Page 131 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

K emble shrieked, knocking her chair back from her desk.

Lilac shoved Myrddin and Rupert off; they landed on the floor next to her with a thump. Yanna had landed on the cot to her right closest to the door.

Garin was the only one already on his feet, already prowling across the room; his limp didn’t slow him one bit.

Myrddin’s hand flew up from the tangle of limbs between the cots; the infirmary door was instantly shrouded in its violet glow, filling the room with the scent of sulfur as it sealed shut.

That didn’t stop Garin from trying.

“Open it.” He slammed his body against the door.

Dust rained down from the doorframe. “I said, open the door .” Lilac braced herself before she even felt the inevitable tug at her navel.

She fought it, curling her fingers into the thin blankets and locking her legs around the nearest bedpost as if it would stop him—until Garin’s shoulders stiffened and he glanced over his shoulder. “Anyone but her .”

Her body ceased struggling immediately, and she scrambled back onto the cot as if it were a life raft. Yanna climbed from hers onto Lilac’s anyway, eagerly distancing herself from the vampire.

Garin yanked and pushed on the handle, which snapped off in his hands. It clattered to the floor when he levitated several feet off the ground. He shouted, swinging his arms and legs at the air. “Put me down, Myrddin!”

But Myrddin was still peeling himself off the floor, detangling his legs from Rupert. The fledgling rose first, propping himself against the foot of Lilac’s bed; when Garin let out a territorial growl, Rupert cursed under his breath and stood erect. “I’m not touching her.”

Kemble stood between her desk and the medical supply cart from the night before, arms outstretched toward Garin, the veins at her temples bulging.

“Minerva! Good evening to you, too!” Myrddin tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Nice to see you’ve continued your schooling, after all. Now, would you mind putting my vampire down?”

“Your— vampire ,” Kemble hissed, clutching her breast and pointing sideways at Rupert. “ That is a vampire. He’s a Strigoi?—”

“I know what he is, Minerva.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Kemble screeched. “A Strigoi in Brittany? In this castle?”

Garin gave a final, determined kick to the door from the air, launching himself at Kemble.

She shrieked and swung her arms in a half circle, flinging him across the room.

Garin’s head bounced off the wall with a sickening crack, and he landed on the cot adjacent to Lilac’s—the one he’d cradled her on, nose buried in her hair the night before.

He coughed and rolled onto his side, and didn’t move after that.

There was a tug at Lilac’s collar; Yanna’s fists were wrapped around the ribbons at her back. “I see that psychotic look in your eyes. I’ll put you in a headlock, too.”

But Lilac’s anger wasn’t for Garin—not solely.

Kemble? It was like the breath had been stolen from her lungs.

Had her parents known? Had anyone known?

Kemble often kept to herself, but she’d sometimes have tea with Hedwig in the afternoons.

Was Hedwig a witch, too? Was anyone else at the castle magic folk?

Kemble’s apothecary shelves hadn’t seemed to hold any Fae-rooted ingredients—if so, Garin would’ve sensed it last night.

Kemble didn’t have the amber-tinged feline irises both the Algovens and Adelaide had.

Bile stung Lilac’s throat. She shrugged Yanna’s hand off and rose. She made her way past Myrddin, centering herself between Garin’s cot and the witch. “You know each other?”

“Most unfortunately,” Kemble said with a scornful glare at Myrddin.

“Minerva is a talented healer from the School of Restoration. An old colleague of mine from the Sanctum.”

“And you are a stain upon the sanctity of the Arts.”

At the foot of the now-empty cot Yanna had landed on, Rupert was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, and fanning his collar with the other. “Is it just me, or is it sweltering in here?

“Just you,” Yanna replied. “I’m freezing.”

Kemble squinted over her shoulder at Rupert. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“You were here this whole time, and not a word of it to me.” Lilac’s tone was cold, drawing Kemble’s attention back to her.

It wasn’t the least bit warm, nor filled with the familiarity she would’ve loved to hear in her darkest hours.

She knew it wasn’t an immediate concern, but it was almost like she couldn’t control her anger, nor her mouth.

What she would’ve reserved for perhaps another time, or drowned in a flute of champagne and bonbons, came spilling out.

“No olive branch extended on your behalf, even after Freya was found and everything for us changed.”

The muscle under Kemble’s eye twitched. “Your Majesty,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’ve diligently served your family for years after being expelled from the very institution my father helped found, thanks to your criminal warlock.

