Kestrel put a finger up as if he were going to interrupt her. Instead, he noticed his floating finger, frowned, and put it down again.
Shaken and mpassioned, Lilac took that as permission to continue. Her voice wavered, but no longer out of fear. “Without thinking, he would set the entire forest ablaze. It took the first half of the Hundred Year’s War to destroy the forests that used to cover our country. It would take him but a moment to destroy all of Brocéliande. If he becomes king, he’ll ruin everything. For all of us.”
Kestrel’s mouth had grown taught. “You are a curious thing, little girl. Yearning to serve a kingdom that despises you. Dare I ask… What brought you to Brocéliande?”
“As I told Garin, I am passing through to see a friend in Paimpont.”
He spun on his heel to face Garin, who gave an honest shrug.
“You believed that? Diddly-eyed idiot.” Kestrel shimmied sideways, placing himself directly between the vampire and princess. “What’s the real reason, human? I wouldn’t lie if I were you.”
Lilac’s mouth went dry. At this point, there was no reason she shouldn’t admit it. Everything was already out on the table. Maybe she was just afraid to hear the words come out of her own mouth. “I came to see a witch who lives at the edge of Paimpont. She’s going to help me reverse my curse. She’ll… help rid me of my Darkling Tongue.” She tried not to blush, tried to appear confident—and failed miserably. It sounded so stupid out loud.
“Wait. Why?” It was Garin who spoke now, to her for the first time since they’d entered Cinderfell.
She glanced at him incredulously. Excuse you. “Ever since my Tongue was discovered, my parents have kept me out of sight, so as not to stoke the discontent of our people. Hiding away is impossible as my own coronation approaches, and still, they riot. They see it—see me—as a wicked omen. The witch Ophelia is willing to help me.”
A round of hushed whispers encircled the room, but Kestrel held up a hand to silence them. “Ophelia… Ophelia of Paimpont?”
Lilac nodded hesitantly. She supposed; this was the first Ophelia she’d known, ever. “You know of her?”
“Our paths have brushed. She did me a small favor, eons ago. An enigma, that woman. From what I know of her she’s a transplant, a nomad most of her life before settling here. She hails from Paris, one of those—” he waved his hands in a noncommittal gesture—"Renaissance types. Word around the marsh is that she’s an addictive hag and notorious gambler.” Kestrel peered at her through his thick lashes. “So, what in heaven and hell makes you think she would help you?”
Lilac gulped. Whatever she’d imagined of Ophelia, it sure wasn’t the portrait Kestrel had painted for her. But the witch’s word was her word, and simply, she had offered a cure. Heart leaping into her throat, she moved to retrieve the letter in her cloak pocket—only to receive a sharp squeeze from the guards clutching her arms.
“May I?” she said to Kestrel.
At his impatient nod, the guards released her. She reached into her cloak pocket and pulled out the envelope and out of that, the still-damp piece of folded parchment. She shook it out and prayed the ink was still legible. Careful not to brush his fingers, she handed the parchment to Kestrel.
Lines appeared on his forehead as he scrutinized each line. When finished, he glanced up and yanked it from her reach when she tried to grab it back. His expression was unreadable. “You’re serious then. Had you been in contact with the witch before?”
“No. No sir,” she added for effect, anxiously fiddling with the now empty envelope. “The other day I’d just ended brunch when one of the maids brought that letter in from the courier. I almost didn’t open it for fear it was from Sin—” She stopped herself before accidentally giving the Fair Folk any more information about herself that they needn’t know. “A wayward admirer. But something told me to open it.”
When Kestrel did not reply, Lilac continued. “In that regard, I was hoping you would be so kind as to allow me to continue my journey to Ophelia, so that I’ll be able to gain my place as queen with minimal pushback. And—”
Garin cleared his throat before interrupting her. “Why would we allow that?”
“Moments ago, you were protecting her.” The faerie appeared just as confused as she.
Garin met Lilac’s look of confusion with one of disdain. “I was protecting us,” he answered Kestrel, “from wrath of their retribution. Now that you’ve confirmed humans are responsible for the death of my sire, I know my place well and clear.”
He’d suspected Laurent’s death was by human hand long before they’d arrived. Why the abrupt change of heart? Lilac’s skin began to crawl.
Or, maybe it was all an act? She returned Garin’s look of abhorrence with one of fury. “You’ll see to it that I am returned to the High Forest in time for my coronation.”
“How would that benefit us?” Garin spat harshly. “You’re the devil spawn of the Trécessons, a prisoner of war. Your very blood makes you an enemy. Why should we release you?”
Kestrel delighted in their animosity, trilling his fingertips together. He let out a high-pitched giggle. “Her blood,” he echoed wistfully. “Her blood makes her neither friend nor foe.” ”
Garin ignored this. “I’ll tell you. You’ll scurry back to the chateau and continue to make our lives hell. You’ll corrupt your inherited kingdom even further, until it’s time to pass”
She reeled as if he’d slapped her. It was familiar to something he’d said back at Sinclair’s campsite when she’d begged him to let the marquis go. Everything was different between them now. At least, it had appeared so.
Through her suddenly tear brimmed glare, Garin’s coal eyes smoldered with slow-burning hatred—and suddenly, she understood what he was doing.
“You, vampire, haven’t the slightest idea of what I have been through.” She stood straight despite feeling small, and her words rang out in the pit gone silent. “As much as I wish it was otherwise, I hold no more loyalty to the king and queen than you do.. Since my parents discovered my ability, they’ve grown fearful. Of me, of what I might do, what I might know. To this day, the townsfolk concern themselves with protesting my coronation. They have for weeks, and my own blood hasn’t spoken a word in my defense.”
Emotion frayed the edges of her voice now. “I always thought our hate was driven by our differences. Byprejudice alone. I now realize the hardships my parents have inflicted upon your forest. They rescinded my grandfather’s law that gave you some sense of belonging.” Over the front of her cloak, she rested her palm upon the now silent dagger, considering her ancestors and what they’d think of her now, reasoning with a roomful of faeries. “That was partially my fault. And I’m sorry.”
Kestrel, who’d been twirling his staff again, nearly missed it and scrabbled to catch the shaft. His eyes widened at her apology. Then, he nodded vigorously. “Your fault, indeed. Your father’s law is no law at all, but the reversal of one. He only did it when he discovered your ability, because thinks you’re wicked.”