Page 1 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

PART ONE

There once was a girl with eyes full of stars.

She dreamt of far planets, Venus and Mars.

There once was a girl with a heart pure and warm.

She gave it to one, who then turned it to scorn.

-The Diary of Glynis Ashglo

ONE

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Never step inside a mushroom circle, and if you do, be sure not to break it. It is where magic is strongest. Where one of The Others have died. They are sacred and are forever connected to those who remain living.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

“I wonder if the boy will still want you if he knows what you are hiding…” a voice purrs from the depths of my mind, purposefully digging sharp claws into my subconscious as it uncoils from its sleep. I know that voice. It’s the reason I risk escaping the confines of our town for our weekly soirees. It’s the voice I aim to silence. The one I need to silence, lest I suffer the same fate as my mother.

“Bryn?” Declan’s voice softens as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s the matter?” I look down at my feet to see mushrooms circling me. “Careful!” he barks as I decide to step back, but I trample the edge, breaking its perfect sphere. The air buzzes with the sound of a thousand bees, but none are visible. Bouldermore isn’t an average town. Our threats are more than mere superstition. These woods are off limits for good reason, being plagued by monsters preying on innocent flesh.

“Shit.” The single word escapes through my gritted teeth as a gust of wind sweeps across my skin. Shadows darker than midnight dance between the trees, leaping from one stump to the next.

“We should go,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder. His chin brushes against the cluster of rowan berries stitched to the collar of his jacket. The sound of beating wings sends a tingle up my spine, making my heart race. My limbs go weak. It’s said that The Others, monsters too cunning to be spoken of aloud, hunt these woods. By breaking one of their sacred circles, I’ve told them where to find us.

“He will despise me because of you,” I answer the creature in my mind, and its cruel laugh adds to the chill in my veins.

“Bryn? What’s wrong? What are you looking at?” Declan’s panic seeps into his voice, flaring up once more. But he doesn’t look anywhere but at me, doesn’t see what I see, hear what I hear. The sound of the creature’s echoing laughter drowns out his words, as deafening as wind blowing in my ears.

“Don’t you see, young one? No one can hear me but you. I’m as much a part of you as the skin covering your flesh.” Its laughter is vicious. Harsh. It’s the sound that steals me from restful sleep, the voice narrating the dreams that wake me in the depths of the night, drenched in sweat. I need to find nightshade. It’s the only thing that will keep it at bay. “One of these days, you will stop running.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “We need to hurry.”

Declan searches the trees, looking for something, someone, but I know he won’t find anything there. Whatever it is, it only wants me. Its voice lives inside me, clawing for a way out.

“What is it, Bryn?”

“Nothing!” I lie. The truth is that the creature is right. I don’t know what Declan will do if I tell him my secret, and I need him too much to find out. My lungs burn, and my legs tremble by the time we reach the top of the long hill where I’ll find what I need.

I’d give him a reassuring smile if my heart wasn’t threatening to stop beating. There, where the massive patch of nightshade stood only a week ago, is now nothing but a pile of wet dirt, wiped clean of everything that keeps the minuscule shards of hope alive within me.

TWO

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Deadly nightshade, also known as Belladonna, should be handled with utmost care as it is one of the deadliest plants in existence. It is associated with the word “silence” since it is believed that the gods themselves created this plant to silence their enemies for all eternity.

The Herbal Healer’s handbook, by Agnes O’Connel

“Gods! What happened here?” Declan gasps over my shoulder. “What a shame. I know how much you liked those flowers.” His hands rest on the sides of my shoulders but fail to give me strength. The creature’s laughter echoes in my mind, reverberating down to my bones. “I saw a patch of yellow ones not too far from here.” He tries to comfort me, flexing his fingers against my skin. To him, I’m a foolish girl in need of her favourite flowers to decorate her bedroom. He’d never been inside my room, so he wouldn’t know that these flowers have never been on display. He doesn’t know what they’re called, nor does he know that possessing them would single me out as a threat, a witch. If only he knew those flowers are the only things able to silence the thing crawling beneath my skin. Declan would probably condemn me along with everyone else if he knew. I wouldn’t blame him; he’s too straight-cut, too honest and good. Declan is too brilliant to be burdened by my secrets, and I fear I’ve already tainted him enough.

It’s not the howling wind blowing through the trees that raises the hair on my arms. Nor is it my waterlogged boots. Dread has dug its talons into me. With my secret patch of nightshade gone, I’ll undoubtedly lose my mind the way my mother did, driven mad by magic, same as all the witches in our family. Nightshade is as lethal as it is beautiful. Ten drops of it brewed as tea will draw an adult man into an endless sleep. In lower dosages, it numbs enough to ward off restlessness, a lingering pain, or even a witch’s madness setting in. In essence, it’s an escape from this life and its afflictions. It had helped to extend my mother’s time with me, for which, I’ll always be grateful. Nightshade is my only hope, but now all hope is gone.

“You’re right. The yellow ones will look just as nice.” I force a smile as nausea creeps up my throat. I hate yellow. I hate that it’s our family’s signet colour. I hate that it’s cheerful and happy. And I hate the fact that I can’t like those flowers for his sake.

“Come,” he whispers, returning my smile and taking my hand in his. Pressing my cheek to his shoulder, I inhale his scent. Pine needles, sandlewood, and a tinge of sweat. Moments ago, he told me he was leaving Bouldermoore to become Prince Eamon’s valet, a position his father had pleaded for on Declan’s behalf. I can still see the smear of mud splattered across Declan’s face, the evidence of my fury after he delivered the news and walked away. I swallow my amusement as I recall the flare of his nostrils when he turned to face me, mud clumped against the back of his head. I’ll miss him fiercely. It’s unfortunate that his family despises people like me about as much as they do a contagious disease, as if the creature inside me can attach itself to them. As if it is my choice to be the way I am. A witch. The label feels surreal still, even though I’ve silently worn it for most of my life.