Page 134 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

N o one said a word as Yanna and Isabel prepared her bath.

This time, Rupert had done the filling. After they showed him the furnace room next to the infirmary, he filed in and out with two buckets while they filled the tub with rose petals and fragrant oils, lining the table at its side with cloth, towels, and a nightgown from one of the boxes Herlinde had brought.

It seemed, without a single word of explanation, that each of them understood one thing: Lilac’s mission to save Garin required some preparation.

She stood in the doorway clutching the bundle of supplies, running the key through her fingers and desperately keeping her eyes off his bare, bloodied torso.

To no avail.

Garin sat in her vanity chair with his back to the hearth, wrists still bound together on his lap as he expertly avoided her gaze.

He was no longer wincing in pain; she couldn’t tell if it was because he wasn’t forced to put pressure on his wounded leg, or if it’d been a convincing act all along, but he seemed perfectly content to watch Rupert, Yanna, and Isabel over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection.

And although it was something he couldn’t help, his silence unsettled her more than anything else; she could feel his impatience behind the mask of bored amusement.

When the tub was just over three-quarters of the way filled, there it was—the familiar tug behind her navel. The nudge of encouragement for her to near him.

She didn’t dare look up. She didn’t have to. Every inch of her body registered the beckoning—a warm, unexpectedly friendly invitation at first. Wordless but palpable, though she could almost hear his voice.

I won’t hurt anyone, certainly not you, he said—or so she imagined. His voice even echoed. She was exhausted and running on too little sleep. You’re nervous, I can feel it. Just as I can feel your desire for me.

Lilac stared down at the grooves in the wood, at the fox and bear pelts adorning the floor.

Curiosity skirted the argument bubbling up in her tight chest. Whether it was the creeping madness of exhaustion or another obscure effect of their bond, it was convincing.

She shifted the supplies under her arm and lifted her hands to her ears.

I can feel them burrowed in deep, Garin groaned, his voice slipping deeper into her thoughts like silk drawn over a blade.

Seething, Lilac looked up. Garin’s hands had remained in his lap.

He was still transfixed on Yanna and Isabel fussing about and tidying the room; part of her suspected they were reluctant to leave her alone with him.

Part of her knew they were eager to soak in every last juicy detail of their interaction.

Despite her best efforts, the sound of his voice was clear as the night outside.

They're hawthorn, of all things. At least, that’s what I suspect. Not fire, nor silver, but shrubbery. Can you imagine? I’m being murdered from the inside out by an aggressive sort of landscaping.

Lilac froze. It was no wonder he wasn’t healing. “But how are you conscious?”

Believe me, I wish I weren’t.

“Did you say something?” asked Yanna, jolting her from her thoughts.

Lilac glanced around the room, fanning herself. “Where did Rupert go?”

Yanna and Isabel exchanged nervous glances and placed the pillows they’d been fluffing .

“He just left,” Isabel answered. “He said Marguerite was curious about the commotion on the second floor. He’s dealing with them now.”

This pain—gods, it’s exquisite. I’ve never felt anything like it. Garin wheezed a laugh. Come. Closer.

She could feel herself breaking into a cold sweat. Lilac wiped at her brow and took an involuntary step toward him, wobbling when she tried to stop herself.

“Are you all right?” Yanna approached, hesitant. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

“Please leave.”

Isabel skittered toward the door instead. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“What? No, we can’t just leave her.”

I’m going to die like this, stretched thin between torment and desire. Garin’s voice turned cunning. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To watch me break?

In silent indignation, Lilac stood her ground. She’d need to get within dangerous proximity in order to remove the bullets; she supposed she was safe with his mouth and hands secured. Still, something warned her to wait until she was alone to?—

Eleanor Trecésson, if you don’t remove this godforsaken muzzle from my mouth, you’ll regret the next time I get my hands on you. You’ll beg to be bled. I’ll lap it up from you in places you’ve never dared imagine ? —

Lilac’s body lurched forward, but she used the momentum to stride past Garin and march over to the opposite side of her bed, while Yanna and Isabel watched from the doorway with their mouths open.

