Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  “Oh?” Kestrel mused. “Garin, my boy. Don’t tell me. Is the lesser brother blissfully unaware of just whom that meek creature standing behind you is? Is he unaware that she is the heiress to the mortal throne?”

  It happened too quickly.

  Realization morphed Bastion’s look of confusion into one of fury. He turned to her, as if the weight of her parents’ politics rested upon her shoulders alone. His red eyes narrowed into slits as they met Lilac’s, his nostrils flaring wildly. In an instant he was gone.

  Garin whirled to knock Lilac into the dirt with his elbow. It knocked the wind out of her—just before Bastion’s body came crashing into Garin’s with a sound like thunder. Pure loathing twisted the blond vampire’s face as he struggled to reach her, his fangs sharp and deadly as he snapped his jaws over Garin’s shoulder.

  As incredibly strong as Garin was was, he struggled against his younger brother; Lilac scuttled back barely in time as Bastion lunged again, this time slamming Garin to the floor. His head cracked against the dusty concrete with a sickening crunch.

  “Stop it,” she screamed from the ground, fingernails digging into the gravel, then her hands until they left bloody crescents along her palms. Heat surged up through her until she could bear it no longer. “Kestrel,” she pleaded, to no reply. The faerie leader was busy twiddling his fingertips in delighted anticipation.

  As if he’d forgotten she was there, Bastion’s head snapped hungrily in her direction. The distraction was just enough—with an unrestrained grunt, Garin shifted his arms and pushed Bastion off, far enough to kick him powerfully in the chest. Bastion was launched several meters into the air and landed in a puff of dust at the end of the colosseum.

  Lilac scrambled to her feet. She watched in both amazement and horror at the sheer power that had laid dormant in the very hands that held her tenderly only moments before.

  Where a human would have been instantly killed by the blow of his landing, Bastion quickly righted himself and charged his brother once more. So fast that Lilac could barely follow, Garin unsheathed Sinclair’s longsword and held it in Bastion’s path. The younger vampire’s own momentum forward shoved the blade through his stomach and out his back.

  Bastion roared in anguish—and still managed to pull himself off the sword, suddenly swiping it from Garin’s hand. Gorged with fresh human blood, he was faster and stronger than his opponent. Lilac’s mouth fell open as they fought sword, tooth and nail; they moved like lightning and thunder, voracious Greek gods battling over a mere mortal.

  Where Bastion fought purely with brute strength and aggression, Garin weaved in and out of the blade’s path with an animal-like grace, luring his brother forward before striking. They were like shark and anglerfish in an instinctual dance.

  Lilac’s hands flew to her mouth when he finally managed to knock the sword from Bastion’s grip and then drew her dagger from his own belt.

  “Garin,” she yelled, but her efforts to stop them were futile. As much as she wanted his dastardly brother gone, it would tear Garin apart if he actually hurt his brother. Losing Laurent had destroyed him enough.

  For a moment so fleeting that Lilac could have imagined it, he frowned down at the jewel-encrusted dagger in his palm, barely dodged Bastion’s next swipe. He then advanced on Bastion with the glimmering weapon, slashing through the air. Bastion grinned wickedly and lunged forward, his own sharp teeth now his weapon. Garin parried the move but allowed him forward—and in an instant, both vampires were motionless, the dagger edge held delicately along Bastion’s pale throat.

  13

  “All for her?” Panting, Bastion’s grin broke into a sneer as he breathed the words into his brother’s face. He moved forward, challenging Garin and allowing the blade to dig further into the meat of his own neck. “You know that dagger will not do me any harm.”

  “It will if I take your head off,” said Garin quietly.

  “That is quite enough!” roared Kestrel. At some point during their battle, he had procured a long wooden staff, just short of his own height. Gripping it tightly, he waved it in a half circle in front of him.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  An enormous gust of shimmering wind blew outward, blinding the three of them. Lilac cried out and shielded her eyes against the pelting rubble. When the dust settled, she reopened them, dry and tired. Both vampires were gone.

  They were pinned against opposite sides of the colosseum walls, Garin on her left and Bastion to her right. Thick, cord-like roots protruded from new cracks formed in the walls, restraining both vampires at the wrists and ankles so their bodies hung taut against the stone. A string of scathing expletives and protests flowed from their fanged mouths while they struggled against the enchanted vines.

