Page 215 of Disillusioned
But Lilac’s anger wasn’t for Garin—not solely.
Kemble?It was like the breath had been stolen from her lungs. Had her parents known? Had anyone known? Kemble often kept to herself, but she’d sometimes have tea with Hedwig in the afternoons. Was Hedwig a witch, too?Was anyone else at the castle magic folk? Kemble’s apothecary shelves hadn’t seemed to hold any Fae-rooted ingredients—if so, Garin would’ve sensed it last night. Kemble didn’t have the amber-tinged feline irises both the Algovens and Adelaide had.
Bile stung Lilac’s throat. She shrugged Yanna’s hand off and rose. Shemade her way past Myrddin, centering herself between Garin’s cot and the witch. “You know each other?”
“Most unfortunately,” Kemble said with a scornful glare at Myrddin.
“Minerva is a talented healer from the School of Restoration. An old colleague of mine from the Sanctum.”
“Andyouare a stain upon the sanctity of the Arts.”
At the foot of the now-empty cot Yanna had landed on, Rupert was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, and fanning his collar with the other. “Is it just me, or is it sweltering in here?
“Just you,” Yanna replied. “I’m freezing.”
Kemble squinted over her shoulder at Rupert. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“You were here this whole time, and not a word of it to me.” Lilac’s tone was cold, drawing Kemble’s attention back to her. It wasn’t the least bit warm, nor filled with the familiarity she would’ve loved to hear in her darkest hours. She knew it wasn’t an immediate concern, but it was almost like she couldn’t control her anger, nor her mouth. What she would’ve reserved for perhaps another time, or drowned in a flute of champagne and bonbons, came spilling out. “No olive branch extended on your behalf, even after Freya was found and everything for us changed.”
The muscle under Kemble’s eye twitched. “Your Majesty,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’ve diligently served your family for years after being expelled from the very institution my father helped found, thanks to your criminal warlock. My loyalty’s remained all the same. Why, I attended your birth.”
“No discreet acknowledgement in passing.” Kemble’s countenance darkened at the accusation lacing Lilac’s rising voice. “No motion of reassurance. The entire castle heard me crying myself to sleep some nights. You knew what it was like to be treated this way, yet you never said anything.”
“That iswhyI never said anything, you stupid girl. I hid so I could be free. Sometimes freedom is not worth the pursuit.” Kemble pursed her lips. She cleared her throat and smoothes her hair, then, her skirts. Avoiding Lilac’s glare, she looked about the room—at her apothecary cabinet, at the empty cots. At Myrddin, her eyes brimming with blame.
Garin groaned, then.
Lilac drew the knocked-back curtains all the way. He’d rolled onto hisside, facing her, his legs tucked into his chest. In contrast with the white sheets, a deep carmine had pooled around his legs and up by his shoulder.
Kemble let out a disgruntled gasp, skittering back. “Is that… is that Maximilian’s emissary?”
“He is very important to us, so please refrain from thrashing him around.” Myrddin joined Lilac near Garin’s cot with his hands out.
“Is he dead?” asked Yanna, sounding hopeful and pulling the blanket up to her chin.
“It takes far more to kill a Strigoi. In fact, it is nearly impossible. Minerva knocked him unconscious. He might be out longer than usual because he drank some of my blood, which encumbered him,” Myrddin added, for Kemble’s benefit. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to further handle or mistreat him, even when he’s this weak.”
“Great,” murmured Rupert.
“He was shot by François’s men.” Lilac’s throat grew tighter and tighter around every word. “It was hours ago. And he isn’t healing.”
“But how did this—how did Albrecht—” Kemble stammered. “I don’t understand. Was it the wine?”
“There is no mushroom or tonic that turns vampires into Strigoi, Minerva,” Myrddin said slowly. “Remember?”
Kemble’s face blanched. She shook away whatever alarming thought that had come to mind, along with her realization. “He was obviously trying to escape this room to find his thrall. Preventing him from doing so is dangerous. I don’t understand why you’d withhold him from his pet, and bring a Strigoihere, of all places, when our kingdom is already on the brink of…”
Suddenly, Kemble trailed off, glancing at Myrddin, but the warlock was distracted, his eyes partially shut, his fingers drawing their minuscule shapes again.
“You’re not resurrecting him, are you?” Lilac asked through a stab of panic.
“Hush.”
The witch scrutinized Yanna—the crescent-shaped wounds on either side of her neck, the red staining her skin. Then, Lilac—pink-faced, nails digging into her palms with more than the hem of her skirts singed off. Herunscathed legs, and the way she’d perched herself just onto the far corner of Garin’s bed, still close enough to reach out and touch him.
“It was my choice,” said Lilac unflinchingly. “Mine alone.”
“I’ve only worked for Her Majesty for several weeks,” Yanna added from her cot. “But I feel like I’ve known her just as long as my—my friend, Isabel. And if there’s one thing I know about the queen, it is that she would never willingly make herself susceptible to such instruction unless required.”
