Page 112 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

T he front doors were once again propped open to the daylight with two new guards flanking the entry. Just outside, there was a bright white carriage adorned in what looked like vines of real ivy, goldenrod, and dog rose growing around its frame.

Garin was nowhere in sight; Lilac could see as much as she gripped the railing overlooking the foyer in rising panic. In the middle of the room, was Herlinde. Her backside, anyway. The front half of which was stuck inside a spacious trunk nearly double the size of the round table it sat next to.

Descending the stairs with Marguerite, Lilac saw four sizable wooden chests piled at the foot of the other staircase.

“Where is it, you swine?” Herlinde’s voice was muffled. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

“I warned you about using me as storage,” rasped a disembodied voice, sounding as if it were on the verge of heaving. It was decidedly male, human, and not echoing in Lilac’s skull as the lingua arcana would have. “Especially after all that work you put me through last night.”

Lilac gasped when they reached the bottom.

The witch’s aproned rump stuck out the trunk, her front resting upon a long, wide, carpet that lolled out of the chest, creating what looked like a tapered hall runner—all the way out the door.

One guard pinched the bridge of his nose and looked like he was on the verge of passing out, while the other had clamped a hand over his mouth.

There was the sound of glass shattering, making her jump.

“Oh my,” Marguerite squealed in horror, her cider spilled among the shards on the floor.

A tongue . It was a giant tongue.

Herlinde heaved herself out, brushing her curls aside.

They appeared to be damp. “Oh, hello again, Your Majesty. Told you I’d be back.

” She did a partial curtsey with her arms still deep in the trunk, her elbows resting on the lip.

“Queen Mother, don’t think I didn’t see you scurry upstairs at the sight of us. ”

“I am—” Marguerite tripped over herself as she backed away into the western corridor. “Much, much too drunk for this.”

Lilac had scuttled back against the door. She desperately looked to the guard beside her—the one who’d broken into a cold sweat. Then, she cocked her head at Marguerite. “Would you please?”

“Gladly.” Without another glance, the guard shuffled toward her mother, holding his arm out.

“Wait! Don’t you wish to see what I brought you?” Herlinde called, motioning at the boxes in the corner. “There are several wigs and gowns there. Some for Mademoiselle Phoebe as well.”

“How thoughtful.” Marguerite laughed disbelievingly and gave a little shake of her head. She made to turn, but stopped, fiddling with the trappings on her dress. “What of the others?”

“The others, Madame?”

“Yanna and Isabel, Lilac’s handmaidens. They’re entertaining our guests in the courtyard as we speak and have proved useful.

Certainly more so than that Phoebe .” She spat the name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“My daughter shouldn’t have to continue lending her hand-me-downs to them if it isn’t necessary, that’s all. ”

“Mother,” Lilac snapped, unable to take her eyes off the enormous, dripping appendage.

“Not to fret.” Herlinde fought a smile, exchanging a quick glance with Lilac.

“There’s enough there to go around for now.

Share them with whom you’d like—it’s the rest of my current inventory.

They aren’t all enchanted garments, but I did have Freidrich fix each of them with a basic sizing spell since we learned I wouldn’t have the time to fit all of you today. ”

By now, Marguerite was retreating halfway into the hall, dragging the guard with her.

Before Lilac could apologize, the trunk rattled, its mouth opening wide above Herlinde’s head. “You could’ve brought any other trunk.”

“We didn’t have the room,” argued Herlinde, leaning into its opening once more. “My customer specifically requested a full wardrobe of only enchanted garments.”

“Please forgive my mother’s atrocious manners.

” Lilac glanced outside. Although no one manned the gate across the yard, several guards could be seen marching in pairs now.

Her heart fluttered, relief flooding her.

They were probably under Garin’s orders.

“Also, I never placed an order for enchanted garments.”

“Oh, I wasn’t referring to you. And it’s quite all right, Your Majesty,” said Herlinde, fishing around.

“I’ve been working with Marguerite for a while on those shipments.

I suppose I should’ve disclosed in the beginning of our acquaintanceship that I was a witch.

I didn’t think it mattered when I agreed to import her wigs from Paris.

She was my most esteemed customer, until now. ”

“ Heuuugh —too far,” the trunk retched. Despite it speaking, what truly did Lilac in was the little angry jig it did on its four-pawed feet painted in tarnished gold. “ Watch the uvula! And they’re my customers, too.”

