The faerie twirled his baton again. Lilac could’ve sworn his eyes flitted over to her before boring back into the reluctant vampire. “You do, if you want your release.”
“Garin,” Bastion shot alarmedly.
But his brother was finally at a true loss for words. Pinned by every eye in the colosseum—beady faerie, accusing vampire, and apprehensive mortal—Garin let out a low, laborious sigh.
“Adelaide was what her family called her,” he said, not once removing his glare from Bastion. “I killed the lot of them, her family, I mean, during the Raid and I—” he began to stumble over his words, something he never did.
He was editing. Not quite lying, but not providing all the details, either. Her father did the same thing when feeding white lies to the queen. It was probably nothing, Lilac told herself—yet, a distant, small part of her wondered just what was worth keeping from Kestrel and Bastion. Or, from her. His prolonged hesitation made her stomach flop.
“And she walked in on it,” he continued. “On me, feeding. She was a powerful witch, caught me off guard. In my guilt, I spared her life. And I thought she’d spared mine. When I tried to feed a couple days later, I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?” Bastion asked. “Couldn’t consume blood?”
“I couldn’t bite the person. When I tried, my head felt like it would explode.” Through his even tone, Garin was the picture of guilt. Something like regret tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“How did she get you to stay still enough to perform a curse?” Bastion frowned dubiously.
“The witch escaped. After that night I’d never seen her again.”
“By the Raid, I presume you’re referring to that of 1482?” Kestrel interjected. “You and your sire led the coven to Paimpont and laid waste to the village.”
Garin said nothing.
Lilac’s mouth ran dry. She fought a violent shiver back, wishing she could shrug further into her cloak. Now knowing of Laurent and his clandestine fantasy of peace, it seemed uncharacteristic that the single bloodiest day in Paimpont history had occurred under his authority. Of course, Garin had lived several entire lifetimes prior to meeting her. To be fair, so had Laurent. They’d both done and seen things, terrible, wondrous things she couldn’t have fathomed if she’d tried.
“How is this possible?” Bastion demanded in bewilderment.
“I’m not sure.”
The faerie’s face twitched with intrigue. “Unless…”
Garin looked up.
“Recall the arcane laws of vibration,” Kestrel continued. “Magic, you mortals and mongrels call it. If you vampires ever bothered to do a bit of reading in all your wasted time on earth, you’d know that energy is elemental. Environmental… neither created nor destroyed. It merely exists. Is transmuted. Changes shape.”
This was true—or so Lilac remembered reading. It was impossible for a witch or warlock to draw that amount of power on the spot. Curses required a ritual or ingredient list, certain actions to set into motion—at the very least, herbs or crystals that allowed the caster to tap into nature.
Kestrel, too, seemed perplexed. He frowned, then cackled aloud—then frowned once more. “It seems to me, it was her own energy wielded into the workings of your biting curse. And it was done instantly, whether she knew it or not.” Kestrel let out a low whistle. “I’d say, for that to occur, there was quite the burst of emotion. A passion crime? An eye for an eye.”
At this point, both vampires had ceased struggling against the taut vines. Bastion’s anger had finally fizzled, leaving him the energy to quietly grasp each detail of Garin’s story.
“I mean, it was her entire family I’d killed,” Garin emphasized, a dark sardonicism seeping into his voice now “I drained them—her mother, father, sister. Adelaide burst in on me feeding on her sister, after I’d killed her parents. The home was in shambles after her father fought me; his skull shattered after I’d shoved him against the mantle. She was devastated. Rightly so.”
His eyes rested distantly upon the floor again, but now she didn’t mind his lack of acknowledgement. Her expression certainly contained all the horror she felt, and it would’ve been impossible to conceal. She’d known it was all wrong. That what she’d begun to feel for him was inconceivable in every sense of the word.
Upon finishing his story, Garin’s face held neither sorrow nor remorse.
“What can you eat, then?” Bastion asked, breaking the silence. “How have you survived?”
Garin sighed, but
Kestrel interrupted it with an even louder sigh. “Go on, vampire.”
“I tried to drink from animals soon after I realized the confines of Adelaide’s curse, all the while trying to hide it from the rest of you. I was a fool to think that would do the trick. The chase quelled only the urge to hunt, but I discovered the hard way it does nothing at all to nourish us. I became weak.
“It didn’t take long before you were finally onto me, Bast. You knew something was wrong, and I refused to admit what had happened. It wasn’t long before we got into that argument, after which I stormed out, determined to find my own way.
“Immediately after the Raid, King Francis permitted our feeding nights at the inn. An effort in desperation to prevent anything like it from ever occurring again, I suppose. He also ordered the castle chefs to supplement Darkling food and drink with scraps of their own, and even implored the Magicfolk to help. Other vampires from our coven would pass through the inn and saw me after I left, but like you, they believed I’d forgone an existential crisis. Working there at the tavern, no one suspected that I could not feed.”
Garin inhaled before continuing. “It provided me the opportunity to gain my footing outside the coven; Francis’ Law permitted the tavern there to served bottled blood, human blood, from the few willing donors. I quickly discovered I was able to feed that way without any trouble. It was only Laurent’s death that caused my return to the Mine.”
He cleared his throat and sighed again, though this time it was a sound of relief, as if finally confessing to Bastion had lifted a tiresome burden.
“Mmm. Heartwarming,” Kestrel offered blandly, as if expecting a juicer tale. “And how does this tie into the mortal princess falling into your company? Tell us… Did you kidnap her from the castle? We received news of her absence yesterday. The blue jays sing. They tell us things, you see. Her kingdom is in utter chaos. It’s wonderful. Proper job, Garin.”
Garin grimaced through a tortured smile.
It was unlike him—what she’d known of him, anyway—to appear so sullen, the fire behind his sharp quips and quick rebuttal suddenly smothered. Despite all he’d confessed, Lilac found herself wishing she could drift over to stroke the sadness from his cheek—or slap the liveliness back into him. Either, there had been more layers to him than he’d ever led on—or, he was an unsettlingly fantastic liar.
“After hearing of Laurent’s death, I knew I needed to return home. I also knew I wouldn’t be welcome without some sign that my weakness was put well behind me. I needed a blood servant, a thrall, as a front. When the princess,” he nodded toward her without looking at her, “showed up at the inn, she was disguised like any other backwoods farm girl. She was what I needed.