Page 17 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“ I told you hosting it here was a bad idea,” Meriam snarled, just as there was a thud , then a shout from what sounded like the bar—the sounds of a struggle.

Lilac straightened, her hand in Garin’s as they emerged from the cellar into the scullery, the innkeeper’s white curls taking up most of her immediate field of vision as the old woman glared daggers at Garin.

The scullery was empty besides the witch, the flame under the large cauldron reduced, the pottage simmering quietly.

Meriam, wrapped in a nightgown and wool sweater, ushered them through the iron curtain.

The smoke was stronger now, a gray cloud of it slowly leaking into the room, and Lilac bumped into Garin, who had frozen in the hall behind the bar.

She stepped around him, taking in the room—Lorietta was propping the front door open in attempts to waft the smoke out, Giles and the two korikaned, Blitzrik and Ra’arak on bar stools with their noses in bowls of pottage, Sable and Jeanare watching, frozen in the dining area to their left.

Finally, at the foot of the stairs, Bastion was holding something—and someone.

Her travel bag was on the ground, the lip of it open and her contents spilling out.

In a delicate two-fingered grip, Bastion pinched her envelope from Kestrel, small clouds of iris blue smoke rising from the corners. With his other hand, he restrained Hywell the guard, who stared at the small white square with an unusual fixation.

“He smelled the smoke before anyone else did and began to fish in her bag. He pulled this out,” Bastion explained.

“Give that to me.” She marched forward, furious at herself for not keeping it on her body.

Bastion extended his arm, but Garin made a warning sound. “Wait.”

There was something wrong with Hywell.

“I can hear it,” the guard said, voice full of wonder. He reached across Bastion’s body again, wiggling his fingers, but the vampire yanked him back by the neck.

“You can’t have the queen’s parcel. What’s the matter with you?”

“Faerie ether,” Garin said from beside her, his hand clamped on her arm.

The envelope suddenly burst into a ball of blue flames. Bastion yelped and released it as it fell to his feet. Hywell tried to lunge for it, but Bastion held onto him.

An angry wail came from behind the bar, where Meriam was gripping her knitted cap. “Get rid of it!” she shrieked as the ball of blue flames began to singe the planking.

Sable and Jeanare had scooped up Blitzrik and Ra’arak and watched from just inside the open door, while Giles had flung himself over the bar, the top of his head and bulging eyes barely visible over the counter next to Meriam.

Lorietta burst out of the bead curtain brandishing a decorative bronze wand the length of her forearm.

“Reveal yourself,” she cried, pointing it at the envelope, which was still intact amidst the fire.

What would have happened to her had she opened it earlier?

Garin’s grip on her hand tightened, and everyone backed silently away as the flames died, leaving the envelope in the center of a circle of charred wood.

Everyone except Hywell, who wrenched himself from Bastion’s loosened grip, landing directly on the parcel.

A deafening explosion rocked the room, and when Lilac found her feet again, Garin and Lorietta were shouting. A cloud of frenzied blue smoke filled the room before shooting toward the ceiling and funneling down into Hywell, who kneeled in the center of the char.

The envelope was gone.

The front door slammed shut, rattling the timber as the smoke entered him through his mouth and ears, the veins along his throat swelling as he inhaled against his will, until the room was clear.

His body seized, and the guard gave Lilac one last look of terror before he collapsed to the floor face-first. Body stiff, he continued to tremble there, his skull and joints rattling along the wood.

Lilac was not one to believe in souls, at least the church’s version of them, but when Hywell—or whatever had hold of Hywell’s body—rose to his feet, she knew his was long gone.

His eyes had melted , leaving streaks of red-tinged foam running down his face below two gaping sockets. His mouth opened loosely, as if his jaw had been unhinged from the rest of his skull, the entity possessing him forcing it open as it spoke in an unnatural cadence.

As it did so, a voice echoed through the room—one she would never forget no matter how hard she tried.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” It didn’t come from his mouth, instead seeping up through the floorboards and vibrating into her skull, so loud it was painful. It was Kestrel’s voice, echoing throughout the room, and by the horror on everyone’s face, they all could hear it, too.

“You, the twice usurper, thief, and first of your kind, owe me something.”

“Thief?”

“ Indeed !”

Her knees buckled.

She’d closed her eyes, and when she tried to reopen them, everything was dark and blurry.