She yanked her bedside table drawer open and plucked out the long bundle Piper had earlier deposited there, just when Garin’s power took hold of her once more.

She skittered back, just catching herself on the bedpost.

The key stilled in her right hand; she leaned over and stuck it into the tiny padlock on his wrists.

The moment his hands were free, he made to stand, but Lilac shoved him back into the chair, put her foot on his chest—and kicked .

Garin and the chair went skidding across the room.

She flung the handful of Myrddin’s chains toward him; he snapped back to the chair, his wrists bound to the armrests.

His snarls were drowned out by Yanna and Isabel’s shrieks.

“What is going on up there?” her mother could be heard saying, followed by Rupert’s rushed explanation. They heard Myrddin’s voice too, followed by Emma’s. She sounded shockingly calm for a mother who probably just discovered her son’s Daemon transformation.

“ Go ,” said Lilac, placing the bundled stake on the vanity next to her supplies. “And don’t wait outside.”

“Didn’t plan to.” Yanna glared at Garin and took Isabel by the wrist. “If you hurt her, I’ll light you on fire myself.” The door slammed shut.

It was silent as soon as they were alone. He worked to slow his breathing, the cut of his jaw tight as he took in her soot-covered body. His blood covering her skin, the gashes and burned holes in her clothing.

Lilac cautiously closed the space between them; there was no use pretending she wasn’t afraid when he could hear every sound her body made. Tonight, her desire consumed her fear whole.

“How did you speak to me with your mind?” No response, but the skin at her throat heated. “How did you know you could do that?”

Garin merely blinked up at her, as if he did not know the answer himself.

“What else can you do with your Sanguine magic?”

His brows knitted in confusion.

Bullshit. Lilac padded over to the edge of the steaming tub and peeled the remains of her dress up without warning.

She bent over slowly, taking her time snaking her undergarments and blade garter down her leg. Lilac smiled at him over her shoulder—he didn’t notice, his eyes were glued to her ass—and placed her still dagger on the table, pleased her bleed had lightened considerably since having Garin’s tea.

She pulled her dress over her head and let it drop, stepping in and savoring the scalding heat on her skin. She hadn’t bathed in a couple of days. Washing her sin away, only to do it all over again—do it worse—was a welcome, dark ecstasy.

“You’re much more depraved in your head than you lead on, you know.” She ran a cloth down her neck, slipping it between her breasts. Rose petals swirled and stuck to her skin, one to her nipple. Lilac flicked it off. “Is it always like that for you?”

Garin’s sigh morphed into a growl; he turned back to the mirror.

She dipped her head, massaging the soot and oils from her scalp—imagining him regaining his strength. Breaking out of that chair and joining her. Taking her forcefully in the water—cracking the wall of her tub further as effortlessly as it had crumbled in her hands. “Or is it a show you put on?”

When no answer came, Lilac pressed her back to the tub wall nearest him as she had at his farmhouse, suddenly feeling very naked and vulnerable in his chosen silence. It was only in the middle of lathering her face, eyes shut against the suds, when his voice echoed again.

Every day requires a mask. A show, you see . It’s born from necessity, not folly, and I fault no one who does the same. I suppose it is less so when I am in your company. I am wholly myself here. You pry it out of me.

Fight the urge to face him she did, Lilac didn’t need to. She felt him. The whisper of a touch—fingertips waltzing up the column of her spine, cupping the curve of her throat. Whatever this feeling was, she wanted to drown in it.

“You are thirst incarnate,” she whispered. “Night on the fringe of dawn, never quite breaking the horizon.”

I come as the thing you made me. An appetite persevering.

“Are you always so hungry? I couldn’t imagine living with it.

” The question was meant to be taunting, but it came out all wrong—tender, and laced with her own selfish agony.

“I learned to make myself small after witnessing my father’s cruelty at work, haunted by Freya’s murder and my own complicit existence.

While I was never good at going unnoticed, I was great at running and acting in my own favor.

” Her throat bobbed; she was unable to stop herself from vomiting the words. “I am no victim. I am an instrument.”

Garin said nothing—thought nothing—while Lilac looked down at her reflection.