Sickness gripped her as this emissary began to speak again, mentioning her belt and dagger. It sounded like a compliment; with her own ears ringing, she wasn’t sure.
Her voice pulled her attention. “State your business,” Lilac in the memory said.
The man began to mumble about seeing Lilac another day, but thenthey grew closer—Garin was walking toward them. “She asked you to state your business,” he said.
The man looked in her—in Garin’s—direction, appearing slightly alarmed. He glanced back at Lilac. “I—I really shouldn’t say.” He winked. “But maybe you could point me to the nearest inn. You and your troupe are welcome to join me. Maybe after you’ve taken care of this…” He trailed off, glancing past them. Her vision then followed his gaze. There were corpses of two men among the debris behind them. Emrys—Myrddin, in his not-yet shed glamor, and Giles. Although she’d known of this, seeing their bodies again was still alarming. She tried to close her eyes, but couldn’t.
“Was there another carriage here?” asked the emissary.
She watched herself step closer, and Garin’s low growl sounded loud in her ears, coming from his chest. “You seem like a fine diplomat,” she’d said. “If you’re headed for the Chateau de Trécesson, I’m afraid you’re traveling in the opposite direction.”
The emissary waved her off. “I know the emperor wanted me to depart in two days, but I insisted on giving myself extra time. I heard of a fine clothier in town, and I?—”
“Emperor?” Lilac, Garin, and Adelaide said in unison.
“I should not have spoken.” The emissary turned and briskly walked away, but Lilac chased him down, catching up to him despite her limp.
“I ask because I am the daughter of the royal cartographer,” she’d called, “and we were headed in that direction.”
The man slowed and turned. Her lie had impressed him. “Youare the daughter of the queen’s cartographer? What are you doing all the way out here?”
“My father sent us to town for more parchment.”
The man looked this way and that. “You’ve heard the rumors, right? About France.”
“France?” she’d said in feigned alarm. She only would’ve said it to encourage more information from the stranger. “Will they advance?”
She felt Garin’s fingers flex at their side, shocked to feel a surge of bitter rage—a wave of cresting jealousy in their body that was not her own.
“That is what we suspect.” The emissary looked both ways. The roads were empty. “And their king is not offering marriage.”
Lilac’s reply was cold, defensive. Rightfully so. “The queen would never accept. She would not surrender.”
“Perhaps not, but she’ll then require a stronger foothold on her land to keep France at bay. Her small army would never last.” The emissary laughed, dubious.
They were moving again, and they didn’t stop until their arms were nearly touching Lilac’s. She felt Garin’s balled fist open, his hand twitching near hers.
“What does that have to do with why you’re here?” Garin snapped.
The man averted his eyes from him, keeping them fixed on Lilac. “This knowledge is sure to spark a flurry of proposals once made public. Of course, Maximilian has demanded complete secrecy, so his offer will stand first.”
Maximilian. Albrecht wasn’t the one planning on communicating with her. It was the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. They were to host hisemissary.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t sure if the sensation belonged to her or Garin, or both. Panic struck her square in the chest. Had she suffered a head injury in the crash? No one had mentioned it. Hadn’t Garin told her their blood exchange healed all?
How could she not remember any of this?
There was another sound—a loud rushing, faint thumping, but they were nowhere near the Argent. She didn’t know what it was, but refocused on the conversation with some difficulty; it sounded like Garin had argued with him. The emissary was replying now. As the man spoke, their arm shifted, settling on the small of Lilac’s back.
“Maximilian offers what no other ally will: a proxy marriage through myself to prevent France from annexing her country. She doesn’t have to see him, but if she wants to solidify her people’s continued protection, she’ll visit Austria to eventually bear his children, and?—”
Garin looked down at Lilac, and the rushing sound grew louder. It took a second for her to realize it washerheart. Garin, listening to her pulse.
The emissary’s eyes flitted up and looked at them—at Garin—straight into his soul. The emissary squinted. “I’m sorry. Does that rogue have fangs?”
The words were barely out of the man’s mouth before he stumbled backfrom Lilac. Her dagger was stuck halfway to the hilt in his chest, blood spreading rapidly over his fine clothes. Garin was shouting, his bellowed words heated, directed at her.
Lilac saw herself step back, her fists drenched in blood; she was in the middle of shouting back at him when she saw herself trail off, blinking at the ground. Their own vision shifted again, snapping onto the emissary, who had scrambled for the woods to their left of the path, screaming.
