crumpled form sprawled in the thicket near the base of a trunk. The creature sat up, the liquid burgundy smearing its mouth only a tad brighter than the cinnabar curls framing its shadowed face.
“Piper?!”
The creature froze at her scream. Lilac scooted back in case she was as fast as the other vampires she’d witnessed.
“Your Highness,” she croaked. Piper stood gingerly, assessing her own bloodstained hands, face twisted in disgust. For a quick moment, she started for the spot of moonlight illuminating the forest floor in front of her; then she hesitated, shrinking back into the shadows.
Though she couldn’t see it in the dark, Lilac imagined her friend’s green eyes now red as garnets, shimmering in remorse. Her voice was no longer the dry, dying croak she’d heard in the vestibule; it sounded as if her throat had been slicked with honey—the buttery, sing-song lilt Lilac remembered, but amplified.
She was the picture of perfection, even in her moment of self-disgust.
A brand new vampire. A fledgling.
Piper wiped her mouth on her sleeve and took another clumsy step forward, almost as if her strength was too much for her. She skirted around the ring of moonlight this time. Lilac scrambled to her feet and started toward her friend—but not before Garin flung his arm out, halting her.
“Are you mad?” he snapped, visibly bristling. “Leave us. Now,” he thundered toward the girl, his voice booming.
Piper hesitated. She threw Lilac a horrified look before spinning on her heel, sprinting into the trees without another glance back.
The princess stared into the trees and raised a trembling hand to her shoulder. Glistening blood slicked her fingertips. It was still warm. She shuddered. Though her neck had just been ripped open, she was no longer bleeding, or at least, it didn’t feel like it. Faintly, she struggled to coincide her memories of the cherub-faced stammering redhead to the volatile creature who had just attacked her.
“Lilac.”
Lilac turned to face Garin. In the chaos, she hadn’t noticed the newcomers and their blazing golden torches. Two stout men flanked Garin, skin olive, rippling muscles glistening. They each donned an ensemble of gold-plated chest armor over loin wraps. An array of coins, gold and silver, adorned the material that wrapped loosely around their waists.
Fair Folk.
In contrast to the females, the soldiers’ sleek black hair sat knotted in black uniform buns atop their heads. Long, pointed ears adorned in cuffs poked through unruly wisps of escaped locks. Luminescent streaks of glowing orange paint traced angular patterns across their bare arms and calves. Both wielded wooden longbows and leather buckets of arrows slung over their shoulders. Though neither of them had touched Garin, the way he stood stiffly between them indicated that he was there very much against his own will, and that he didn’t dare challenge them.
The one on the right opened his mouth to speak, revealing several rows of razor-sharp teeth. His melodic voice vibrated through the dead leaves on the floor, echoing up from the ground, through Lilac’s bones and into her skull.
“The Ember Court requests the presence of the human girl.”
12
The guards remained silent, marching the reluctant princess and vampire further into the woods. Like soldiers heading into battle, the creatures walked in perfect cadence, the silver light from above never reaching their eyes directed stoically ahead.
Garin strode beside Lilac, so close that their pinkies almost brushed. The shock of seeing Piper had worn off, only to be replaced with growing dread.
It was common knowledge that the largest concentration of faeries lurked deep with the Low Forest, but that would make more than a few days’ trip on foot.
What could they possibly want with her? With Garin?
Perhaps they were simply wondering how his kind had handled their leader’s death. As Bastion had speculated, the Fair Folk had likely learned of the tragedy far before his coven intended to reveal the news to everyone else. She shivered involuntarily; if the Fair Folk truly had eyes and ears everywhere in Brocéliande—and they probably did, on account of how quickly they’d tracked her down—then it was possible they knew her identity, or were at least suspicious of it. If asked, they’d be in trouble; lying outright to the them would only create more problems than it could possibly solve.
Lilac abruptly cleared her throat in effort to derail the increasing horror; teeth grit, she forced herself to refocus on Garin through her peripheral. Only a couple of times did he dare shoot an anxious glance her way.
Court? She mouthed inaudibly to him the third