Page 107 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

Riou stood and strode around the table to meet her. He took Lilac’s hand as she offered it, and squeezed gently, his mouth set in a hard line. Then, he continued toward the exit.

“You both have good reason to doubt me.”

Riou stopped in his tracks.

Lilac’s chest ached with the ghost of humiliation.

“I know who my father is. I’m also aware of the negotiation skills of my grandfather and the desperation of my mother.

I know my family’s history, my reputation, and that there are those in our kingdom and beyond—in human and Daemon realms—who move to use these things against me.

But I know who I am,” she said quietly. “I am learning her, just as I’ll learn my role here.

I have many reasons to doubt myself, but I am confident in my resolve. ”

“Start next with the forge,” he directed brusquely, turning to her.

“Hamon is one of the blacksmiths working closely with Inwold. He specializes in other types of weapons, but he’ll craft for you for the right price.

He might be hesitant at first. He was once close with Armand—but he is loyal to your father. He will listen to you.”

There was no question both Hamon and Brient were Le Tallec loyalists.

They had attempted to question her new Daemon law in front of everyone, but weaponry was her most logical next step.

The Sanguine Mine was extensive, a never-ending maze of vestibules, central rooms, halls, and tunnels.

Garin had mentioned burning corpses and their dead at the pyre, but she never saw one outside; could he have meant a furnace?

She had spotted a chimney in the main room before Garin led her to his bedchamber.

Old mines often accommodated smelting, or at least held the resources to do so on-site.

There’d been a weapons rack in Garin’s room there. Sword after sword displayed like trophies, a small armory on its own. “I’ll discuss it with Inwold when he gets back. Whenever that is.”

Riou’s head tilted. “Back from where, Your Majesty?”

“La Guerche. The battlefield outside it.” Her certainty faded when his peppered brows furrowed. “With the others. He was summoned east. You weren’t aware?”

Stunned, Riou blinked. He ran a hand through his blond hair.

“I wasn’t made aware, no. To the battlefield?

Why would he be summoned away from here when he’s in charge of our armory?

This is unacceptable.” He made his way toward the door once more.

“If we don’t hear from Inwold, wherever he is, then I will send a pigeon to the encampment or engage Hamon myself. ”

“Thank you, Riou.” Perhaps Inwold hadn’t communicated his summons with anyone—it seemed unlikely this was unintentional, though. If he’d told her father, then maybe it inspired Henri to go and observe.

Riou had every right to be cross; he was their cartographer, after all. He hadn’t signed up to do Armand’s or Henri’s job. But he dutifully bowed. “Mademoiselle Allard. Your Majesty. ”

When the door creaked shut, Lilac looked at Piper. She was still staring after Riou.

Piper hummed contemplatively into her next bite of croissant. “Interesting.”

“ Riou? He could be your father. Older, even.” A pastry flew through the air. Lilac’s hand shot out, catching and smooshing it in her fist.

“So could Garin. A few generations back.”

Fighting the urge to make a very obscene gesture, Lilac bit into the pastry, savoring the dark red jam oozing out. From her bosom, she retrieved the bag, untied it with her teeth, and added the rest of the berries to what she was already eating.

“All that bravery and standing up to men must have you starving,” Piper retorted. “And Riou just smells familiar, is all.”

“That’s weird.” Lilac licked her fingers and tossed the bag onto the table. “Who does he?—”

There was a pop and violent woosh of smoke in the far corner, across from the door. Then a thud, causing the nearest bookshelf to teeter.

Two figures emerged from the dissipating vortex—Myrddin first, smoothing down his dark robes.

Bastion was behind him, straightening the bookshelf he nearly knocked over.

Lilac could only tell who it was by the mess of sandstone hair; colorful patchwork shawl of some sort graced his shoulders.

He tossed his hair out of his hazel-green eyes and pulled the large shawl over his head, skittering back out of the strip of sunlight pouring in through the floor length window behind Lilac.

She darted forward, wanting to help him, but when she reached the end of the table realized he wasn’t burning.

Not his face, furiously and incredulously peeking out of the hood the shawl formed, nor his exposed hands—one of which clutched what looked to be a dull red pendant encased in silver hanging from a cord around his neck.

“See?” Myrddin panted, punching the air. “I told you it would work!”

