Lilac nodded, silently accepting that whatever happened to her from this point, on—including the very real possibility of her demise—would be the sole result of her own choosing.
After ushering her inside, Garin effortlessly hooked his hands into two grooves chiseled into the closest boulder and pulled it toward them until it covered the opening over the door. Then, quietly as possible, he swung the metal plate shut.
“You don’t have a lock on that?”
He put a finger to her lips and gave a warning look down the hall before waving a hand dismissively. With a wink, eyes gleaming in the flicker of the distant torch, he whispered, “You tell me who else can shove a half-tonne boulder? Plus, we’re happy to devour any unwanted visitors.”
Lilac wondered if his morbid sense of humor was his own odd way of trying to make her laugh. Or maybe he was being completely serious. “Now, what do you need me to do?”
Motioning for her to follow, he began making his way through the passage, which followed a gradual downward slope. “You are here as my thrall… My underling, erm, personal servant—”
“I get it. And that’s strange,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“What? There’s nothing—God, it’s only strange if you make it strange,” he hissed, slowing as they continued around the bend. “So that’s our story. If they ask you if I’ve fed from you, answer yes. It will be ‘yes ma’am’ or ‘yes sir’ when addressing myself or anyone else.”
Lilac shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s nearing morning, so most of them might even be asleep. I’ll get us to my chamber as quickly as I can. And don’t, under any circumstances, do that thing where you get all defensive.” He stopped and turned to face her. “I hope, for your own sake, that you can stand to oblige.”
The princess stared at him, unease and fear settling into her emptying belly. She didn’t owe him any favors. Why was she knowingly playing into his grasp?
Despite the urgency in his voice, Garin cautiously placed a hand on her elbow. “Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise you.”
“You didn’t think to prepare me for this during the hour or two of walking silence?” she said through clenched teeth.
Garin ignored this. “If we get through this smoothly, you’ll be free to go as early as tomorrow evening. You have my word.”
With that, he slid past her once more and followed the bend to the left, motioning for her to follow. At the end of it, a single torch illuminated a wooden door. He took a deep breath and turned to face her. For the first time, she thought she saw a hint of wariness in his eyes; it scared her more than anything he’d said, and she felt her breath start to come in short gasps.
“The next room is our vestibule. It’s a long corridor leading into the main chamber.”
“Garin,” Lilac began dubiously. “I don’t know…”
“If it all becomes too much, keep your eyes on me. Just think of it as your parents’ dungeon without prisoners.”
The dungeon? Lilac had seen the dungeon at the castle a handful of times; it’s inner door with the wonky padlock—which her father had put off fixing because who, besides Lilac, would ever be deranged enough try to break into the dungeon—was how she’d sneak out to her mother’s rose garden whenever she couldn’t sleep.
She nodded.
“And one more thing.”
“Ye—” Her reply was abruptly cut off when Garin grabbed her by the back collar of her dress, pulling the ribbon even tighter around her chest and midsection. His strength in the single hand was crippling. She choked and grabbed at her chest frantically before realizing her throat was free of fabric. Her dress front scooped low, and she could breathe just fine. It was an illusion.
He leaned in until she could feel his breath on her ear. “Do as I say, and you’ll be perfectly safe.” Maintaining his grip, Garin turned the handle on the door and pressed onward.
Before the door was even completely open, they were engulfed in the sickly sweet aroma of death. She gagged on the stench. A distinct taste like copper lingered at the back of her throat, so light that it was almost an afterthought.
The vestibule was a cavernous corridor, thrice as wide and twice as tall as the prior passage. At the far end an arched doorway led into another, larger room, though it was much too dark to make out any details.
Thick torches lined the stone walls. Staggered between them were iron cages. Several gaunt gazes met her own from behind the bars‚ theirs with almost no expression left to show. They were men and women of all ages, thought it was difficult to tell—some barely adults, and some with crude tufts of thinning silver hair, though at first glance, one would think them all at the end of their lives.
It was, she realized with crawling dread, because they probably were. She put her hands behind her back to hide her fists that had automatically clenched in anger.
Sneaking a peek up through her hair, she was shocked to see Garin seemed equally furious at the inhumane display. Something in his taught jaw twitched as his eyes flickered from one cage to another.
A short phrase was plastered crudely over the arched doorway ahead of them in red paint, dried rivulets reaching like tendrils down the stone:
Redemptio Sanguine.
Someone shifted in one of the cages as they slowly passed, and Lilac startled backward, bumping into Garin.
He squeezed her collar. “Do you wish to get yourself killed?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s sorry, sir,” he drawled, louder for anyone who might be listening.
“Sorry, s-sir.”
Slowly they continued walking toward the archway. Lilac might have been putting on an act, but the pretense of fear came far too easily.
Garin’s face was stoic, strangely enchanting and alien in the sinister light. It was a chilling reminder that although he was at times cordial toward her, friendly, even, she was still his prisoner. A piece of his ploy.
Nausea rolled over her like the pungent waves of decay, and she was unable to shake the nagging feeling that she’d made a mistake to even think of trusting him. Perhaps, the only way she’d survived all those years in the castle was by knowing there would always be a way out—a choice, if she wanted it. If she dared. She would escape through the dungeon and out to the rose hedges; if and when she’d wanted it bad enough, Brocéliande has always been there. Ophelia’s note merely fed the princess’s flames of desire and curiosity enough to warrant action.
Now, Lilac hated that there was no way for her to escape in case things went very, very wr—
A shattering clang broke her distraction. Lilac couldn’t help it. She glanced away from Garin and at the prisoner who’d leaped at the cage door. Her chalky hands clawed feverishly at the bars. Shackled at the wrists, it appeared to be a woman. A young woman, beneath the flaking grime on her cheeks, beneath the matted hair, flaming red and tucked into a bonnet. A soot-covered smock hung, half torn and falling off her shoulders.
“Princess!” the woman croaked through her feeble attempts to break the bars imprisoning her. “What a cruel illusion—”
Lilac stumbled backwards when Garin released her in his own shock. She’d never seen the frantic stranger, but pity and fear tore at her heart. The woman’s gaunt cheeks were suddenly wet with tears, and skin at her collarbone sucked in as she panted.