Thank you—for this.” Ophelia patted the berry, now concealed at her breast.
As Lilac adjusted her cloak before pulling it tighter around her shoulders, Ophelia’s gaze flickered down for a brief moment before returning. “Intriguing dagger you’ve got there.”
“Oh, this old thing?” Lilac patted it over the scratchy wool. So now it wanted to behave. “It, er, has a mind of its own. My father had it handed down to him, from who knows who, or when.”
“Very well.” Seemingly pleased with her answer, Ophelia sighed and wrapped her porcelain fingers around the doorknob. But she paused there and threw the princess the most peculiar look. “Before you depart, your Highness, may I provide you with a bit of unsolicited advice?”
Lilac cleared her throat. More advice. “You may.”
Without even trying, the witch seemed to look right into her soul. “What is different is not necessarily dark, and even then, darkness does not equate to wickedness. Even then, I’d rather be perceived as wicked than weak, any day. Women are part heaven and hell, Lilac. It’s a hindrance meant only to bring us power in the end. You’ve made it through the woods in one piece; I’d say you’re capable of wearing both shadow and spark equally well.”
The princess’s throat tightened further. “That’s so generous of you, Ophelia, but I admit I had help from kindred passersby.”
“Ah. So, it seems that cursed little gift came in handy, after all.” The witch winked, gently flicking a sharp black nail across Lilac’s nose. “Chin up, princess. Or else, the crown slips.”
Just when Ophelia gripped the knob once more, a barrage of knocks shuddered the door. Three firm, solemn raps upon the worn mahogany.
Garin was so impatient. He’d probably wanted to check on her. Half embarrassed, Lilac opened her eyes wide, and she exchanged a feigned look of alarm with one of confusion from Ophelia. The witch yanked the door open, revealing the vampire backing down the steps in a flash of the white and red uniform. The witch groaned, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Not another one of you! I specifically instructed—”
“Excuse me, Ophelia? I…” He’d simultaneously spoken out so that her words drowned the start of his timid inquiry.
But he trailed off. It was all Garin could manage before he turned rigid. His jaw fell slack.
Lilac watched what little color he had drain quickly from his face.
To her left, Ophelia let her hand fall and opened her mouth—but upon spotting Garin, Ophelia too, became motionless.
Two more words were uttered at once, shattering the glacial silence.
“Garin?”
“Adelaide.”
26
Garin ducked under the third vial of vi
olent purple flames that tumbled in his direction. A look of fatal rage had gripped the witch once she’d laid eyes on him; as if by instinct, she grabbed a handful of what looked like empty spice bottles from a rack nailed to the back of the door. With a globule of spit into it, the first bottle came alive with a sparkling flame, and Adelaide fired it at her former lover. The illuminated bottle exploded into a violet plume of fire and ash upon impact at his feet.
“Adelaide!” Garin stumbled back and batted grass off his front. “Let me—”
“Keep my name and everything else of mine out of that mouth, you bloodsucking bastard,” the witch shrieked into the wind, which had picked up as soon as her fury ignited. It whipped her hair into a black vortex around her face, suddenly abating when she whirled back to the house.
Lilac could only watch numbly, leaning against the horse for support. Ophelia had been Adelaide all along. She’d sat across Garin’s former flame only minutes ago. Now, she and Garin were dodging the witch’s fireballs.
Garin started towards her but a ball of purple flames imploded between the two of them, singing the thicket of cat tails that the horse had been munching on. Lilac stumbled backward, losing her balance when the animal retreated in fright. She threw her arms out and caught herself on a nearby tree stump, barely saving herself from the sodden pond bank.
“And stay away from her, too,” Adelaide spat from her stoop, a batch of new bottles tucked in the crook of her arm.
“She has nothing to do with this,” Garin shouted back, knees tensed to dodge the next barrage of purple flames.
“The princess? What are you doing here with her?” Ophelia then whirled on Lilac. “I should turn you into a toad then boil you until you pop! I don’t care who you are.”