  The three guards surrounded Lilac closely now. She gulped, shaken by the frightening display of power from Kestrel. What was this incredible hold over the elements that he’d wielded? And why had he bothered to spare her from the same imprisonment?

  Unless he had saved her for an even worse fate.

  A familiar buzzing rattled against her hip beneath her wool cloak; she caught herself before she could gasp. Sinclair’s sword lay in the dirt where Bastion had dropped it, but her dagger had somehow appeared snugly back in her scabbard. She pretended to shift uncomfortably, crossing her arms while ensuring the wool of her cloak concealed it.

  “Executed like a true soldier,” Kestrel directed at Garin. He studied the vampire speculatively as he flounced forward.

  He twirled his staff like a baton. He neared, enough so that Lilac could see the fine details of its ornate etchings. A clouded gem sat embedded at the top, encircled with smaller garnets. She frowned at the sudden familiarity of the design—a full moon overlooking blood-red stars.

  Kestrel stuck the head of the staff beneath Garin’s chin. “You still possess legerdemain—that enchanting sleight of hand. Even decades after your battlefield prime.”

  Garin said nothing. His blond brother watched warily from the other side of the room.

  “However,” Kestrel remarked, unhooking his staff and stepping away, “you were willing to harm—kill, perhaps—your own brother, over her. I’m curious… Is that your bloodlust bubbling to the surface after half a century cursed?” Kestrel smiled devilishly at Garin’s silence. “Or is it the girl?” He pivoted, cape twirling behind him, to jostle his staff toward the crowd. “What say ye?”

  Bastion squinted in dubious confusion, reflecting the murmurs heard from the silhouettes above.

  Garin’s livid glare toward Kestrel faded. He hung his head in exhaustion, all the fight and pride leaking from him like water from a punctured sack. The skirmish and Kestrel’s probing had scraped him clean.

  Lilac felt contentedly invisible, stilling even further against the faerie’s words. Despite everything earlier that night, Garin’s defensiveness over her came unexpected. She nervously waited for him to look her way.

  “You can’t expect all of this to unfold, and not have us questioning your loyalties, now can you?” Kestrel sprawled his fingers over his chest. Soon, howls of laughter filled the pit, rising into the still night air like the glory cries of falcons encircling their prey. Lilac cowered, terrified by the unholy cacophony.

  “You mean to tell me,” Kestrel said after catching his breath, “the lesser brother does not know about your curse?” His rows of fangs glistened, as if the melodrama made him salivate. “My! I wonder, just how many secrets can one keep from his own family?”

  “Stop calling me that,” Bastion snapped, directly addressing Kestrel for the first time. “I’m no lesser anything. I’ve been there for our coven far more than Garin has.” He was much calmer than he’d been moments ago, even when he turned to his dispirited brother. “Curse? What is he talking about?”

  Garin sighed, shoulders drooping as far as the vine restraints would allow. “I am cursed, Bastion. I’ve been cursed. It’s why I can’t drink blood from any human.”

  “Can’t
drink blood? What kind —” he shook his head. “Bollocks!” Bastion spat, leaning forward in his cocoon of vines. “That’s impossible.”

  “Bast,” Garin warned, his leer indicating he refused to discuss it further.

  “Tell me, brother,” Bastion insisted. “What’s going on?” He sighed, eyes flitting to Lilac then back at his brother. “No more lies.”

  “None at all,” Kestrel echoed distantly, swaying on his heels like a forlorn spectre.

  The shadows above waited with bated breath while Lilac picked at her nailbeds. They were antagonizing him. She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t fall prey to Kestrel’s attempts to push him over the edge. She—and Bastion, she supposed—needed his sanity and cunning. Her word and reputation had held little to no weight at all in Brocéliande, but it would surely work against them in the Low Forest.

  Silence hung like dew in the thick air. Bastion’s expectant stare only hardened. Kestrel chewed on his long nails, eyes glinting maniacally, and Lilac wondered if there was single sane bone in his body. Recalling Garin’s deadly fury at Sinclair’s camp and his ferocious lips pressed against her own, his silent remorse was unfamiliar.

