Garin rolled slightly to peek over his shoulder. “If I share something with you, do you promise to keep it between the both of us?”
“That depends.” Lilac’s stomach swam at the sudden intimacy of the question. “Is it incriminating?”
He snorted. “Your botched attempt at murdering me and then agreeing to follow me was incriminating, as is every unhostile word we’ve spoken to each other thus far. Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t really matter now that he’s dead—Laurent looked forward to your reign.”
At this, Lilac propped herself up on her left elbow to look down at him.
“He did?” she asked, unable to suppress the small smile that crept onto her lips. She foggily recalled the korrigan chief mentioning something similar.
“After it became known publicly that you speak to Darklings, it was like a light went on in his head. I put the pieces together over the few times he came into the tavern; he didn’t know what had happened with me, either, but he was the only one who’d cared enough to track me down and visit on occasion. I’d always speculated—by the way he spoke anyway—that he secretly hoped you would somehow form a bridge between us. Humans and Darklings, I mean. Bring us to a sort of reconciliation, or at least smooth tensions out. Something along those lines. He had this ludicrous vision of a sort of harmony. No pressure, of course,” he added.
Lilac opened her mouth to speak and closed it again when she couldn’t find the words. The only hope in her as leader that anyone had ever voiced aloud, was that she would accomplish the impossible—unite humans and Darklings? Brocéliande and the kingdom? That was a first. And not out of the mouths of townsfolk, but creatures, instead.
“Not to worry, princess,” Garin said, yawning around his words again. “Laurent was a dreamer. Head always in the cosmos.”
“But is... is that something that Darklings want?” she asked quietly. She suddenly felt very small.
Garin didn’t answer for a couple minutes, and Lilac thought he’d drifted asleep. “I can’t speak for everyone,” he replied softly.
“Why didn’t you tell me? About you being their new leader?” It was a feeble attempt to swing the subject, but Lilac didn’t know what else to say.
“Well, why didn’t you tell me you were the princess?”
Touché.
She had journeyed into the forest seeking the witch, hoping to get rid of her ability; to become the sort of simple princess the townsfolk would appreciate. They feared her, despised her, and as much as she hated yearning anyone’s approval, she’d wanted to change everything, every wayward perception of her that had existed. But, as she was slowly finding out, the Darklings seemed to have more hope for her reign than her kin ever had.
Muscles tensing, Lilac shifted her arm out from under her and glanced down at the newly appointed coven leader. She didn’t quite know how to perceive him, now knowing that it seemed his own kind, too, disapproved of his new position. He was, as Bastion had chided, a sort of Prince of Night. Like the korrigan chief, Blitzrik, Garin was now in charge of the Brocéliande coven. She wasn’t even sure what they’d look like in numbers; the mine didn’t look that big from what she’d seen, at least. The forest didn’t have its own monarchy or anything like it, instead consisting of a variety of communities with their own leaders—a sort of ducal system, she thought realized hazily, and suppressed a sudden giggle at the comparison of Garin to Sinclair and the duke.
Hearing her snort, Garin sighed extravagantly. “Is there… something intriguing you’d like to share?”
“May I ask you something else?”
“Look. I’m tired. It’s the morning, and I’m exhausted.”
“Look,” she mirrored unintentionally, then only finding it funnier. “You’re the one who kidnapped me.”
“If I had known you’d be this annoying, I definitely would’ve let the Morgen drown you back there.”
Lilac bit her lip, refusing to let his scathing words deter her. It was obvious there were many thin fibers barely holding her captor together at the seams; her fingers itched to tug them like delicate threads. One of them had been begging to be unraveled.
“Who cursed you?”
Garin paused. He flipped onto his back, stretching out, then folded his arms under his head. Again, such a normal, human gesture.
“Who said I was cursed?”
“You can’t drink from the vein, as you like to say. What does that mean, exactly? No vampire just stops drinking human blood, as no human stops breathing air.” And the more she thought about it, the Morgen could have been referring to Garin’s curse—not her own. “If not a curse, then what else would it be?”
When he didn’t reply, Lilac sidled sideways on her belly, back to the edge of the bed.
As if expecting her advance, Garin already glowered up at her. “What now, Miss Trécesson? Don’t you have some important journey to go on? What of your beloved betrothed you’re so eager to get back to? Why not bother him?”
Lilac’s eyes widened, but he kept going.
“Just because you’re on this brilliant, epiphanic quest through Brocéliande, doesn’t mean you can go meddling in matters which aren’t yours, human. Go spout your spurious reasoning to someone who cares.”
Lilac rolled away onto her back once more. She absentmindedly rubbed her right cheek; the cut of his words stung almost as much as his brother’s blow to her face. Her skin was flaky—the dried blood from her nose, she realized, panic settling. She made a mental note to wash it off later, if—when—Garin released her.
“You’re the one who asked me to come with you.”
“I needed you in order to get back into my coven’s good graces. I would have picked you up and slung you over my shoulder either way.”
“It doesn’t matter. I trusted you enough to come here, not entranced, but of my own will—all because you couldn’t do it properly,” she spat, meaning the words to sting him just as hard, “when just twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t know what you were, or that this place even existed. I’ve never asked you to blindly give me your trust the way you’ve required it of me, time and time again.” Lilac took a deep breath, swallowing her anger. He was a stupid, stubborn Darkling, there was no point in getting upset. “I was only wondering what your story was. That’s all.”
“There is no story,” he replied. “I have no story.”
Snuggling further into the blankets, Lilac yawned. Her eyelids were leaded with exhaustion. “Preposterous. Everyone’s got a story.”
To her surprise, Garin let out a quick snort. Again, with his mercurial moods. “Preposterous,” he piped in mock falsetto.
“What’re you mumbling, there?”
“Nothing at all. Goodnight, princess.”
Just before drifting off, she rolled over once more to peer sleepily at the creature beside her. His back faced her again, shoulders rising once every minute or so with his slow, controlled breath.
Since departing the castle, she’d been chased, assaulted, and held captive.
Yet, Lilac had a nagging feeling her journey had only begun.