“Send the pigeons now,” Lilac said. “You are dismissed.”
John bowed and scurried up the steps. Marguerite shifted, visibly uncomfortable. Henri steeled himself, and a small approving smile bloomed on Piper’s face as she tore her gaze from the open doors.
“And what of the fire?” Agnes pressed. “It seems there are a lot of them these days. In your dungeon, with two of your prisoners escaping. Then the blaze at that filthy whore house in downtown Rennes. Not that I’m sure,” she added, “it wasn’t warranted.”
Beyond her nerves and anger, Lilac held her tongue. They’d chase her into a corner if she pretended not to know, and she refused to allow this particularly vile Agnes to think she’d chastised her into telling the truth. She popped the rest of the cake into her mouth, unbothered… and smiled, momentarily forgetting herself.Delicious.
She swallowed and looked to Hedwig, who stood at the corner of the table nearby, but the newly appointed Stewardess’s gaze was fixed straight ahead at the door. She would feed them another partial truth—one that this time benefitted her.
“The Rennes fire has been attended to. I have handled it.” Lilac reached over and plucked another flute of champagne from the plate floating to her left, bringing it straight to her quivering lips.
“Handled?” echoed a distant voice that drifted in with the breeze caressing the back of Lilac’s neck. “That is hardly the term I’d use to describe what had happened last night.”
Champagne spurted from her mouth onto some of the cakes and dribbled down her chin. Slowly, she turned.
So did everyone else.
Lilac spun to glimpse Giles’s carriage parked just outside the stables near the others. Beside it, in the middle of the bailey, were two horses: Loïg and another brown horse—Hywell’s. There were two fine travel bags hanging off their thick saddles.
A tall figure strode into the room, a dark mass of black linens, leathers, and bear fur. He didn’t wait for the huffing blond fellow behind him—apanting Myrddin—or even for the crowd to fully part. He pardoned and squeezed his way to her so quickly, Lilac bumped up against the table in alarm.
Garin bent into a deep bow at the waist. He caught her fingers on his way up, just as he had on the night he’d reintroduced himself at Sinclair’s camp, and pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. “Your Majesty.”
Lilac pulled her arm away under his crushing stare, her head spinning as his intoxicating aroma of the dark wood engulfed her.
He stood, poised and unrecognizable in his trained posture. A black tunic and brown undershirt peeked out at his chest over black leather trousers. A long, black coat fell to his ankles, its collar lined in thick, speckled furs—and beneath that, Albrecht’s satchel she’d seen in Garin’s memory hung across his body, resting upon his hip.
He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am Albrecht Fistch III, but you can call me Albrecht. Behind me is Ambrosius, my valet. We would have arrived earlier, but we found ourselves stuck behind one of your carriages.”
Although Garin’s fur-covered chest and face flooded Lilac’s vision, she could hear the embarrassment in her mother’s voice. “Well? Return the gesture.”
“It’s quite all right.” Garin offered a dashing smile in Marguerite’s direction. Gertrude and Helena’s faces climbed in color. “She is the queen. She needn’t kneel for anyone.” He leaned forward suddenly, making her entire body tense. Reaching past her, his jet black waves brushed her cheek. “Certainly not me,” he whispered into her ear.
Lilac held herself from him, gripping the edge of the table with her free hand, the heel of her palm digging into the wood so hard she might bleed.
He straightened, biting into one of Hedwig’s cakes. White-pink frosting lining his bottom lip. He slid his tongue along it before taking the rest of the dessert into his mouth. “Vanilla and black currant? And…” He frowned. “Almonds?”
“Walnuts,” Hedwig said, smiling in surprise. “You must be well traveled.”
“Why, thank you. I don’t leave my country often. Maximilian scarcely allows me out of his sight.”
Helena coughed. “I wonder why.” Gertrude jabbed her bony elbow into Helena’s ribs.
Garin pretended not to hear. “Though, I do enjoy cooking, Madame…” He extended a hand.
The Stewardess, whom Lilac had never seen flustered over anything but a difficult recipe, latched onto his hand. “Heussaff, My Lord. Hedwig Heussaff.”
His brows rose. Lilac couldn’t tell if his surprise was genuine. “Any relation to the Heussaffs in Dinan?”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve heard only great things about your family’s bakery. I have an old friend who insists their lavender bread saved Paimpont from some dreadfully dry marzipan turnovers.”
Hedwig chuckled, turning red. “That was all very long ago. After the Raid, most of my family had—” She paused, blinking at the floor. A hand went to Hedwig’s chest while she gathered herself. “Yes, well, that was my grandmother’s recipe.”
Garin watched her patiently. He nodded and placed an empathetic hand upon Hedwig’s shoulder. “Take your time. I’m sorry to have brought up such a difficult topic.” He glanced at the doorway, where three ward bundles of beads of iron, holy water, and garlic were suspended in cheesecloth by hawthorn and iron hooks wrenched into the wall—one on each side of the entryway. “It seems these days you are well equipped against those bloodsucking vermin.”
“Not well enough,” Lilac said through gritted teeth.
