“Well what?”
“I’m not in need of your services.”
Refusing to look at him, numb at his words, she made her way over to the table at the corner of the settee. She didn’t stop to glance his way as she swiped the decanter off of it.
Lilac held it to her nose. It smelled like Scotch, but it was hard to tell. Lilac tossed it into the fire just in case, and skittered back when the flames jumped at her, the backs of her knees bumping the chair.
Garin was watching, open-mouthed. His eyes, now that they were in the light, were the shade of rubies like they had been in her dream. There were deep shadows around them, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “God, woman. If you wanted a drink, you could’ve just said so.”
“I think they poisoned you.”
His hair was messy, sticking up in odd places as if he’d been yanking at it. He gave a dismissive grunt. “Those wenches? Poisonme?”
“It was probably in your liquor. Or in that woman’s blood. Some fell from the balcony onto the crowd—onto me, and some got into my mouth.”
He hummed, disinterested. “Unfortunate. Well, I’mimmune to most poisons. When will you die?”
“I won’t.”
“What was it?”
“Dragondew Mead. It’s what they serve to the courtesans here.”
Garin frowned. “That doesn’t sound familiar. Nor does it sound like a poison if they serve it to the courtesans.”
“It was given without your consent or knowing—i-it’s made from some sort of plant. It was…”
She tried to think, to remember, but all she could focus on was his mouth, the way his teeth nipped his bottom lip and his brows lifted as he watched her squirm.
“Yes?” Garin drawled.
“Sea…” His expectant expression made it impossible to concentrate. “Sea something. Sea?—”
“Silphium.” Garin’s eyes flickered as he rifled through his knowledge of plants. “I’ve never heard of it infused into a mead before, though. That’s no poison. It’s a contraceptive. Responsible of them to have on hand, but you wouldn’t need it with me,” he said, smirking at her heating face. “I appreciate the concern. As long as it wasn’t hawthorn, I’ll process it quickly.”
He seemed more interested in her now, so she didn’t bother correcting him even if she was certainSilphiumwasn’t the herb. Lilac swallowed. She thought he tracked the movement of her throat, although it was hard to tell with the flames dancing in his irises. “Hopefully.”
“Yes, hopefully. As long as I’ve had something to eat.” There was something mocking in his tone. He’d assaulted her with his hungry gaze and sarcasm many times, but tonight something was off. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“It is.” Fumbling with the saucer, Lilac took the corner of the blood-stained cloth that covered the chalice, some of it from the girl, some of it from the spilled?—
Lilac frowned. Empty. The chalice was empty, dry, with not a drop of blood in it. But there wassomethingin there.
She reached in and pulled out a small, silver object, and held it up to the firelight.
The barkeep downstairs had been telling the truth, after all. In her panic, in the haze of the mead, she didn’t understand exactly what it was she was looking at—or why it belonged in the empty chalice.
It was a blade. A scalpel.
“A vessel.” His breath swept the back of her neck, jolting her. “One that you are meant to fill.”
Lilac started and caught herself on the edge of the settee, the chalice and saucer clattering to the floor. She hadn’t seen or heard him stand.
Scalpel gripped in the other hand, she pulled herself up onto the seat as Garin advanced on her, and didn’t stop until she’d slid all the way back. She couldn’t help but tremble as he knelt before her, one knee up and an elbow propped onto it, examining her. Up close, there was no warmth in his gaze. No familiarity, no fondness there.
“You came to bloodlet for me.”
His taunting lilt coupled with his intoxicating scent made her dizzy. “I came to convince you to leave.”
