He waved the pouch. “Think of it as a token of our temporary acquaintance. I’m sure the favor will be repaid in due time.”
Ignoring Garin and Bastion’s warning looks, she accepted it cautiously. She cradled it in her hands. It wasn’t money. The item was firm, rotund, and fit perfectly cupped in Lilac’s palm. She sniffed at it, but Kestrel made a noise.
“It is rude to peek in on a gift that isn’t yours.”
She tucked it neatly into her knapsack.
“Garin,” he sung. “It is my wish that you accompany Her Highness on this journey of hers.” The faerie raised a palm up to forestall Garin’s exasperated protests. “You will see to it that she holds up to her promise. You will ensure she becomes the sole monarch. And if she does not,” he added, the twinkle returning to his eyes, “or if she tries to run from you… kill her.”
“Fine,” he replied through his teeth.
Lilac swallowed a bitter sigh. There was no doubt in her mind that Kestrel was being serious, but the threat was futile. There was no way she’d forfeit the throne, and there wasn’t one person she could think of who would be foolish enough to challenge Garin—save Sinclair, who wouldn’t dare. As long as they kept the Le Tallecs out of the way, there’d be no problem.
Right?
“I’m not finished with you, vampire.” The faerie king winked at Garin. “I have something for you.” He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small, white square. It was a folded piece of parchment sealed with a glob of golden wax. Pinching it between his long fingers, he motioned for him to come hither. Bastion warily kept his distance.
Just loud enough for the three of them to hear, Kestrel whispered to Garin. “I’m sure this will motivate you, if nothing else will. You may open it after, and only after the Trécesson girl is crowned. If you attempt to open or tamper with it at any point before, or if you fail, the message will incinerate and be lost forever.”
Garin squinted dubiously. “What is it?”
“This letter holds the answer to the question that has burned brightest in the desolate pits of your mind.”
The faerie’s secretive smile only widened at Garin’s bleak grimace as he took the envelope and hastily stuffed it into his pocket.
“Or should I say, the answer to one of the questions?”
Kestrel leaned in further still, cocking his head ever so slightly at Lilac, who glowered blackly at the both of them.
“What do you say, boy? Hmm? Better a human this time, than a witch.”
15
With a single wave of his mysterious staff, Kestrel had deposited them unceremoniously in the midst of a moss-covered glen beside a small body of crystal-clear water. Lilac’s head throbbed as she sat up; she’d landed flat on her back, missing the surrounding thickets entirely. She cupped her right temple and sat up among a tall patch of reeds—although her sack had miraculously softened the impact on her spine, the fall still sent a dizzying jolt of pain throughout her joints. She gingerly loosened the kinks in her neck with two satisfying cracks and glanced around.
Regardless of all she’d studied and read, nothing could have prepared her for Cinderfell and the bizzare wrath of Kestrel. It was no wonder those journals and manuscripts said so little about the Brocéliande Fair Folk—no wonder the scholars’ conclusions were spun with mere speculation; likely, she was one of a handful of humans who’d witnessed the terrifying creatures and were spared to give a firsthand account. Her shoulders prickled with the memory of the dark, tittering crowd above them. Their glittering eyes and jewels still burned into her mind, blazing in stark scrutiny.
Faeries weren’t mysterious, all-elusive beings after all—not so much as they were hostile entities, despising both humans and Darklings alike… Creatures, whose capacity for logic had been blotted out by vanity, or madness, or both.
At the nearby sound of sloshing, Lilac suddenly realized she was sitting in the mud, staring blankly at the pond’s glass-like surface. Garin appeared above her an instant later, cold hands slipping under her arms. His lips moved as he mounted her on her feet, but no discernable sound came from them. Beyond the muffled mumbling, she heard a tinny ringing, her own breath hitching in her throat.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what he was saying by the movement of his lips. He shook her shoulders and grabbed her chin, but she jolted at his sudden touch and batted his hand away.
“Don’t,” she snarled through the fading haze, shocking even herself. But she was too worn to care.
Antsily, Garin crossed his arms across his chest as if to restrain himself from checking her over. His irises danced with urgency as her senses slowly returned, his voice finally rushing in. “—you all right? Are you hurt at all?”
“Are we safe?” was all Lilac asked.
“For now,” he admitted distractedly. “Can you move all of your limbs?”
The slow return of her senses brought the barreling return of her memory, albeit foggy. In a burst of fury, Lilac shrugged away from him. He let her.
“Like hell I can,” she growled. “You were going to let them take me. After everything, you really still believe I was involved in Laurent’s death?”
“That’s not what I said at all,” he countered, suddenly scathing. “Why does that matter, since I mean nothing to you?”
“You implied that I might’ve been aware of Laurent’s murder, even when I said I wasn’t.” Lilac poked a trembling finger at the vampire’s chest, trying hard to remember all the cruel things he’d said back in the colosseum to throw back in his face. “You had the nerve to tell him that I’d escaped. Look, I trusted you!”
“Exactly what else was I supposed to do, princess,” Garin shot back, his voice now raising. “Tell me. Should I have admitted to the faeries that I’d let you go? That we’d bargained my coven entry for your release?”
Garin reached for her hand, but she yanked it away. “By pitting you and I against each other, I tried to put it in Kestrel and his jury of lunatic’s minds that we weren’t friendly whatsoever. I was afraid of him growing too suspicious and using that as leverage to keep you; he’d figured it out and released us, anyway, but I couldn’t be sure. Kestrel is as unpredictable as he is unstable. To be quite honest, I’m surprised he let us go.”
“And what if he hadn’t?” she snapped, kicking a plump leech off her flat.
“Then…” He ruffled his hair and pretended to consider it. “I suppose, we’d be fugitives careening toward the High Forest by now, you and I both drenched in faerie blood. It’s a little abrasive on the skin, or so I’ve heard.” He threw her a devastating wink that he’d probably intended to be reassuring.
“Either way,” he added. “We’ll both owe Kestrel largely someday; I hope you know that.”
Lilac stared at him long and hard, the incandescent rage in her glare promptly scorching the amusement in his. “Was any of it true, though? Partially true? Is there some part of you that thought I deserved to be locked away by tho—”
Cold fingers clamped over her mouth, cutting her off abruptly. The too-familiar scent of something like metal coins stifled her gasp as, who she could only assume was Bastion, pressed her body against his.