My loyalty’s remained all the same. Why, I attended your birth. ”

“No discreet acknowledgement in passing.” Kemble’s countenance darkened at the accusation lacing Lilac’s rising voice. “No motion of reassurance. The entire castle heard me crying myself to sleep some nights. You knew what it was like to be treated this way, yet you never said anything.”

“That is why I never said anything, you stupid girl. I hid so I could be free. Sometimes freedom is not worth the pursuit.” Kemble pursed her lips.

She cleared her throat and smoothes her hair, then, her skirts.

Avoiding Lilac’s glare, she looked about the room—at her apothecary cabinet, at the empty cots.

At Myrddin, her eyes brimming with blame.

Garin groaned, then.

Lilac drew the knocked-back curtains all the way. He’d rolled onto his side, facing her, his legs tucked into his chest. In contrast with the white sheets, a deep carmine had pooled around his legs and up by his shoulder.

Kemble let out a disgruntled gasp, skittering back. “Is that… is that Maximilian’s emissary?”

“He is very important to us, so please refrain from thrashing him around.” Myrddin joined Lilac near Garin’s cot with his hands out.

“Is he dead?” asked Yanna, sounding hopeful and pulling the blanket up to her chin.

“It takes far more to kill a Strigoi. In fact, it is nearly impossible. Minerva knocked him unconscious. He might be out longer than usual because he drank some of my blood, which encumbered him,” Myrddin added, for Kemble’s benefit.

“I wouldn’t want to be the one to further handle or mistreat him, even when he’s this weak. ”

“ Great ,” murmured Rupert.

“He was shot by Francois’s men.” Lilac’s throat grew tighter and tighter around every word. “It was hours ago. And he isn’t healing.”

“But how did this—how did Albrecht—” Kemble stammered. “I don’t understand. Was it the wine?”

“There is no mushroom or tonic that turns vampires into Strigoi, Minerva,” Myrddin said slowly. “Remember?”

Kemble’s face blanched. She shook away whatever alarming thought that had come to mind, along with her realization.

“He was obviously trying to escape this room to find his thrall. Preventing him from doing so is dangerous. I don’t understand why you’d withhold him from his pet, and bring a Strigoi here , of all places, when our kingdom is already on the brink of… ”

Suddenly, Kemble trailed off, glancing at Myrddin, but the warlock was distracted, his eyes partially shut, his fingers drawing their minuscule shapes again.

“You’re not resurrecting him, are you?” Lilac asked through a stab of panic.

“ Hush .”

The witch scrutinized Yanna—the crescent-shaped wounds on either side of her neck, the red staining her skin.

Then, Lilac—pink-faced, nails digging into her palms with more than the hem of her skirts singed off.

Her unscathed legs, and the way she’d perched herself just onto the far corner of Garin’s bed, still close enough to reach out and touch him.

“It was my choice,” said Lilac unflinchingly. “Mine alone.”

“I’ve only worked for Her Majesty for several weeks,” Yanna added from her cot. “But I feel like I’ve known her just as long as my—my friend, Isabel. And if there’s one thing I know about the queen, it is that she would never willingly make herself susceptible to such instruction unless required.”

Kemble’s hand went to her hair, voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“Well, there’s us. Probably a few others close to Her Majesty,” Rupert responded. He was slumped over the side of the furthest cot, shoulders angled toward the door. “More might inadvertently learn of it if you don’t shut your mouth.”

A low groan interrupted Kemble’s scathing response.

In his sleep, Garin attempted to move his wounded leg, but winced.

Lilac was at his side in an instant, lifting him up.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Kemble as she righted him against the pillows like he weighed nothing at all.

His head lolled forward—there was a wet warmth beneath Lilac’s fingertips.

She gripped his jaw to discover his fangs coated in fresh red.

“Garin,” she whispered frantically, patting his cheek.

There was a flash of purple light—followed immediately by a white-hot heat at her knuckles.

Lilac jumped, cursing, and dropped Garin back onto the pillows.

She stuck her pinky into her mouth. “ What is wrong with you? ”

“I wouldn’t wake him if I were you,” warned Myrddin through his teeth, apparently finished with his whispered incantation. “Not here.”

A rush of heat flooded her. “Will this kill him?”

“It shouldn’t, but I’ve also never seen a Strigoi up close before—for good reason. His injuries won’t do his voracious appetite any good.” Myrddin squinted. “Whatever’s harming him is still inside him.”