The only clear figure was the shell of Hywell.

Her hair whipped around her face as if she’d been caught in a vortex, and she couldn’t decipher from the indistinct shapes around her if the wind impacted the inn or anyone else.

A sudden pressure gripped her shoulder—the firm squeeze of an invisible hand.

It grounded her, and she leaned into it.

“You agreed to a meeting,” she roared, bracing herself against the wind. “That is all I’ve ever owed you, and you’re not here!”

A deep chuckle spread into the marrow of her bones, nothing like the mirthful giggles from their first meeting in Cinderfell. “Careful, queenie. I agreed to release you and your friends once. We are still contracted by our bargain. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

“You called me a thief,” she spat. “I haven’t stolen anything.”

“No, this debt is generational.” There it was, the faerie and his riddles. “One you will end.”

Another deal, when she hadn’t even completed the first. Another to trap her into another debt.

“Tell me what I owe you,” she shouted against the wind.

“ Don’t you dare promise him anything ,” came Garin’s voice, an echoing growl in her ear.

They’d planned on having Kestrel sign tonight, to have every party sign, but especially him. It was a clause in his deal they’d struck in Cinderfell.Why the change of heart?

Did this annul his bargain, or was there still the threat of Garin’s urge to kill her over their heads?

A sick dread coursed through her. Lilac thought of Garin, the way Kestrel’s power had possessed him before she began her accession ceremony. “I need your signature. We can’t do this without you.”

No answer.

She couldn’t see the bar now, the tavern, or anyone else in her periphery, but could sense Garin’s presence nearby. “Tell me you will sign, or I will never return whatever it is you’re asking.”

“A threat.” Hywell’s mouth finally cracked wide, his teeth gnashing together in an unholy grin.

“Plucky little thing when you’ve got all your friends by your side, aren’t you?

Your promises in Cinderfell reeked of selfish resolve.

I don’t know that you would have decided to draw a set of Accords concerning the Daemons if it weren’t for your vampire. ”

A pang of guilt resounded in her chest. She thought of all the harm her father had done, the unjust beliefs her family had upheld. “He helped me realize the changes that needed to be made. I would have eventually come to the same conclusion.”

“Would you? Without the Trevelyan boy’s ravenous affection for you?” He leaned forward and she tried to retreat, but her feet wouldn’t move. “Without the threat of him tearing your throat out?”

She refused to answer, seething. Garin’s presence glared over her shoulder.

“You kept your word for the first half of our bargain thus far. You successfully ascended the throne and your coronation ball looms in just under a fortnight. Keep what was stolen, as a prize.”

Stolen? Debt? But he hadn’t told her what it was. “What did my family steal from you, Kestrel? Land? Jewels? Weapons? You can have them, just tell me?—”

“After careful consideration, I have decided it may prove more useful to me in your hands. Yet the debt remains, and I will tell you,” he said, an impatient edge to his sing-song voice, “if you shut up and stop interrupting me.”

Lilac gritted her teeth, waiting for him to finish.

“My bluejays report the coming of the Midraal Market. The caravan has something of mine—a chest, the size of a wardrobe trunk. You’ll know it when you see it. Bring it to me unadulterated and unopened before your coronation, and our bargain will be dissolved.”

She had never heard of such a thing. Her throat burned along with her face, mind spinning. “But what of the Accords?”

“Do with them what you wish. I don’t see any parchment, any draft in your hand.”

She’d written down several issues to be addressed and planned to draft the rest with all parties present. It didn’t seem everyone had arrived yet, or chosen to attend; she didn’t think she saw anyone there to represent the warlocks. Emrys wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“I brought them. They’re in my travel bag your smoking envelope ruined,” she shot accusingly.

Hywell appeared to vibrate unpleasantly, and a choking sound could be heard from his mouth as Kestrel coughed into a laugh.

“Ah, yes! That was rather clever, wasn’t it?

Don’t fret, I would have jumped into the nearest mortal even if you hadn’t chosen to open it at this meeting.

But I knew you’d be smart enough to wait until you were back in the presence of magic and fangs to protect you. ”

That was enough. “Will you sign the Accords?” she asked, glaring into his empty sockets.

Hywell’s corpse sighed. “I will sign them, queenie . When and if you get me the chest by your crowning. If not, your darling vampire will have his way with you—that still hangs over your head.”