At this, Lilac barely suppressed a snort.
The only thing she was actually curious about was the white horse they were riding. When she inquired about him using one of her parents’ royal steeds, he puffed his chest out so far she thought he might float away. He explained that once his parents informed him of Lilac’s absence, he rode his own war horse as fast as he could to the castle. There, he told the king and queen he would be gathering the bravest men to search the woods, but no one agreed to participate until the sun rose. He, being the overzealous bastard he was, vowed to take two of his own soldiers into Brocéliande. By Sinclair’s words, King Henri immediately gifted his “future son-in-law” the ivory steed, as if his own brown war horse was suddenly less effective.
Fortunately, Sinclair was so infatuated with hearing his own voice that she only needed to murmur agreeably in response. This gave her time to retreat into her own thoughts. First off, she was starving; the last time she’d eaten anything was a day ago, and she’d need to ration out her remaining portion before Paimpont.
Her belly gurgled with worry. What would her excuse be if Sinclair caught her sneaking off in the morning? There was no way in hell she would return to the castle without first visiting Ophelia.
That was all that really mattered, seeing the witch. She needed to get rid of her Darkling Tongue; it was the only way to win the approval of her people upon inheriting the throne. Sure, the throne was hers, Darkling tongue or not. But with the deep-seated hatred the kingdom harbored toward the creatures, she had a feeling their respect for royalty would only run so deep. If the townsfolk held riots protesting her upcoming coronation before she was queen, what would they resort to once she was actually crowned?
In the first few anxiety-ridden hours after receiving Ophelia’s letter, she’d sat in bed mulling over the ludicrous notion of showing her parents, in hopes they’d take her to the cure themselves. That, however, would have included risking someone in Paimpont seeing. Plus, what if it went wrong? Her mother would never place herself in that delicate a situation, at such proximity to judging eyes and ears, and especially with her reputation at stake.
As much as she hated admitting it to herself—and she would never, ever admit to anyone else—Lilac deeply yearned the king and queen’s approval. She couldn’t remember the last time her parents didn’t startle every time they entered a room in which she’d taken refuge to study.
It would be nice to change that. Even if it meant changing the very fibers of her being.
Sinclair halted the steed behind a tree with low-hanging branches a few yards from the campsite. When he helped Lilac down, she threw him a puzzled look. He could’ve parked the animal closer.
“Well, my sweet, it was not planned… but now that you are here, I have a surprise for you,” he said, tethering the horse to the trunk. Then, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and motioned for her to turn around.
Oh God.
“What the f—” Lilac cleared her throat, stepping back before she could catch herself. Should she run? She could run. Lilac wasn’t sure how far she would get with him chasing her on the steed, but she’d try. She shuddered. The very last thing she wanted was to be blindfolded anywhere remotely near him. “What is that?”
“Oh, don’t be afraid. You’ll have such a laugh, I swear. But you must not peek until we get there.” He circled around to her back and slipped the cloth in front of her eyes, knotting it at the back of her head. “Take my hand and I’ll lead you.”
Revolted, she felt for his palm and allowed him to eagerly drag her forward. Behind the cloth, the firelight danced rhythmically and grew brighter as they neared.
“Prepare yourself,” he said, the pressure of his hand steady on the knot of material. “Ready?”
He’d better not be naked.
“For what?” she replied through her teeth.
When the cloth fell first to the floor, nothing appeared out of place. Lilac squinted past the tall flames. Two chestnut horses stood off to the left, snouts buried in a pile of oats. Beside them, a woolen blanket and straw pillow created a makeshift bed in the softer grass. Nearer to the pit was a set of stone goblets, a bulging leather bag, and wire rack. Lilac’s stomach grumbled audibly.
Then, beyond the flames, she spotted something that made her heart drop.
A pair of guards flanked a prisoner. A man slumped dejectedly in the dirt.
Dark hair clung to his sweat-slicked forehead. The material of his linen shirt was slashed open at the front, deep burgundy pooling in vivid contrast against the cream. A piece of cloth laced through his mouth and secured at the nape of his neck, gagging him. Thick rope knotted tightly around his wrists and mangled his bruised fingers.
At the sound of her gasp, he glanced up. He blinked wearily through blood-matted lashes framing a pair of wild eyes, deep as dusk and luminous as the stars.
6
“What is the meaning of this?”
A storm of emotions warred inside her. There he was. Obviously dragged, beaten into a pulp. Even scored at the ribs. But, where she should have felt relief at the display of justice, she couldn’t help the sudden fear that he’d been arrested for fraternization with a royal. That they’d been spotted together. Was she followed by a guard from the castle? What if someone witnessed her having supper with the barkeep and following him upstairs? It would spark an enormous scandal, as if she needed another. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her temples, and she pretended to scratch her forehead to wipe them away.
Fortunately, Sinclair seemed oblivious to her recognition of the prisoner. He shifted on his feet beside her and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “You look a bit alarmed. Not used to witnessing such an impressive catch, I presume?” He rocked back and forth on his heels proudly. “I found him earlier tonight.”
“Catch? You… caught him?” She frowned at his words of choice.
“He was in the woods, journeying alone. We were on our search for you when I spotted him. We were just beginning an interrogation on the whereabouts of the rest of his kind, when I noticed the korrigan’s campfire in the distance. It was as if it appeared out of thin air. Enzo and Mathis offered to watch him while I left to investigate, and I’m sure glad I did! I wouldn’t have found you, and then those awful creatures would have devoured you alive.”
“That’s not how that wor—” Lilac bit her tongue and adopted a doe-eyed stare of gratitude. His kind? “You’re right, thank goodness.”
“And the thing is,” Sinclair continued, starting at the firepit, “that would be nothing compared to the consequences you’d have faced, had you found yourself alone with this one.” He nudged an elbow in Garin’s direction. “He’s tricky, this one. Once I figured it wasn’t a trap, we ambushed him and quickly bound him with Hawthorne cordage,” he explained proudly.
Lilac focused on the amber-colored rope at Garin’s wrists and ankles, wrapped so tightly that they cut into his reddened flesh. Nothing Sinclair had said so far made any sort of sense. The Hawthorne, rumored to be the oldest kind of tree between Brittany and France, was used to dispel Darklings.
What good would it do against a mere man?
A metallic shhhk pulled her attention back to Sinclair. Horrified, she watched him pull his sword from its sheath and insert the blade into the fire. Garin’s head had slumped over again.