Page 9 of Disillusioned
Henri’s eyes hardened.
“This is from fighting off Sinclair the night he returned to tell everyone I’d run off with vampires.” She turned back to the door. “Vampires were never whom I needed saving from, Father.”
Lilac foundYanna and Isabel waiting at the top of the steps.
She greeted them with a curt nod, not bothering to hide the sheen on her cheeks and swollen eyes as they trailed her to her bedroom. Taking turns speaking as if they had rehearsed their speech, they informed her ahot bath was drawn, her travel bag set on the bed, and her trunk loaded onto the trolley downstairs. It had been packed for one week’s time at her request—even if, they reminded her, she would be gone only for a full day at most.
As soon as she reached her door, she bid her maids good night and requested they send up two staff members from the scullery before dismissing them, shutting the door, and locking it.
Lilac expected the knots of dread in her chest to unfurl once she was finally alone, but as she yanked her curtains shut and fumbled with the ribbons at her waist, they only grew tighter, constricting her from within. In the past week she’d barely eaten, her sleep schedule erratic as she’d dreaded the meeting and facing Kestrel. She was nervous enough.
Once out of her gown, she hastily scrubbed the thick layer of powder off her face and lowered herself into the bath, where rose hips swirled around her shoulders and clung to her skin. Willing herself to focus on the heat, inhaling the fragrant steam, she slid to focus on the smear of orange light streaming in from beyond her bed.
It was where he had bitten her. Where he’d held her. Even that thought made her stomach flutter.
The next day, Garin was roaming the halls as Father Guillaume’s replacement again, throwing solemn, if not lazy, glances her way as if none of it had ever happened. He’d then disappeared for what felt like ages, only to show up again the next Sunday to assist the priest they invited from the Paimpont abbey with Mass, feigning all too well the appearance of a young, disheveled deacon—Budoc, they called him—who had learned too late into his vocation that he despised his work.
Henri was quick to suggest sending him back to the clergy in St. Malo, where he’d claimed to be from, and it was this dismissal that had cleverly brought Garin’s disguised time at the castle to an end. She hadn’t seen him in a little over a week.
How, then, had he done it? When?
Her hands shook as she washed herself, swallowing bile. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the image burned in her mind, not wanting to think of the state of rot or the stench of the arm, or the rest of her body.
The leader of the Brocéliande vampire coven was a lethal sort of showman,after all. That’s who he was. He would not pander tact where he saw brutality more fitting.
But it was Garin she’d gotten to know during their short journey together. The vampire who made her laugh, who protected and challenged her. Who’d led her to his parents’ farmhouse, knowing they’d be safe there. He’d taken her and made her come until she felt her body and soul would split beneath him. That night they left his home knowing more of each other, yet nothing at all.
She’d see him tonight and had no idea what to expect.
Teeth chattering, she dragged herself from the bath and threw a piece of wood onto the fire before collecting Kestrel’s unopened envelope from her drawer. Handling it at the corner as if it might combust, she tucked it deep into her travel bag, which she’d packed with her little comforts. She could open it there, where she felt safe.
There was a dress the color of ivy laid across the chair near her vanity. Although the gold embellishment against it made it fussier than she preferred, it was light enough for summer travel and had a built-in corset, so she donned the dress herself. In front of the fireplace, Lilac slid her dagger down the side of her garter and pulled on one of the thick cloaks from her armoire, hoping to shake the cold that would not leave her.
Garin had killed Vivien in cold blood; that was, to her chagrin, the most believable part of all this. Why would he send Armand to her with an arm? Why hadn’t he done it discreetly—why the need for this charade? If she was supposed to be finalizing the draft for the Accords tonight, a new treaty to protect Daemons from the cruelty and prejudices of her kingdom, why would he make his revenge such a public ordeal?
The sun was under the treetops when she was ready to leave. Lilac grunted, hoisting the travel satchel onto her back, when a rapid knock came at the door.
“You’ll ruin your posture.Further,” her mother squeaked, eyeing the bag as she pulled the door open, two fingers pressed to her lips in disapproval before waving them at the bowing pair of flour-dusted men at her rear. Two of Hedwig’s aides, as she’d requested.
“Loading the carriage so early?”
Lilac stepped into the hall, taking her time before answering hermother. Uttering her thanks to the men, she gestured to the half bushels of grain she’d deposited next to her fireplace.
“Departing, actually.”
Marguerite crossed her arms and watched them hoist the large bags out of the room and down the stairs. “You can always requisition your donations to the business in question instead of hoarding them in here like some paranoid peasant. I thought you told us you’d leave after dark?”
“I’ve got this one, thank you,” Lilac told the last gentleman, who put a hand out for her satchel. She gave him a gracious smile to spite Marguerite’s disapproving frown as he bowed and departed. “Well, I considered your strongly worded advice from yesterday, and I agree with you. Itisn’tsafe to travel at night.” Marguerite had begged her to cancel her trip. “There’s plenty of sun out for another hour or so.”
Marguerite’s glare lessened. It faded altogether when she stepped back and regarded the queen’s proper clothing and neatly brushed hair. Squinting suspiciously, she craned to peek into the cracked doorway of Lilac’s quarters.
“Are you looking for something?” Lilac asked, edging toward the staircase. “For someone?”
“Where are Yanna and Isabel?”
“I dismissed them for the rest of the day.”
The strain in the former queen’s voice matched the vein growing more evident at the middle of her forehead. “They’re here to—to?—”
