we help when and because we are able, seeking nothing in return and knowing nature’s bounty is our pay. Fortunately, faeries are as uninterested in witches and warlocks as they are you humans. Magicfolk blood is impure to them.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Lorietta leaned in. Her breath smelled like cloves. “My father was a Darkling, but my mother was not.”
“She was… human?” Lilac scratched her elbow, wondering what kind of Darkling the witch’s father was, and how inebriated her mother had to have been to allow it to happen at all. Suppressing a violent shudder, she sipped her mug. She wouldn’t dare ask. “But… but that’s outlawed. How is that even possible—”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Lorietta snapped, narrowing her eyes.
Lilac bit her lip. There was more to this otherworldly forest than anyone had ever led on. Perhaps these were things she wasn’t supposed to know at all. Her stomach churned, and she raised her mug to gulp the guilt away.
As if sensing her alarm, the witch exhaled while toweling the counter. “Contrary to your belief, I’ve not shelled out any information forbidden to you. Your kind simply has not seen fit to enlighten themselves. You know, Brocéliande is the best place for an… open-minded adventurer such as yourself, determined to discern lore from reality. Well, what I’ve told you is our reality. A word to the wise: knowledge is power. Knowledge is survival. And in this neck of the woods, you’ll need it.”
Lilac rubbed her eyes, feeling like she’d need a full day of sleep to digest the bits of information Lorietta had bestowed upon her. The Darkling world she’d been taught to fear was not what she’d expected at all. Frightening, by all means. But, even more so, it was spellbinding.
Lilac leaned back into her seat. A bitter taste rose in her throat and her palms prickled with sweat as she tried to keep the sudden memory of Freya from bubbling to the surface like air trapped at the bottom of a cauldron.
Sarcasm penetrated a familiar voice behind her. “Have you served the poor girl your Lorietta Special?”
Lilac whipped around in her seat. Garin stood there, hands in his pockets and grinning pointedly at the witch.
Lorietta pursed her lips again, refusing to further acknowledge Garin. This did nothing to deter him. An unmistakable warmth seemed to emanate from him, and Lilac blinked through the sudden urge to lean in. His persistent badinage was more than enough to offset the charm.
“A few months ago, she confused a death cap for a toadstool, and, well,” he explained to Lilac, “that didn’t fare too well for the mushroom galette, nor the korrigan who devoured it.” Garin flashed a toothy smile at the both of them. “She’s just fortunate I’m good at disposing corpses.”
“And that’s my cue,” Lilac muttered to Lorietta, hopping off her barstool and turning to leave. Her cozy bed called. Handsome as he was, he wasn’t personable in the slightest. And he certainly wasn’t worth being stood up—save the uncomfortable commentary.
Before she could leave, Garin slid in front of her. The angles on his face suddenly softened in sincerity. “Don’t go—I was only joking. And I’m sorry I’m late, I had to take care of something.”
Lilac tried to squeeze past him, but he continued to block her exit from between the barstools on either side of her.
He bent his head, brow knitting with concern. “You’ll still join me for a drink, won’t you? Please, allow me to treat you. I insist.”
His eyes were doing the thing again. Lilac rubbed her elbows absently, her mind starting to cloud. There was something layered between his words and fluid gestures that she could not place.
She turned to Lorietta, who stared curiously past her at Garin. They were obviously acquaintances; the witch then rolled her eyes and continued wiping her counter. If Lorietta wasn’t worried for her, he was probably harmless, Lilac decided. And interacting with him might be worth it; if he was brave enough to work in the middle of Brocéliande, he obviously knew what he was doing and where he was going. He might even provide useful advice for her trip ahead.
As much as she hated admitting it, she’d need an ally sooner or later. Even if only for the night.
As if sensing her guard dropping, Garin leaned over. “What’s that you’re sipping on?” He peered curiously into the mug.
“Some tea.”
“Hey Lori,” he called, casually sliding an arm past her and pushing the mug away. “I’ll take a