Garin’s smile slowly faded, his brows knitting together. “That’s ludicrous. This door is basically hidden.”
“You’ve been there, haven’t you?” Lilac crossed her arms, rubbing them for warmth. “I saw it in a vision.”
He gaped, looking shocked but not the least bit guilty. “I thought you saw yourself stab Albrecht.”
“I did in the brothel. But when I bit your hand in your room, at the inn…” she trailed off as she watched it click in his eyes. “I recognized my father’s desk anywhere. What were you looking for? Was it the vampire manuscript you left near my balcony?”
He laughed nervously, like a boy caught in a lie.
“Piper discovered it and showed me.”
Garin sighed. “Edith Menard.”
“Who?”
“Lady Edith, Emma’s mother, brought me here. Don’t look so shocked; I heard every word of you and Emma chatting her mother’s business up in front of poor Rupert.” Garin looked around, as if deciding whether to seat himself on the bench. He remained standing. “She and her uncle were part of the group of nobles who came to help Paimpont in the week after the Raid. They had come to claim Emma’s father’s body.”
As told in her books, there had been a committee of her grandparents’court and adjacent circles who went to provide aid in the days after. “You were there.”
“Someone had to come wash the blood from the streets.” He stared past her. “After a few days, I joined one of their evening efforts hoping to see Adelaide again, listening for any news of planned consequence. I met Edith as she exited The Jaunty Hog.”
Lilac’s look of wonder quickly churned into disgust. “Edith’s husband was just killed in the Raid, and youfuckedher?”
“We were both grieving,” Garin said, scowling. “And no, at least not right away. While her uncle brought his brother’s corpse back to their town, she was ordered to spend the next evening in attendance at the Ermengarde trial. I would’ve entranced her, but I didn’t need to. Told her I was the cousin of a shop owner in Rennes and offered to accompany her. She was glad to have me. By her extension, I was invited in.”
He’d entered the keep after Lilac’s accession ceremony, but she’d assumed her father had invited him in with the rest of the clergy.
He’d been searching her grandfather Francis’s desk—not Henri’s. “Youattended the Ermengarde trial?”
“As a guest, and I didn’t stay long enough to learn much of it at all.” He rubbed at his chin, and she could tell it wasn’t exactly a fond memory. “In truth, I wasn’t there for the trial, nor for Edith.” He stepped closer. “No one can know this. Laurent promised me not to tell.”
“I won’t.”
“The night of the Raid, I was more than cross with Laurent. He was a self-assured leader, level-headed, ruthless only when required. He was a father, friend, and brother to many of us, in a way my own never demonstrated, nor even Alor. I admired this in him, and so to order an attack like this even at the faeries’ suggestion was entirely uncharacteristic.”
“Did you ever suspect it was more than a suggestion from Kestrel? Faerie ether, maybe?”
“It crossed our minds, but no one ever asked. We were taught to obey. I went to Laurent the morning after the Raid with many questions, still covered in Adelaide’s family’s blood. I and several others in our coven were concerned about the retribution that would surely rain down on Brocéliande from your grandfather and his men. It was silent at the castle,and they hadn’t yet sent a legion of guards to burn our forest to the ground.”
“My grandfather never did, did he?”
“We were spared. It turned out they’d been busy dealing privately with Vivien’s parents and France’s presence when the Raid transpired. When I went to Laurent, Kestrel was there in our meeting room. They already had answers for me, vague as they were.” He absentmindedly reached above Ciel’s corpse’s head, trailing his fingers along the bricks.
Lilac gasped. “He went back to Kestrel for help?”
“He had no other option. Kestrel cannot lie, and in good faith he pulled up a map and unraveled it upon our table. He performed a tracking spell in front of our very eyes—a red leather-bound book details the fate of the arcane kingdoms. Of Brocéliande, Huelgoat, and beyond. According to him, it was, and perhaps still is, located in this very castle. He said he didn’t know where, that the map couldn’t give us specifics. I figured it wouldn’t be difficult.”
It sounded awfully vague. Most of the shelves in her library were filled with earth tones and bound stacks of parchment. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I doubt you have. In the week after your ceremony, I searched your room. Your chapel. Your library at night. Every shelf. Every loose brick.”
Lilac frowned. Her Accord notes and other paperwork were kept there. “I’ve kept it locked.”
“I got your guards to unlock it for me. I didn’t pry much.” But his brows rose. “Increased taxation for nobility to fund schools, infirmaries, inns, and orphanages, to include Daemon-run establishments,” Garin quoted. “I was impressed.”
“Could Kestrel tell us more?” Her mind raced. “And has anyone heard from him yet?”
“Myrddin said he’d deal with it today. I’ll likely need to delegate its delivery to Bastion. I made it clear before I left that I wasn’t comfortable with any of us bringing it straight to Cinderfell. I’d love to ask Kestrel about it, if he ever answers us.” He scoffed. “Ungrateful prick.”