  “Is that why you couldn’t feed? After the Raid…” Bastion trailed off, his chest heaving. “You’d told me it’d been a matter of conscience. Of guilt.” He blinked disbelievingly.

  Garin gave a bark of a laugh. “Is that really more believable than what I am confessing to you now? Come on, brother. You know what I’m capable of.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to believe,” Bastion admitted quietly. “One day, everything was just different. So different. The change in you scared me. And what is this curse the faerie mentioned?”

  Garin seemed to flush—something Lilac didn’t know was possible for vampires. He fell silent once more.

  “By whom?” Bastion pressed urgently, as if he’d forgotten the whispering crowd above.

  “Oh, we simply must know,” Kestrel giggled. He fingered the patch of hair on his chin, eyes bulging in anticipation as if he already knew the answer. “We have all the time in the world.”

  Bile burned the back of Lilac’s throat. No. No, they didn’t. Time was of the essence. Time was all she had.

  Garin’s strained snarl seemed to convey that he intended on keeping his promise; he clearly enjoyed the Fair Folk’s company no more than she and Bastion did. He’d get them out of there as quickly as he could.

  “It was a witch.”

  “Obviously,” Kestrel drawled. “You Englishmen are so chary, it’s no fun.”

  “That’s it,” Garin insisted. “I’d crossed the wrong witch and she bestowed me a curse. I don’t owe you any other details that Bastion hasn’t been privy to.”

  The faerie twirled his baton again. Lilac could’ve sworn his eyes flitted over to her before boring back into the reluctant vampire. “You do, if you want your release.”

  “Garin,” Bastion shot alarmedly.

  But his brother was finally at a true loss for words. Pinned by every eye in the colosseum—beady faerie, accusing vampire, and apprehensive mortal—Garin let out a low, laborious sigh.

  “Adelaide was what her family called her,” he said, not once removing his glare from Bastion. “I killed the lot of them, her family, I mean, during the Raid and I—” he began to stumble over his words, something he never did.

  He was editing. Not quite lying, but not providing all the details, either. Her father did the same thing when feeding white lies to the queen. It was probably nothing, Lilac told herself—yet, a distant, small part of her wondered just what was worth keeping from Kestrel and Bastion. Or, from her. His prolonged hesitation made her stomach flop.

  “And she walked in on it,” he continued. “On me, feeding. She was a powerful witch, caught me off guard. In my guilt, I spared her life. And I thought she’d spared mine. When I tried to feed a couple days later, I couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t what?” Bastion asked. “Couldn’t consume blood?”

  “I couldn’t bite the person. When I tried, my head felt like it would explode.” Through his even tone, Garin was the picture of guilt. Something like regret tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “How did she get you to stay still enough to perform a curse?” Bastion frowned dubiously.

  “The witch escaped. After that night I’d never seen her again.”

  “By the Raid, I presume you’re referring to that of 1482?” Kestrel interjected. “You and your sire led the coven to Paimpont and laid waste to the village.”

  Garin said nothing.

  Lilac’s mouth ran dry. She fought a violent shiver back, wishing she could shrug further into her cloak. Now knowing of Laurent and his clandestine fantasy of peace, it seemed uncharacteristic that the single bloodiest day in Paimpont history had occurred under his authority. Of course, Garin had lived several entire lifetimes prior to meeting her. To be fair, so had Laurent. They’d both done and seen things, terrible, wondrous things she couldn’t have fathomed if she’d tried.

  “How is this possible?” Bastion demanded in bewilderment.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The faerie’s face twitched with intrigue. “Unless…”

  Garin looked up.

  “Recall the arcane laws of vibration,” Kestrel continued. “Magic, you mortals and mongrels call it. If you vampires ever bothered to do a bit of reading in all your wasted time on earth, you’d know that energy is elemental. Environmental… neither created nor destroyed. It merely exists. Is transmuted. Changes shape.”

  This was true—or so Lilac remembered reading. It was impossible for a witch or warlock to draw that amount of power on the spot. Curses required a ritual or ingredient list, certain actions to set into motion—at the very least, herbs or crystals that allowed the caster to tap into nature.

