Myrddin looked only mildly alarmed, but not at her. She followed his gaze up to the three chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, dimly lightingthe open portion of the floor, and the small torches lining the walls and the staircase. The flames flickered, danced violently, as if an undetectable gale had blown through the building.
A gentle hand pressed against the small of Lilac’s back. She dropped the warlock when a stunning woman with a towering pink wig came up from behind her. “Keep the knife play upstairs, you hear me?” she shouted over the band at the front corner of the tavern. “You can wait for a room. Where is your mask? You know the rules,” she barked.
“My mask?” Lilac said, realizing belatedly what the mask must indicate. Many women and men scattered throughout the dance floor wore them. “Oh, I’m not?—”
Myrddin’s foot stomped onto her toes, and she stifled a yelp. “She lost it in our evening spent together,” he said gruffly.
The woman rolled her eyes, her own face decorated in heavy powder, rogue, and jewels, and pressed one into Lilac’s arms. She disappeared into the crowd, muttering under her breath.
It gleamed gold, crafted in what felt like linen padding and soft metal, adorned at the corners in tufts of greenery and Baby’s Breath, curving tastefully upward at the ends. A short row of glinting beaded tassels dangled from the bottom to conceal most of the wearer’s cheekbones and nose.
Sheathing her dagger, Lilac scoffed, threw the mask to the floor, and turned to leave. She would find the door; find her own way home.
Myrddin grabbed her hand; his eyes were urgent. “Your Majesty,” he said with a little bow of the head and another nervous laugh that made her want to put him through the wall. “I understand how upsetting this must be for you.”
“Upsetting? This is humiliating, Myrddin.”
“Look, Garin is only here because of me.AndBastion. And Casmir.” At her look of utter loathing, he continued urgently. “We were having a night at the bar when Bastion finally convinced Garin to allow us into that dungeon of a room he’d barricaded himself in—at least without him smiting us. It was a grand old time. We got him drinking until we started playing at something with a little more… stakes.”
“You were gambling,” she figured.
“I wouldn’t call it—” he began, but under her glare ended up folding. “Itwas Casmir’s suggestion that we bring out the coin. I have somewhat of a habit, I admit it, and have run myself dry time and time again, but I couldn’t help it. Those vampires are so competitive! And they were mixing blood and liquor—it skirts their high tolerance and inebriates them.”
She would be sick again. “How did this lead to Garin cominghere?”
“No one enjoys having a hungry vampire around, especially as hungry as Garin seemed, so, after a few card games, I bet him that Casmir could obtain more consenting donors without the use of their vampiric influence. I told him that Casmir was more educated, from a wealthier background, and those attributes would likely help him gain the upper hand?—”
She stepped to him again. “Youwhat?”
“They bolted out of his room, ended up coming to The Fool's Folly! Admittedly, the older, foreign vampire was less drunk than Garin at the time of their departure, and I imagine Casmir would have helped curb Garin’s temptation to engage in any foolish, public antics. Bastion and I followed on horseback with our own tracking spell not knowing where they would end up, where we would be transported if I used my magic. Once we realized where he’d arrived, I teleported myself to you. But something iswrong, Your Majesty,” he added pleadingly, gripping her shoulder when she turned again to leave, stopping her. “Something is very wrong with Garin, and no one realized it until he left the inn.”
“And you brought me here to beg him to return.” Lilac was shaking.
“You don’t understand, I brought you here because I made a terrible mistake suggesting this in the first place and don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“No, apparently I’m not understanding,” she snarled. “So he’s on a rampage at a brothel because he’s drunk on liquor and blood?”
The warlock cocked his head. “Erm, something like that.”
“Garin wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she breathed, swallowing at whatever dark thing he was implying, even as uncertainty plagued her. “Whoever jumps in bed with him is doing it of their own accord.”
She tried not to think of the past three days, the influence he’d held over her, but it was no use; the memory was imprinted in her bones, as was the way she’d allowed the fury and illness to build until she decided to leave to see him. She’d made the decision to leave in madness. She’d never forget it.
Lilac felt as if she would never comfortably eat, sleep without setting her eyes on Garin again. As the witches and Myrddin had seemed to confirm, maybe he had gone through the same kind of torture. She’d braved Brocéliande to see him, risked rejection again.
Yet here he was. Lost in a brothel.
“He’s not himself,” Myrddin insisted, watching her thoughts churn. “Your time spent apart has somehow not eased anything for him. He’ll hurt someone if he hasn’t already. He’ll listen to you. You are theonlyone who can convince him to leave.”
Fear pulsed through her body with the pounding beat of the mandolin and drums. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re a powerful warlock,” she said, the bravado from her anger already faltering at the warning in his words. “He won’t hurt anyone,” she insisted, not knowing how much of that reassurance was for her own nerves. “You don’t know him.”
“Do you?”
There was a pop before she answered, and there was a sudden pressure on her forehead and nose. She cried out, and her hands went to her face—the mask she’d thrown was pressed against the top half of her head, the soft silk fitted perfectly against her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. She swore and went to undo the tight knot at the back of her head, but the more she struggled with it, the more the string tightened on its own, squeezing her already throbbing temples.
“Ouch!” The pressure lessened when she stopped tugging, the tips of her fingers and nails stinging. “You.”
Myrddin was watching her through the holes of her mask, his features twisted in regret. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Bastion should be arriving any minute now on that horse; we’ll be waiting outside for both of you. If anyone else could stop him…” His shoulders fell in regret. “Just get him out of that room, into the streets, and the mask will come off. We’ll find you.”
