Lilac immediately recognized the way he sobbed and demanded justice after doing something vile.
The sound of the infant’s labored breathing was louder now—and the scene shifted down to show the purple face of a child, one not several months old. Its cerulean eyes bulged, lips turning blue.
Garin swore and stuck a trembling finger into its mouth and began to scoop globs of saliva out, along with pieces of something deep purple and leaf-green. He bent on one knee, turned the babe over upon his thigh, and firmly—urgently—began to rub its back.
“No. No, come on,” Garin whispered as Artus moaned and crawledtoward him. “If you touch me, I’ll break your other leg,” he snarled. “Touch him or his bloodline ever again and I’ll end your life.”
“Halt!” There was a pair of guards at the door. They froze at the sight of the bundle in Garin’s arms.
The guard’s next cry for help was cut off as Garin raced for the door and shoved his way through, knocking them down the steps and leaping over them, armor and blades clattering down the stairwell behind him.
“Help,” Garin cried, the anguish in his voice piercing the room.
Lilac swallowed and wiped her tear-stained face.
He ran, past the alarmed scullery maids, past the roused entry guards and foyer, and into the west wing hallway. The four guards that flanked the door to the Grand Hall already had their weapons at the ready.
They’d begun screaming at him.
“Is that?—”
“It’s the prince!”
One of them stepped forward. “Put the infant down! Now!”
Garin didn’t stop. He lifted the child in both arms, shielding it from their approach.
The guard who ran the sword through him gasped, staggering back, realizing it hadn’t injured him at all. Garin reached down, yanked the dripping sword from himself. It clattered to the floor. “I need to speak to the king and queen,” he said urgently, patting the babe’s back. “He’s been poisoned!”
The guards scattered away, horrified, as Garin tried to push through with the young prince in his arms.
“Please,” Garin shouted. “Anyone, help!” He kneeled again; the infant’s body lolled across his lap, and he began working again, rubbing and patting furiously.
The Grand Hall doors opened, the sound of frenzied alarm breaking through. “Handle them,” came a stern, clear-cut voice.
“But—” started one of the shaken guards.
“Go. Now.”
The eight of them filed into the Grand Hall, leaving Francis alone with Garin.
The king said nothing, only kneeling and watching, wide-eyed, as Garinmassaged and prodded Henri’s back.Finally, Henri coughed, producing two whole berries that plopped onto the floor.
His lips were still pale, but he’d begun to breathe again. Garin lifted him to his chest and patted several times until the babe began wailing again. Hands shaking, Garin then rose to his feet and tenderly placed him in Francis’s arms.
There was another commotion, then—Artus, sobbing in the foyer. Other guards clambered and whispered fervently behind him.
“Vampire,” Artus wailed. “There is a vampire here! In the castle—help!Anarchy is at our door!”
Reeling, Garin staggered down the southern corridor, toward the chapel.
“Wait!” The king had started after him. “Who are you?”
But Garin turned and snarled warningly. “Belladonna,” he choked, the fading panic thick in his voice. “It was Belladonna. Deadly Nightshade.”
Garin stumbled away, out the door, barrelling through the rows of diplomatic carriages adorned with the red and blue Grand Royal Coat of Arms, over the gate, and toward the treeline.
44
