“And your real mother?”
At Garin’s sudden frown, she glanced away awkwardly and preoccupied herself with her glass of red wine, swirling its contents just below the rim. She hadn’t previously realized how bad she was at socializing with others her own age, never mind men.
The question didn’t seem to phase him otherwise. “Both of my parents are dead,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I left Paimpont to work here at the tavern and support myself. A man has to eat, you know. And it’s fine, they’ve been dead a while,” he added in response to Lilac’s expression of muted shock.
“Goodness, I’m sorry for asking.”
He shook his head and smiled generously. “If I minded, you would know.”
Desperate to change the subject, Lilac chewed on her thumbnail. She recalled her first and only trip to the town lasting them from early dawn till evening, but that was only because the Queen’s carriage driver had taken the main road, which wove around and surpassed most of Brocéliande. Maybe she could convince Garin to tell her how to reach the town faster by forest. “You travel back and forth, then? That must be tiresome.”
“No, I have a room upstairs that Meriam has graciously allowed me to rent, long term. It isn’t terrible.”
Lilac knew of folks—mostly thrill-seekers or marauders—who would pass through the forest occasionally. But a human choosing to live there was unheard of, so far as she knew.
“Why not get a job in Paimpont?” Lilac said, lowering her voice. “Surely that’s a little safer.”
Garin waved a hand. “Too many memories there,” he said flippantly. “Of my parents. They were farmers, but aspiring alchemists under the table.” There was a rough edge to his laugh. “We used to joke that they were the peasants’ healers. And yet, they succumbed to simple wintertime maladies… The irony.”
He averted his gaze then. Suddenly, he appeared younger.
A pang of guilt resonated through her chest. Words caught in her throat; she didn’t quite know what to say. Despite his secrecy, the sudden transparency was unnerving. It was evident that ignoring his charm would be a losing battle. She cleared her throat, feeling vulnerable herself.
“Perhaps we—perhaps the king and queen would hire you,” she offered, barely catching herself in time.
“At the castle, you mean?” His voice was taught with bitterness, catching her off guard. “Me, a servant boy? Absolutely not. The kingdom is corrupt in its own ways. The whole lot of them. The Trécessons, their miserable princess, even the next in line—the duke’s family. Oh bother, what are they called… That’s right, the Le Tallecs.” He scoffed loudly. “I’d rather starve or work in Brocéliande. Even if it kills me.”
Lilac chewed on her lip. She knew he had good reason to say these things, but it was still shocking to hear in person. It was impossible to please everyone. Living in the castle for so long, she’d never had the opportunity to hear anyone’s unfiltered opinion of her parents’ reign, save the paranoia circling the kingdom about her own.
Did the majority of the townsfolk feel this way about the king and queen?
Lilac shifted in her seat, making a feeble attempt to change the subject by focusing on something else he’d mentioned.
“Next in line?”
“You’re right, I misspoke. The princess is next in line. She’s heiress, obviously. But the Le Tallec’s brat son is next after her. You know, if anything unfortunate were to happen to her.”
Lilac didn’t know what to say. He was right, she supposed; she had never thought of it that way before. The notion was disconcerting in the least. Her voice caught on the lump in her throat when she opened her mouth to tell him something consoling. She wasn’t very close to her own parents. Never had been. But at least they were still alive—alive, with time for that to change.
“Enough of me,” Garin said, swirling the ochre liquid around the bottom of his glass. “You’re new to the forest. So, what brings you to Brocéliande on such a winsome night?”
He beamed at her through a clenched jaw and pushed the steaming plate of eggs and toast towards her encouragingly. He then sniffed at the partridge dish, covered in a thin layer of colorful wild potatoes and carrots, and slid that to her as well. They’d fallen so deep in conversation that she forgot how hungry she was. It didn’t happen too often.
Gingerly, she picked up the piece of toast and slathered on a heavy layer of marmalade. Even without looking, Lilac was aware of his pressing eyes locked on her. She could feel them boring into her forehead.
“Have some,” she insisted, pushing the toast platter back towards him. “You must be famished after your shift.”
He shook his head to decline politely. “You avoided my question.”
Following a too large bite of toast, she took a swig from her wine glass and suppressed a grimace. It was tart, unlike the bursting flavor of summer berries and liquid chocolate that seeped into the fine reds they served at home. She took another gulp anyway, knowing she would require a little liquid courage to lie outright to the gentleman’s face. Especially right after he had revealed something so personal about his own life.
“Well, I came from Rennes,” she explained, referring to the larger politician’s town a few hours northeast of the castle. The lie slipped out easily, so she followed it with another. “And, speaking of Paimpont, I’m headed there to visit a good friend of mine.”
“Ah. Is writing this… friend not enough?”
“No,” Lilac admitted honestly through a salty-sweet mouthful of partridge and toast. She’d never had it before, but the servants ate it often. Though she expected a gamey texture, it was surprisingly savory, roasted to perfection. The meat basically melted in her mouth.
“A leman.”
“What?” She frowned, taken aback by that one. A beau, he had meant. She knew the definition of the term leman, but it was an archaic word. “No. Not at all, a leman.”
He exhaled a chuckle, but his pewter eyes held fast. “Even so, it’s fine. I’m always up for a little competition.” His tone was teasing, but he peeked up at her from under his dark lashes.
“Please.” She rolled her eyes as she popped a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Those were buttery and scrumptious. “Had I a leman, hypothetically, he’d win the duel.”
Through his grin, the corners of his eyes pulled tight. “I somehow highly doubt that.”
Lilac shifted, the blood once again rising to her cheeks. The wine was beginning to catch up to her. She swallowed a burp. “You’re strange.”
“Well aware. And your name, mademoiselle?” He pressed further, now without reservation.
Lilac’s heart did a flop. She hadn’t even bothered to come up with an alias. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Garin stared at her expectantly, his face twisting into a puzzled scowl as she tried to quiet the bloody palpitations.
“Lysyn,” she replied, tugging on her left ear. She instantly regretted it, biting hugely into a slice of partridge to buy herself another minute to figure out the surname.
Lysyn?
“Argent,” she finished with a mouthful.
Shit.