Page 14 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

G arin sat in a large, faded green armchair that looked like it had seen better years. Or centuries. In front of him crackled a cheery fire in a corner fireplace, the light gleaming the waves of his blue-black hair. She wondered, distantly, if his hair ever grew.

There was a neatly made bed across the fire, lush cream undersheets beneath a black duvet, and next to it, a short shelf containing books and several manually bound stacks of parchment.

At the center of the room was a patchwork rug that appeared similar to the korikaned tents.

His prized longsword from Sinclair was perched on a wall rack before her, and to the right of that, across the foot of his bed, was a thin door.

A sort of cane with a silver animal glinting at the tip leaned next to it.

In the corner nearest her, a mounted shelf hanging with thick twine bore an array of strange potted plants, kinds she’d never seen before.

She couldn’t tell if they were from a different continent—or the Low Forest. It was hard to tell if any of them glowed in the flickering light.

On the top shelf sat three of them, various shades of a gradient blue ranging from royal to periwinkle; they had mouths , or at least two prominent leaves that looked like mouths.

On the shelf under them were three more dirt-filled pots with small green buds poking out of the soil.

She could’ve sworn one of the blue ones craned in her direction .

Stepping further into the room and promptly away from the plants, Lilac cleared her throat. “Nice of you to share your space with Lorietta.”

Garin looked up from the small, green leather book in his palm, turned so she could see his sharp profile against the hearth before him, and said, sounding alarmed, “What makes you think she shares my room?”

“Her plants make for some interesting decor, that’s all.”

He turned back to the fire. She waited while he finished his page, marked it with the ribbon protruding from the top of the book, and slid it into his pant pocket.

Garin stood, stretched, and sauntered over. She braced herself, waiting for the tender scorch of his touch, but he only brushed against her as he passed her and tugged at a string hanging from the plant wall.

There was a fluttering sound, and the shelves of pots were suddenly cast in a patch of soft, silver light.

Above them was a rectangular ceiling window.

The insides of the glass panes were covered in a thin layer of moisture, the outside flecked with soil and leaves framing a stunning scene of the moon and starlit sky beyond the canopy.

“How beautiful,” she mouthed.

“Indeed,” Garin whispered, a smirk ghosting his lips as he pulled back. “And they’re mine.”

“Yours?” She slowly turned to look at him, then back at the window, dubious.

“We only burn in direct light,” Garin said, retreating.

“Sometimes I’d open the window, lay back on my bed, and watch for hours when I couldn’t sleep between shifts at the bar.

It was once nice to see the sunlight helping my plants thrive, instead of fearing its ability to desecrate and burn. Now, it’s not a problem for me.”

His gaze was far away. She wondered what he was thinking about—if he was remembering the dramatic moment just before he realized he could walk in the day.

“Lorietta does have her garden, though. Just beyond the window here. We built it together. Well, she had the korikaned build the trellises and boxes, but we planted everything.”

She remembered the way he’d critiqued Sable and Jeanare’s overwatered carrots. It made sense he might share his parents’ interests in botany, but this still surprised her. “Gardening seems like a reasonable way to keep necessary crops for an inn.”

“It is. Meriam had mentioned starting one several years after I started living here, but she had no idea where to start. So, I brought Lorietta out there with me every evening, and we tended the garden together that way until she understood what to do. She’s skilled now.”

However aging worked for witches, Lorietta had been younger when Garin first showed up on the Aglovens’ doorstep. Maybe even younger than Lilac. “Did they not know how to start a garden before?”

“Cultivating crops in the middle of the forest is a difficult task.” Garin laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. “You assume she would know how to keep a garden. Why, because she’s a commoner?”

“ No . Lorietta is a resourceful and talented witch. I didn’t want you taking all the credit for her doing.” Her cheeks burned, embarrassed at her assumption as she surveyed his fully furnished room and lush plant collection. “I just wasn’t expecting all of this.”

“She comes from a long lineage of arcane nobility from Germany and a successful mother from Paris. You were raised with a silver spoon, she with a bronze wand, and great manor before her parents died in an accident and her great aunt adopted her. The two barely knew a thing about gardening before I arrived.”