“And just what will you do with coins? Bank notes?” With an exasperated groan, Herlinde crawled out, plucking a cloth towel off the back of her apron and wiping some of the clear slime— saliva —that covered her head and forearms. She smoothed her hair and eagerly grinned at Lilac.

“Just received a note this morning. We’ve got a wealthy buyer to meet in a few days.

That is, we’ll be meeting the impressive export ship this buyer has arranged to bring my goods to her.

They say they’re able to pay in the tender of my choosing, that they’ll have bronze coins and paper money.

Silver dollars from Spain. Anything I want. ”

Lilac’s eyes narrowed. There it was, the tug at her subconscious again—so subtle, she wouldn’t have noticed if she weren’t already on edge, hoping for any sign or hint that Garin was near. “Who is your buyer? Are they Daemons? Faeries? ”

“We don’t know. They didn’t bother with a signature or other details. Understandable, for the size of their order.” Herlinde was about to dive back in, but the trunk rattled again.

“Let me,” it said, a tinge of annoyance in its peculiar voice.

Lilac’s further questioning was lost as she watched the tongue jerk. It began to slowly roll itself in from the tip. “Who is that?” Her hands went to her mouth when the trunk swallowed its tongue whole, like a carpet in storage. “ What is that?”

“It’s her husband.” A boy wearing a mischievous grin emerged from the carriage and jogged up the shallow steps.

He was a child, probably no older than fourteen.

Curls of strawberry blond hair fell into his round face, which he dusted out of his fawn brown eyes as he stopped beside Herlinde.

“Already done, Madame Herlinde? That was quick.”

“Not yet. Friedrich has misplaced our parcel.”

“I have not!”

Herlinde ignored her trunk’s adamant reply. “Your Majesty, this is one of my assistants, Ozzie. His brother is at home recovering from a violent illness he had the other night.”

Lilac held up a hand, pressing the other to her temple. “I’m sorry. I’m—wait. That trunk is your husband ?”

Herlinde scoffed. “My ex -husband.”

“We are still married,” Friedrich spat.

“We haven’t gotten around to annulling it yet, but I for one was never eager to bring him king’s bench. I call him my ex-husband because he’s no longer a person.”

Lilac looked upon Friedrich in horror, somehow deeply bothered that something with such a disproportionately large mouth and tiny feet lacked eyes. She remembered Garin’s story at his feast. “You turned him into a chest?”

“No, he did it to himself in an unfortunate accident. I was forced to bring him along when we fled our homeland.”

“They do work well together, at least,” offered Ozzie.

“He helps me with my dress craft, I dust cobwebs off of him every few weeks. It is a fine business exchange.”

There was a choking sound then. Friedrich was coughing. He shuddered, his lid shutting then bouncing half open. He shut again—and when he opened a second time, the lid flung all the way back. Out flew a large bundle wrapped in cloth, secured with a thick white ribbon.

It landed right in Herlinde’s arms. “There we are!”

“Swell!” Ozzie grinned. “Is that Her Majesty’s wedding gown?”

“It is. A pair of lace gloves and a veil to match.” Herlinde handed the bundle to her eager assistant. “No one unfolds it or takes it out of its package until your wedding day. Understand?”

Lilac’s throat was dry, a surge of nerves and mixed feelings leaving a too-bitter taste in her mouth. “Herlinde, how were you able to craft this in time?”

“I’ve been doing this for many years. I come from a long line of haberdashers and dressmakers alike, gifted in Alteration and other minor branches of magic.

We’ve helped everyone from royalty to neighboring townsfolk, and specialize in making others feel their very best on any occasion. Plus, a little magic doesn’t hurt.”

Lilac watched in awe as Herlinde rummaged again in the now-silent Friedrich. “I don’t know what to say. How much do I owe you?” John was nowhere to be seen outside. “I’ll have my treasurer contact you.”

“Nonsense.” Herlinde yanked out another bundle of material and unfolded it. “A dear friend of mine told me this belongs to you.”

Lilac made to object but trailed off. It was a wrinkled blue kirtle, the one she’d left in her cell in Garin’s bedchamber at the Sanguine Mine.

“Now that I’ve got your measurements jotted down at the shop, I can craft any fineries or armor you might need. Any at all, once we return from our coastal excursion out west, that is.” She winked at Lilac and laid the kirtle atop the bundle in Ozzie’s arms.

Out west.