“It was an artificial acceleration of time I inflicted upon myself. I’d always wondered what I might look like if ever damned with the curse of growing old, had I not stopped my physical aging in my thirty-fifth year. I intended the effect to last me a bit, soon discovering that the ailing symptoms of being in your eighties are far from pleasant. I’d tried to turn back but discovered my tragic dilemma when I found my magic was heavily reduced; my arcana dwindled down to that of a simple warlock.”
“You couldn’t draw from your own power,” said Lilac in wonder. “That must’ve been horrible.”
“It was,” he said scathingly. “Worst of all, I couldn’t access any of mythings. I store most of my valuables and attire within a large trunk, which now sits in my room at The Fenfoss Inn. I couldn’t access the depths of it while in my aged state, as it refused to allow me access. I never offeredGarin the amulet because I could nevergetto it—until the day I was able to turn myself back with the enchantment stripping spell imbued in that arrow.”
“Perhaps theGuàicould have helped you, had you not stolen their amulet in the first place.”
Unmoved, Bastion pouted from his chair. “If there’s only one amulet in the world at a time, how isshedoingthat?”
Across the table, Piper’s murderous glare never left Bastion, her eyes backlit by the window’s golden light.
“No one seems to know,” said Lilac, rubbing her temples. “Seeing as there’s only one amulet, consider yourself fortunate. I’d have ripped it off your throat to give it to her.”
“Just in case another squabble breaks out,” Myrddin said, chuckling nervously. He raised his finger; there was apop, another cloud of vapors, and a flash in the corner of the room. The door to the library glowed violet just as the closet knob downstairs had. “As I was saying,” he continued, starting to pace the length of the table, “the Veiled Garnet is an amulet I procured from theGuàitwenty years ago for the College of Restoration at the Ambleside Sanctum in Douarnenez. An extension of the Ambleside Academy up in Brest,” he explained with a nod at Lilac and Piper.
Lilac had heard the Sanctum mentioned before. By Lorietta or Adelaide, she was sure. “Are mortals aware of these institutions?”
“Select few. Those who can be trusted to do clandestine business with magic folk. The majority are unaware, thanks to College of Illusion out of the larger institutions in St. Malo and Mont Saint-Michel. When all else fails, memory erasing spells help.” Myrddin pivoted and threw a pensive smile in her direction.
“Like the one you cast on Lilac?” Piper’s eyes bore into the back of the warlock’s skull.
He whirled on her. “Precisely, though no magic comes without cost and it will never be done upon her again—Garin’s made sure of that.” Myrddin turned back to Lilac and Bastion. “The Sanctum is smaller, reserved for novice magic users and mages; there are mostly studies and arcanists’ rooms, sleeping quarters, and a dining hall. A forge and the rotunda housing their library. I held a position there after centuries of serving on several kings’ courts. I retired as their lecturer shortly after I obtained theVeiled Garnet for the School of Restoration at the Sanctum. I uh… it was more useful in my own hands.”
“Adelaide said they come through every third century to sell their wares, and that their last visit here was in 1340,” said Lilac. “How did you steal it from them twenty years ago?”
“Indeed, 1340 was their lastmarketpilgrimage through Brocéliande. Fateful day.” Myrddin placed a finger on his pursed lips. “As for that amulet, I obtained it in the summer of 1512 when they’d arrived by special request of the School of Restoration at the Ambleside Sanctum.” He hummed, counting on his fingers. “They were also here at the end of our War of Succession, in the spring of 1365. The Hundred Years’ War still raged elsewhere in Europe, but theGuàiwere witnessed on the edge of the Low Forest surveying our damages after the fires.”
“They’re business people, first and foremost.” Everyone slowly turned to Bastion, whose hooded hazel-green eyes remained fixed on the window—on the sunlight pouring in. His head was tilted up slightly, allowing his pale, freckled face to absorb as much warmth as remotely possible. “A few centuries ago,Guàicaravans were dispersed widely over Asia and the north, travelling frequently and selling various arcane goods.”
Bastion had been alive—human—the same time Garin was. He’d also been recruited and fought alongside him under Alor’s command, just under two hundred years ago. Lilac found this particularly fascinating, glancing at the Histories section across the table. “TheGuàitraded on the Silk Road.”
“I thought that was obvious,” muttered Myrddin under his breath.
“Alongside my family.” Bastion shifted forward, leaning against the table. “Black powder, parchment, and silk. My brother and I spent months at a time travelling with them. I was thirteen when my father suggested expanding business to Europe after an unforgivingly harsh winter. They searched for a caravan willing to take our products with them for a portion of the profit. TheGuài, who regularly purchased powder from us, were quick to offer. My mother was hesitant to trust them with our earnings, so theGuàicountered with an offer for us to travel with them. They restored our cart and generously stored our goods in their carriage—which, by the way, was far more spacious on the inside than it appeared.” Bastion scraped his teeth along his bottom lip, deep in thought. “We then departed for Rome from Xi’an.”
Xi’an. Lilac knew it well. A powerful capital and trading city in its own right. “China to Rome, then back. That must have taken years.”
“Not with their flying oxen.” Bastion smirked at the incredulity written on their faces, but his smile quickly faded. “I never made it back. I was thirteen when we left. Fourteen by the time we were caught in a severe storm traveling through the desert. The rain was relentless. We couldn’t exactly stop; there were many others trying to clear the mountain pass. My parents made me jump into theGuàicarriage. They were about to pass my brother over and secure our valuables to join us so we could all take flight, but Georgie was scared. My father tried to chase him around our cart, and—” He looked as if he’d continue after taking a shuddering breath, but with a little shake of his head, said, “TheGuàiwill travel extensively, east to west, every three hundred years. But they’ll make exceptions outside their market schedule for various reasons. Various customers, or collaborative journeys.”
Something—a creeping feeling—tugged at Lilac’s subconscious. Nagging at her.
“Bastion has tried shaking the chest,” Myrddin commented. “There doesn’t seem to be anything in it.” He frowned and craned his head at Bastion, who was sniffling and wiping his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I could do with a throat to sink my teeth into, but seeing as the only eligible one in this room has enthralled itself to Garin, I’ll pass.”
“I’ll rip that thing off your neck before Garin lays a finger on you,” said Piper.
Lilac shot a warning look at Piper and turned to Bastion. “I assume Myrddin filled you in on last night’s incident?”
“He did.” Bastion’s scowl returned as he wiped the drying blood off his chin, the scratch wounds from Piper already gone. “Intentional, from the sound of it.”
Myrddin made a sound of disagreement. “I told you, it was toadstool-infused wine. People create that at home. If someone wanted to poison or harm Her Majesty, or anyone else in this castle, they could’ve done much worse.Wouldhave done much worse. Even without magic, there’s Belladonna, Water Hemlock. Various natural poisons… the list goes on.”
“Yes, but one can do much more with mild poisons if the goal isn’t murder. You could aim to make someone sick to make a point. Or create adiversion.” Bastion’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Have you considered Kestrel? Not like he’s particularly fond of any of us.”
“I doubt it,” said Lilac. “Kestrel is loud with his deliveries. He loves his letters and bouquets. He sent a revenant in my envelope, remember? He would’ve used any of the fae-rooted flora at his disposal.”
Bastion quieted then, his eyes widening—perhaps in surprise at the mention of Garin’s research. Lost in thought, Myrddin silently fiddled with his mustache.