She was silent as she processed this.

“You’ll learn as she did,” Garin said a bit sternly, a bit defensively, “that prejudice—the line between privilege and poverty—is not simply drawn by access to food, shelter, and wealth. Or even blood. Little would you know, it runs much deeper than that, and what she grows in that garden is still occasionally supplemented from the outside markets to accommodate all our guests. Your family and hers are different in that Lorietta was raised to turn no one away, within reason.”

Face heating, she said nothing to fight him.

He was right. About everything. She was finally beginning to understand, though she wasn’t sure if she ever would fully.

The Fenfoss Inn was more than an establishment for an overnight stay or an ale.

It was where the lone traveler, Daemon or human, could find warm food, cold drink, and kindred conversation.

They had little resources to feed themselves and those they housed, and whether or not funds were an issue, Lorietta could not simply stroll into town on any market day without being scrutinized, or possibly harassed.

She didn’t seem the type to hide or shrink herself for anyone, and rightfully so.

Although magic folk lived scattered throughout Paimpont, surely they weren’t treated fairly.

Shifters themselves either lived in seclusion or became recluses because of it.

Under her rule, this would all change. Lilac turned on her heel and prepared to lead him up the stairs as she contemplated these things.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Something in his voice made her freeze. “Upstairs. Lorietta sent me to retrieve you.”

“Are you angry with me?” There was a genuine curiosity in his words.

When she turned, he was watching her intensely.

The question surprised her, and her gaze dropped to the floor as she hesitated a beat too long. “No.”

When she looked back up, he was smiling knowingly at her.

Her eyes narrowed. Fine . She would play along. Lilac stepped down and strode toward the middle of the rug—then slinked past him. She considered sitting on his bed, but it felt too forward. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d once made her come with the hilt of her own dagger.

He’d followed, naturally. She retreated, taunting him, her lips slightly parted and face flushed, taking him in.

Garin stalked her with a bounce in each step, slowly dancing them both, untouching, toward the end of his bed. Hands behind her to feel for the stone and keep herself from raking her nails into him, she came to rest against the wall. She was nearly panting when he cornered her.

“Do not lie to me, Eleanor of Brittany.”

“Vivien is dead,” she breathed, as if he’d drawn the answer from her.

“That she is.”

Her hungry smile faded at his unapologetic answer. “Why? Why would—” She broke off at the look he gave her, stripping her bare.

“ Why ? She needed to be stopped. With someone like her, there is only one way that happens.”

But there were so many things that could’ve gone wrong.

What if the crowd at her Court of Common Appeals had been much larger?

Some Sundays, she’d seen the entire room filled with townsfolk when Henri was king.

What if she’d been hosting a dignitary, or someone from a foreign kingdom?

She didn’t even know if those who were there could be trusted to keep quiet until she had the chance to make an announcement about their deaths.

Lilac’s chest heaved—desire, shock, wonder, rage all swirled inside her. “But you could have told me.”

“Told you? Or asked for your permission?”

“Forgive me for thinking it would have been helpful to know about something that would trigger a rather public investigation, something that could have sparked anarchy if it was revealed the wrong way.”

“You would have tried to talk me out of it. It wouldn’t have worked.”

“You cannot just murder everyone who crosses me,” she said, unable to help her voice rising.

“ Crossed ?” His teeth were suddenly bared into a sneer.

“She has more than crossed you. Vivien wouldn’t have stopped until you were dead.

She wanted all that was destined for you to go to Sinclair.

She wanted it more than her own life.” His next words came in a scraping whisper, dancing in the breeze across her skin.

“Are you so unaccustomed to anyone fighting for you? Killing for you, Eleanor?”

Her body flushed at his mention of her name, the way his eyes danced when he said it. “It is I who you are avenging, yet I who will shoulder the consequences of it.”

Her muscles tensed involuntarily as he studied her and let out a gust of air, as if it took some effort to control his breath. He took a step back.