Retreating, Lilac ran her fingers over her belt and felt instinctively for her dagger hilt. The blade clamored violently in its shaft as Ophelia lurched her arm back, a sparkling bottle in hand.
There was a sudden blur of white; Garin had dashed across the bank to put himself in front of her. “Adelaide, don’t,” he growled at the witch. Then, added bleakly, “Please.”
Adelaide’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “You dare demand anything of me?” Without hesitation, she whipped another bottle their way. Garin frantically scuttled back, cursing when he barely made it out of the way again.
“I told you the last we spoke,” Adelaide roared, “if you dared seek me out, I’d destroy you.”
Garin righted himself, his previously perfect, tousled hair now a tangled mop atop his head. His jaw was set, nostrils flaring; Lilac could tell he was trying with every ounce of effort in him to reign his own emotions in. He adamantly shook his head in protest, loosening a couple twigs in the process. “That’s ridic—you go by an alias, for god’s sake! You’ve warded your cottage walls, I had no idea—”
“Liar!” Adelaide screeched. “You’re here, aren’t you? In the cold, hard flesh. I uprooted what little I had left and spent years away, trying to reinvent myself, all to forget you and everything you took from me. Moving back was obviously a mistake on my part. How was I to guess just years later, you’d show up with your new toy, who just happens to be the princess.” She spat on the ground, laughing cruelly. “You can both rot in hell.”
Clutching her stomach with one hand, dagger in the other, Lilac fought the roiling waves of nausea flowing through her. The adrenaline made it extremely difficult to focus on anything but the sickening fear that he’d planned it all along; even if the smallest voice of reason reminded her it wasn’t likely. Garin couldn’t have known where she lived, or that Adelaide was still alive—and how did she look so young, unless that was an illusion, too… Could he? Could he have known?
Had he, he wouldn’t have waited for Lilac to come along, or any other excuse into Paimpont.
Ears burning, she considered taking the distanced mare and doing what she could to ride far, far away.
“Adelaide, listen,” Garin pleaded. “All of this is my fault. Not yours. Not Lilac’s. My mistakes are my own. They’re unforgivable. But now that I’m here, I need to tell you—”
But he didn’t get to tell her.
The vampire broke off mid-sentence. He lurched forward in two unsteady steps, as if someone had given him a rough pat on the back.
He rattled a cough from deep within his chest.
His frown was barely visible, even in the clear moonlight. Confusion mottling his features, he squinted and brought his fingers to his chest. When he pulled them away, his entire hand was slicked with black.
In the second it took for him to collapse face-first into the grass, both the princess and witch exchanged glances. All animosity between them fizzled abruptly, and their voices joined in unison for a single, anguished shriek that rang out into the dead of night.
The sound then faded along with Lilac’s vision, as if she continued to watch the unfolding scene in slow motion and from behind a filthy, judging chapel window.
Explosions rang out in the distance—and her shaky knees gave way.
A pair of hands seized Lilac under the arms before she hit the grass. Two soldiers she’d recognized from the castle had bolted into the clearing, brandishing longbows. A blossom of purple fire immediately erupted on the chest plate of one, knocking him down as Adelaide screamed her wrath. The downed sentry never rose again.
It was a cold sensation against her throat that jostled Lilac back to alertness. Blinking the fog away, she spotted the slumped form across the clearing. It was Garin, still face down in the reeds. Two poles protruded from his back—unmistakable arrows, their barbs deeply embedded in his flesh. Had they been the normal Birchwood arrows the kingdom often used, he would’ve pulled them out and laughed in their faces by now. These were different.
Blessed Hawthorne bark. Harmful to Darklings, but deadly to vampires.
Lilac writhed away from the frigid blade pressed against her skin, but in an instant, it was replaced by one of the calloused hands that constricted her.
“It’s her!” A tinny ringing filled her ears when Sinclair’s unmistakably boisterous tenor boomed from behind her. He pulled her against him, breath reeking of tobacco when his mouth brushed against her ear. “Your flagrant disregard for your kingdom has grown rather tiring, Miss Trécesson,” he whispered. Then, he shoved her down to her knees and put his blade again to her throat.
