“That’s because Lori pretends her sister doesn’t exist. Herlinde is the reason the Algovens—what was left of them—relocated to Paris, where her mother was from. Then, to Brittany. Years ago, Herlinde married a powerful warlock against their parents’ wishes. Like Herlinde and Lori, he was also gifted in Alteration, but known to swindle and experiment with illegal magic; they’d tried to warn her, but Herlinde went against their wishes and eloped. Her new husband thus moved into their family’s manor, and in the early hours of morning, attempted to cast a spell upon his travel trunk that would create enough space to steal some of their family fortune. Instead, he blew the manor and their family into smithereens.”
Lilac covered her mouth in horror.
“Only a handful of them survived: Lori, Herlinde, Meriam, and Rolf.Meriam had gone to the village with her brother—Rolf, Lori’s and Herlinde’s grandfather—for the day, and returned to discover a gruesome scene—the girls cowering in the foyer, covered in grime and blood. The four of them escaped and fled before authorities caught wind of it. After receiving harsh scrutiny in Paris, they eventually ended up in Rennes, where their grandfather quietly continued his family business as a haberdasher. When he grew ill and died shortly after, the business was passed down to Herlinde, which infuriated Lorietta. It was Herlinde’s fault this had happened, after all. That was what Lori thought, anyway. Still blames her for it. So, she and Meriam left to form The Fenfoss Inn in the western High Forest. They’ve rarely been in contact with each other since.”
She thought of the cornerstone at the inn. “The inn was established in 1340. Lori and Herlinde barely look forty themselves.”
“I think they’ve both chosen to hover around their mid thirties for now. By the time we met, she’d already altered her age for several years—-which is something she and her family can do, the gifted Alterationists they are. Lori was a few years younger than my frozen age of twenty-five when I stumbled upon their property after leaving the coven. She found me on the ground covered in deer blood, writhing in agony after I’d dragged a traveler off his horse into the treeline and attempted to feed.”
“And they offered you a position, just like that?”
“It was out of pity more than anything. Told them about my my biting curse, and Meriam was so alarmed, she had one of their loyal mortal customers bloodletting for me behind the counter within the hour. Neither of them had ever seen a vampire so poorly. They let me tend the bar and cleared a portion of the cellar for me. A few decades later, some twenty years ago, a sullen warlock ambled into my bar on another fateful, stormy night. I took him in and cleaned him up, just as they’d done for me. Gave him a room on part of my pay. We discovered he was a gifted Conjurer when, the next morning, I retired to my makeshift cot to find my bedchamber fully furnished. He furnished most of the tavern, too. He was talented, when he wasn’t ragingly drunk.” Garin pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed, pensive smile spreading. “Lorietta had made me her project, attempting to cure me. None of it worked. But I owe that woman my life.”
Lilac blinked, imagining how startling it must’ve been to find a starvedvampire outside their business. How happy Garin must’ve been to rest in a furnished room. His comfortable bed, and the faded green armchair. “The Algovens are good people.”
“Deeply, profoundly good. They’re the most hospitable people I know, and mildly insane to take in someone like myself and Myrddin. Even Meriam. And Herlinde isn’t so bad herself, she’s just like her sister but alarmingly self-centered.” He clicked his tongue. “Poor things. Arrived in Paris still covered in their parents’ and maids’ innards.”
His lovely story suddenly cut short, Lilac stopped chewing and placed her piece of bread slathered in goose liver down. She bent to spit in her napkin.
“Iknow,” Garin replied through a mouthful of bread and pâte, helping himself to more. “Interdimensional magic is a fascinating subset of forbidden arcana, even for the most skilled magic folk. Myrddin already skirts those lines with his teleportation. By the way, spitting is in poor taste, Your Majesty.” He patted his mouth delicately. “Not that you would know.”
Lilac slammed her napkin down, suppressing the urge to vomit. “Anyway, thank you, Sir Albrecht, for the gowns and pleading to the masses for me.”
Garin reached for the pretty ceramic pitcher off to his left and poured himself another cup of water. He must’ve impressed Hedwig—not even Lilac had one of her own. “My pleasure. Someone here had to understand the gravity of Maximilian’s offer. It might as well be those who have the most to lose should France invade.”
She wouldn’t argue with him, not now. Garin wouldn’t further ruin the night; she wouldn’t allow it. Lilac watched him then skewer the end of a sausage and slice it off with his knife. “Has Myrddin given you anything for that?”
Garin chewed thoughtfully. “For what, Your Majesty?”
“For your stomach.” She glanced down the length of the table, left and right. Despite it usually seating her family and its most important dignitaries, no other settings had been placed. Several bottles of spirits and boxes dressed in ribbons and lace scattered her right side of the table.
He sipped at his refilled glass. “Why, I don’t know this Myrddin you speak of. My valet, Ambrosius, you mean?”
“Yes, Ambrosius.”
“He did not. They decided that was quite enough magic for me. He was with me earlier, but I had him direct your band to play something more lively. Everyone would fall asleep with chansons on repeat. He must be…” Garin squinted across the floor. “Ah, there.”
She followed his gaze back to Myrddin, who was now striding up to Hedwig, a huge grin on his face and a tankard in each hand. He looked handsome tonight, wearing a velvet indigo cloak, ruffles adorning his sleeves with shining silver boots.
“He’s an interesting fellow.” Lilac glanced around to ensure no one was in earshot. “I’m surprised he hasn’t run from you.”
“He tried at the inn. He didn’t make it very far.”
She glanced at him sidelong. “Isn’t he all powerful?”
“Even someone as powerful as Myrddin is upheld by the force of arcane law. None of us are exempt.” He grunted, a faraway look in his eye. “Bound by his own blood.” Garin paused as an upbeat jig began. The few who’d wandered to the tables to sit and pick at the feast hopped up again. “Are you familiar with the stories?”
“The only stories I was fed were those telling me I should stay clear of the woods, or else I might be eaten.”
“Not wholly a lie,” he replied, drumming his long fingers upon the armrest. “Long ago, before the great kings reigned, a monstrous sea spirit visited a sorceress in her bed, impregnating her. Or, so the story went. Thus,Merdhynwas born. Infernal-blooded. Sorcerer and warlock, all in one.”
“Is there a difference between a warlock and a sorcerer?” Lilac asked, peeling her eyes away from the veins on his hand with difficulty. “Or sorceress?”
“Yes, and no.Warlockandwitchare archaic, gendered terms more than anything, but they also represent the majority group who draw power from their environment through ingredient and ritual. They might use charms, grimoires, wands, or cauldrons, as Lori does for her wards.”
“And Adelaide, with her vials and tonics.” She took his silence as confirmation as they watched Myrddin twirl Hedwig across the floor.
“Most, if not all, with a predisposition for arcana can do this, but warlocks and witches are limited in their requirement of these externalsources of power. They spend much of their lives learning from family, or seeking outside wisdom. Until a few decades ago, only warlocks were allowed to travel away from home to hone their craft.” The corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval. “On the other hand, sorcerers can both perform ritual-based spellsandperform instantaneous magic. They draw their arcana from within, irrespective of their environment.”