  Kestrel, too, seemed perplexed. He frowned, then cackled aloud—then frowned once more. “It seems to me, it was her own energy wielded into the workings of your biting curse. And it was done instantly, whether she knew it or not.” Kestrel let out a low whistle. “I’d say, for that to occur, there was quite the burst of emotion. A passion crime? An eye for an eye.”

  At this point, both vampires had ceased struggling against the taut vines. Bastion’s anger had finally fizzled, leaving him the energy to quietly grasp each detail of Garin’s story.

  “I mean, it was her entire family I’d killed,” Garin emphasized, a dark sardonicism seeping into his voice now “I drained them—her mother, father, sister. Adelaide burst in on me feeding on her sister, after I’d killed her parents. The home was in shambles after her father fought me; his skull shattered after I’d shoved him against the mantle. She was devastated. Rightly so.”

  His eyes rested distantly upon the floor again, but now she didn’t mind his lack of acknowledgement. Her expression certainly contained all the horror she felt, and it would’ve been impossible to conceal. She’d known it was all wrong. That what she’d begun to feel for him was inconceivable in every sense of the word.

  Upon finishing his story, Garin’s face held neither sorrow nor remorse.

  “What can you eat, then?” Bastion asked, breaking the silence. “How have you survived?”

  Garin sighed, but

  Kestrel interrupted it with an even louder sigh. “Go on, vampire.”

  “I tried to drink from animals soon after I realized the confines of Adelaide’s curse, all the while trying to hide it from the rest of you. I was a fool to think that would do the trick. The chase quelled only the urge to hunt, but I discovered the hard way it does nothing at all to nourish us. I became weak.

  “It didn’t take long before you were finally onto me, Bast. You knew something was wrong, and I refused to admit what had happened. It wasn’t long before we got into that argument, after which I stormed out, determined to find my own way.

  “Immediately after the Raid, King Francis permitted our feeding nights at the inn. An effort in desperation to prevent anything like it from ever o
ccurring again, I suppose. He also ordered the castle chefs to supplement Darkling food and drink with scraps of their own, and even implored the Magicfolk to help. Other vampires from our coven would pass through the inn and saw me after I left, but like you, they believed I’d forgone an existential crisis. Working there at the tavern, no one suspected that I could not feed.”

  Garin inhaled before continuing. “It provided me the opportunity to gain my footing outside the coven; Francis’ Law permitted the tavern there to served bottled blood, human blood, from the few willing donors. I quickly discovered I was able to feed that way without any trouble. It was only Laurent’s death that caused my return to the Mine.”

  He cleared his throat and sighed again, though this time it was a sound of relief, as if finally confessing to Bastion had lifted a tiresome burden.

  “Mmm. Heartwarming,” Kestrel offered blandly, as if expecting a juicer tale. “And how does this tie into the mortal princess falling into your company? Tell us… Did you kidnap her from the castle? We received news of her absence yesterday. The blue jays sing. They tell us things, you see. Her kingdom is in utter chaos. It’s wonderful. Proper job, Garin.”

  Garin grimaced through a tortured smile.

  It was unlike him—what she’d known of him, anyway—to appear so sullen, the fire behind his sharp quips and quick rebuttal suddenly smothered. Despite all he’d confessed, Lilac found herself wishing she could drift over to stroke the sadness from his cheek—or slap the liveliness back into him. Either, there had been more layers to him than he’d ever led on—or, he was an unsettlingly fantastic liar.

  “After hearing of Laurent’s death, I knew I needed to return home. I also knew I wouldn’t be welcome without some sign that my weakness was put well behind me. I needed a blood servant, a thrall, as a front. When the princess,” he nodded toward her without looking at her, “showed up at the inn, she was disguised like any other backwoods farm girl. She was what I needed.

  “I entranced her then lured her further into Brocéliande and, aside from an insignificant Morgen problem, I got her safely to our Mine. I caged her in my chamber, and after she fell asleep, she’d begun to dream vividly. She spoke of her mother and father, and how she would soon ascend to the throne. I then realized her true identity. I drifted to sleep, planning to inform Bastion the next day.” He pursed his lips, feigning frustration with himself. “She escaped before I awoke. I was outside searching for her in a grotto when your Fae guards found me. They then had me track her scent.”