“It sounds like Myrddin’s mother was powerful. What kind of sea spirit was his father?”
Garin shrugged. “The old wives’ tales from my parents’ country described Myrddin’s father as a deity more than a person, but who knows? Stories passed through time are how truths grow muddled. Either way, both his parents’ powers made for a hellacious combination.”
“In Cinderfell, Kestrel spoke of magic as if it always existed.Neither created nor destroyed. What makes the sorcerers’ magic so efficient? It has to come from somewhere.”
“I don’t know that I’d call it efficient. For one, while they have access to the same ingredients and charms that make magic for witches and warlocks possible, they’re usually shit at it because, given their own powers—why train?” He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, his gaze distant as he surveyed the crowd. “It’s in their blood, and that’s part of the reason they’re so rare. Shortly after we watched Emrys stab himself with theGuàiarrow, Lori explained that most sorcerers are connected to an infernal powersource—a deity or artifact—through a pact that affects their entire bloodline. Or, they somehow find a way to directly procreate with a mortal vessel, as in Myrddin’s parents’ case.”
Fascinated, Lilac stabbed one of her herb-encrusted potatoes, inhaling when a dull ache in her middle came on. Isabel’s salve might be shorter lived than she’d expected. “How did he end up at The Fenfoss Inn? And why did he leave for the Jaunty Hog?”
“The inn is a place of reprieve and solace for all. I’m sure he sensed it in his time of need, just as you did. He’s been an almost daily patron of mine for years. A couple decades, at least. I’m still not sure why he left. All I know is, one of the mornings I’d returned from your castle after playing priest, he was gone.” He refrained from saying more, sighing, as if he’d pondered this a great deal. “He is indebted to me until further notice.”
Lilac started, kicking the leg of the table in shock. It jutted forward, wood scraping against stone.
“Modron, behave yourself,” Garin said quietly, yanking the table off the ledge of the top step. Several eyes darted to them, but by then he had already smoothed his expression, piling parsnips onto his fork.
All any onlooker might have seen was the queen and Maximilian’s emissary discussing what might be the nuances of the emperor over supper. Or maybe something as simple as the weather in Vienna.
“Indebted to you, because you paid a bag of coin he owed theGuài?”
“Apparently so. We discovered it when he tried to run from me as I woke. I don’t recall, but apparently, I chased him outside. As he tried to teleport away from me, he couldn’t.” He gritted his teeth. “Adelaide was kind enough to surround me with her explosions.”
“Do you command him, as you do me?” A quiet dread seeped into her bones.
“No. Reluctantly, Myrddin says he will work for me untilthe fates decide I’ve been repaid,” Garin quoted in the warlock’s sing-song voice. “Whatever that means.”
“Repaid, as in doing you favors?” she said slowly.
“Perhaps.” Garin shrugged nonchalantly, skewering a couple more parsnips. “He is my valet, is he not? He will perform whatever task I see fit. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but having the continent’s most powerful warlock at my disposal can’t hurt, now can it?”
Lilac looked to the crowd, an overwhelming shawl of grief settling onto her shoulders. Not long ago, she’d imagined a scene not so different; Daemons and her subjects in the same room, existing together. There were only a few tonight, but it was a start. She never imagined her first focus would be diverted to avoiding a war they were not prepared for. She never imagined giving her hand to Maximilian would be the only way.
Lilac did not want to think about the emperor or Vienna. Nor war, nor France. Nor Brocéliande’s most powerful warlock working for Garin.
“That’s why you’ve come here.”
Garin placed his glass down, swallowing his mouthful before shooting her a quizzical look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Repaying you would reinforce your intention. Ensuring I go through with this marriage, sign Maximilian’s contract, wouldn’t it?”
Garin sighed laboriously. “What else was I supposed to do with my time now that you are my charge, down to your very blood? Someone had to keep an eye on you. You’ve already jumped to releasing a Daemon decree of your own on the day of my arrival. Admirable, although it seems you’ve already lost two important potential supporters—those who’d supply rations and weapons to your meager army in the case that François decides to forge his way through Maximilian’s army.” Lilac followed his gaze to the floor. Brient and Hamon were nowhere to be found. “You’re fortunate it didn’t enact the consequences of Kestrel’s deal.”
“I had to,” Lilac seethed. “Artus is alive and well, enough to come to the castle to threaten us. He is a threat to you and the others as much as France is to all of us.”
Garin snorted. “He knows a drawn out death awaits him the moment I catch him alone.”
“What’s next, then?” she pressed, tired of his games. “Beyond my marriage? Deciding for me when it is time to meet the emperor? Having Myrddin teleport me there? Having him alter my memories as you see fit?”
A deep chuckle was his only answer, causing Lilac’s pounding heart to skip painfully. Was he always this cruel, or had their thrall bond made him such? How could Garin find it funny at all that she was being cornered into making the most important choice of her life?
“What do you expect from me once this is all over; once I’ve given you and everyone else what they want?”
His smile faded uncharacteristically, as if he somehow hadn’t considered these things.
“What happens when I must answer to him? Go to see him?”
“Those aren’t requirements Maximilian has set for you. The wedding is by-proxy. He couldn’t even bother to spare a week and a half of his time to travel to marry you.” He raised his brows suggestively. “It works in both of our favor, does it not?”
Lilac snorted. “What makes you think you’ll have access to me? You don’t trust me to do right by my kingdom, as you’ve made clear at the brothel and this morning. Even as I try to consider all possibilities, I am told my strategies are wrong, that England will not help us?—”