“That is not what you said.” Bastion looked utterly terrified. “You said you were 99% sure.”

“You never know with anything purchased from the Guài . Especially if it is stolen.”

Lilac swiveled her head toward the warlock. “Wait, that’s what you stole from them? That amulet is what Garin repaid them for? ”

Still catching his breath, Myrddin held up a finger.

He placed both hands on the table and closed his eyes, letting the sunlight illuminate his profile.

“The Veiled Garnet,” the warlock breathed, “is an amulet that casts a cloaking spell of night upon its wearer. Allows vampires to daywalk artificially—or for anyone else magic or mortal to reap the benefits of dusk, at any time. They said they’d sell it to me for very cheap.

In hindsight, considering what it does, a bag of coin was a good deal indeed.

” He chuckled under his breath, finally opening his eyes.

They were filled with pensive amusement.

“It didn’t seem so back then, so I bought it from them with another Guài purchase I’d made a few centuries back.

The Coins of Conjuring.” Myrddin rubbed his hands together and opened them to reveal a small, lumpy burlap pouch.

“You pay with them, then spell them back into your pocket.”

“You protected me,” Bastion shouted from the shadows of his shawl, huddling against the wall. “With a bargain item?”

“It was a good sale! Even twenty years ago.” The pouch vanished with a puff of smoke and a shake of Myrddin’s fist. The warlock sauntered over to Bastion and snatched the end of the shawl. “It was crafted by a gifted bloodsmith and there can only exist one amulet at a time. It still works. See?”

As Bastion shouted in protest, Myrddin yanked it off—exposing him. Bastion’s face twisted murderously, but nothing happened when his body was bathed in the wall of morning sun.

He opened his mouth, but there was a flash of red and emerald across the room. Bastion was knocked off his feet, his head cracking against the wall.

Piper was on him, swinging, her green gown strewn about. She landed a third punch before Lilac got to them. With his back to the floor like an overturned turtle, Bastion refused to fight back—or perhaps couldn’t—and was focused on blocking his head instead.

“Get your mongrel off me!”

“Stop it, Piper.” Lilac scooped her arms around Piper’s waist and moved to lift her off of him, but Piper’s fist only cracked a fourth time on Bastion’s jaw and swung back, landing hard on Lilac’s shoulder.

Enraged, she yanked with all her might, finally prying Piper from him.

“Not … here !” She stumbled back and dropped Piper .

Bastion’s ears and lips were bloodied when he sat up. Lilac jabbed a finger at the head seat closest to the window, then Piper. “There. Now.” She then placed her hand on the chair back nearest her and jutted her chin at Bastion. “You, here.”

Bastion stood, dusted himself off, and sneered at Myrddin the whole way to the chair. He plopped into it, cursing under his breath.

“You’ve had that amulet all these years,” panted Lilac, her muscles burning as she looked up at Myrddin, “and you could’ve given it to Garin.”

“So that he could’ve what , Your Majesty?

” Myrddin’s blond brow shot up. “Gone on a daytime stroll? Tended the garden out front? Left to seek you sooner? There is a method to every form of madness that befalls me.” Beneath his levity, there was something else brewing—a lingering darkness in the way he leered at her. “I cannot help it.”

“Can’t help what?” scoffed Bastion.

“The method, nor the madness.” Myrddin exhaled and spoke slowly, his expression filled with regret. “Being pursued by the Yao Guài and having my tenure stripped at the Sanctum, I decided to do something I’d never tried before and took on a drastic new appearance.”

Lilac almost felt sorry for him. “How long did you live in your glamor?”

“It was not a glamor, Your Majesty. It wasn’t quite an illusion. I aged myself.”

They all stared blankly at him.

“But you’re immortal, are you not?” asked Bastion.

“It was an artificial acceleration of time I inflicted upon myself. I’d always wondered what I might look like if ever damned with the curse of growing old, had I not stopped my physical aging in my thirty-fifth year.

I intended the effect to last me a bit, soon discovering that the ailing symptoms of being in your eighties are far from pleasant.

I’d tried to turn back but discovered my tragic dilemma when I found my magic was heavily reduced; my arcana dwindled down to that of a simple warlock. ”

“You couldn’t draw from your own power,” said Lilac in wonder. “That must’ve been horrible.”