Page 113 of Disillusioned
“How would I know?” She waited for his answer, daring him to reveal he’d had his men put their filthy fingers on her. “All I know is that you’ve been banished from both my castle and the Le Tallec estate. Where are you residing?”
“The Jaunty Hog. Send it to the Jaunty Hog,” Artus answered through his teeth.
“Ah, yes. I believe my father is familiar with the owner.”
This was followed by a short grunt from Henri. Artus remained on the floor, saying no more.
She realized how starving and lightheaded she finally felt; it was impossible to tell how much blood Garin had taken from her. It was impressive that she herself had not collapsed.
Lilac took another bite of her apple and followed it with her fig jam spread over the piece of toast. It was delicious. This was much needed—the warm food, but also everything else. The moral support from those around her. The validation of her wariness of the Le Tallecs now come to light, now rightly justified. The unsettling strength now coiled in her limbs due to Garin’s Sanguine magic, and the conviction that drove her tonight.
She did not expect being granted the things her soul had yearned for to be equally as taxing.
By the end of the weekend, she’d be married to one of the most powerful leaders on her continent. The emperor, not his emissary. Her name would be his. Her title, too.
It was what Garin had pushed for. It certainly was a far better option than the one Artus Le Tallec had tried to corner her into.
But she’d be married to one, and enthralled to another. Two things she did not want for herself. Two paths that ensured her freedoms were not truly hers. One that pleased Garin so greatly he’d betrayed her to ensure it—and the other that had infernally tied them together. It infuriated him. He’d made that very clear.
Either way, this was how she would protect her kingdom. This was the cost. An end to justify the means.
Numbly, Lilac accepted the second plate that someone placed in front of her; she saw a swish of Hedwig’s robes in her periphery, Herlinde’s hand pushing the fowl and maple carrot covered plate to her with another cup of tea. She felt like she needed to lie down but couldn’t imagine being able to shut her eyes. Lilac stared unseeingly at her plate as she ate, her breathing slowing.
She attempted to push Garin from her mind, the worry of him at the inn, and instead thought of the hungry Daemons and Lorietta’s small garden. The way they made do with too little stretched too far, in both sustenance and protections. Lorietta was one person, part of one arcanefamily skilled at Alteration and setting wards; the vampires, shifters, and korikaned were still hunted despite her help. They shouldn't have to hide of live under the pretense of glamors.
Lilac thought of riding the winding path to The Fenfoss Inn, the aromas of the kitchen where she’d nicked her finger. She could hear Garin’s low, heat-rousing chuckle, the aroma of a dusk-fallen bluebell wood as he’d bandaged her hand and told her about her scars. That not all of them needed healing or hiding.
Remembering the way she’d hazily discovered her healed knuckles just before their argument at the inn, Lilac glanced down at her left hand. Then, she checked her right, just to be sure.Gone. The scars on her hands were gone.
Heart thudding distantly, she walked her fingers back on her thigh, gathering the material until the hem bunched into her hands and ignoring the abashed comments made by Henri. Her legs were mostly clean, save a thin layer of soot…and void of scars.Allof them. The ones left by her fight with Sinclair, even the ones she’d sustained in her childhood—the little divot in her left knee from learning how to climb up—and tumble down—the stairs. The deep scrape she’d gotten climbing one of the fences in the bailey.
The scars we choose to wear are what make us human, Garin had said.
She swayed, suddenly dizzy, falling back to rest against her chair.
“Eat,” the witch urged, nudging the plate closer and grasping both of her smooth hands. Even her mannerisms were like Lorietta’s. “You’ll be sick if you don’t, making even more of a mess on yourself.”
Lilac chewed, each swallow blurring her vision a bit more as moisture flooded her eyes. There was some conversation, low and firm, but she couldn’t focus on any of it. She was mildly aware of Myrddin, briefly stirring her new steaming cup of tea from Hedwig with his fingertip after the first one had grown cold before offering it to her. Lilac accepted it gratefully and put it to her lips, the heat bearable as she washed the last of her meal down.
It wasn’t until a door slammed shut that she looked up, refocusing on the room.
Herlinde sat to her left, knitting what looked to be a starting piece of clothing or blanket, the ivy-green yarn trailing from what seemed to be theinside of a pocket on her fuzzy robe. Hedwig was busy at the end of the table, nearly finished with stacking the dishes onto her cart. Myrddin sat next to Herlinde, watching the fire and fiddling with his thumbs, seeming lost in his thoughts. So did Henri, who sat in Marguerite’s chair he’d righted, pivoted toward the door.
Her mother was gone. As were Artus, his men, and his guards.
Piper was nowhere to be found.
“Where is everyone? Where is Phoebe? Artus?”
“I had your mother taken to bed.” Deep shadows danced under Henri’s eyes as he turned from the fire. “I ordered the guards to lead Artus and his men out, but he’ll tread carefully from now on. Your Phoebe left to prepare your room.”
She set down the last bite of bread she’d been holding, regretting her exhaustion. It was shock and survival that had pushed her to this point. “You let himgo?”
“There was no punishable offense.”
“He leads Daemon hunts. Specifically against vampires and korrigans.”
“There has never been any proof of that.”