“You dare.” Forcing herself to stare ahead at the cottage, the deepening night grew glassy as she blinked the tears back. She refused to look at him as he circled her, his knife still pointed at her throat.
“Your unattended romp through the woods has extended the kingdom’s threshold of what is and isn’t acceptable quite considerably, dear Lilac.”
Adelaide gave an unintelligible shout from across the marsh, followed by a flowing string of expletives. Several fallen soldiers lay unmoving in the muddy bank, while a remaining trio of them encircled her. This time, they held flaming arrows at the ready. Adelaide held a sparkling glass bottle above her head threateningly.
“Throw another, and your entire hut goes up in flames, witch!” The soldier in the center pivoted to aim his bow directly at her straw roof.
Eyes bulging in the witch’s direction, Lilac cleared her throat repeatedly. Surely Adelaide, who haughtily ignored her, was powerful enough to spellcast—whatever it was called—the soldiers and Sinclair out of the way. But the witch remained oblivious.
“One of you,” Sinclair directed at the guards behind them. “Hold the girl.” He stepped away, allowing one of them to take his place.
The guard shifted apprehensively, wrapping his sausage fingers easily around the kneeling princess’ bicep. “Shall I tie her, sir?”
Lilac willed herself not to blink when Sinclair placed himself in front of her, bending as if she were a child whom he wished to look in the eye. His, to her horror, lacked what little sanity they’d shown before. His prized platinum hair had gone awry, ends sticking out sideways like a haystack that'd been bleached of color
.
“What do you think, Your Highness?” he murmured unblinkingly. When she didn’t speak, he shook his head at the sentry. “I doubt the bitch would be so stupid to try to run from me twice, now that the abomination isn’t here to help her.”
“How did you find me?” Lilac spat through her teeth.
“When Renald failed to report, the guards went to his assigned area and followed the breadcrumbs to a lovely little farm out east.”
Lilac’s pulse accelerated, but she held her jaw steady as Sinclair studied her reaction. He couldn’t know Sable and Jeanare had assisted them, hosted them for a night. They’d be executed on the spot.
“On the way to resume our search in Paimpont, we noticed strange lights out in the marsh. You can thank the hag for that.” He rested a cold, calloused hand upon her cheek. “It led us here, and now we’re together. All just in time for coronation, then our own little ceremony.”
“Never.” Revolted, she jerked out from under his touch.
“Men,” he barked behind her. “Bring the prison wagon ‘round. And make sure those arrowheads are buried in the bloodsucker, then get him and the witch secured in the wagon. Make haste!”
Two sets of footsteps tromped away—more guards at Sinclair’s command.
Adelaide stomped and screeched, protesting shamelessly from across the marsh. “Take them and leave me be,” she yelled. “They were paying customers. I want nothing to do with them, or the lot of you.” Like a caged animal, she bared her teeth at the encircling soldiers. “I’ll find your wives and enchant them to eat your children!”
Sinclair ignored the exasperated glances that the archers threw his way. A horse-drawn carriage with iron-barred windows rolled by and halted next to Adelaide’s hut. “Take her,” he commanded. “We’ll release her once the ceremonies are over. If she’s cooperative in her interrogation, that is. It would be so helpful, for a husband to know just what tends to make his beloved stray.”
The two guards from the wagon hopped down and drew their swords, creating a tighter circle of five around Adelaide. Helpless and outnumbered, the witch’s gaze flitted between Sinclair, Lilac, and the guards—two of whom still aimed flaming arrows at her hut. She dropped the bottle and jerked toward the nearest trembling soldier waiting to shackle her, causing him to seize and stumble over himself. With a sharp laugh, she rolled her eyes and stomped out of the guards’ circle, seeing herself into the carriage. One of Sinclair’s men followed closely behind her until she clambered inside, while the others turned to fetch Garin.
Disenchanted Page 34
