Page 10 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“Who are you?” she asked him, frowning as though he were the one out of place and not her.

“I could be asking you the same thing, but I already know. You’re Lord Ashglo’s daughter, aren’t ye?” He raised one brow and sat down, cross-legged, in the straw in front of her as though it was the most natural thing to do. “Declan Owyn Duskrun at your service.” When he smiled at her, his green eyes narrowed with sincerity.

Bryndis smiled back, hesitantly at first, but the sight of his smile and the gaps in his teeth warmed her heart.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She held her hand out to him, palm facing down. The boy didn’t know the etiquette for greeting a lady, so he didn’t take her hand; instead, he grabbed her hand, turned it sideways, and shook. It was the way his father had taught him to greet a man. In his mind, there was no other option. They hadn’t taught him anything else, therefore there was no other way.

She laughed, the sound making him pause. He forgot what he wanted to say, forgot what chores he was meant to do, forgot everything as he listened to her laugh and watched her eyes brighten.

“Declan!?” his mother called in the distance, and he scrambled to his feet, dusting the straw from his pants while he looked over the stall door. His mother didn’t see him, but he knew she wouldn’t stop looking until she’d found him. It was almost suppertime, after all.

The girl’s smile faded as quickly as it came, the tightness in her chest returning almost instantly.

“You can stay here as long as you like. I’ll keep ol’ Misty in the paddock,” he whispered, lowering himself to her level. He didn’t know why he said what he did next, but it meant more to the girl than he would ever realise. “It’ll be our secret.”

SIX

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

The Others are known to roam the night on the eve of Samhain. Leaving offerings on your doorstep will prevent them from coming inside and claiming an offering of their own liking.

The Legends Of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

It’s long past lunch when we finally venture into town. Shadows stretch out across the cobbled paving, lazily coming to rest at our feet.

“You know you’d look sho mush prettier if you jusht…” Laoise says, slurring her words. An action caused by me overestimating the dosage of poppy tea she’d willingly consume. She never even tasted it in her tea and drank every drop without complaint. Before I can stop her, Laoise reaches for my hair, twisting my long black curls into an intricate updo. Even with her one hand tightly wrapped in a bandage and her being practically drugged into a stupor, she has more skill than I do, having all the mannerisms of a lady. With unparalleled grace and training, she’ll be an asset to any home she runs, to any man who makes her his wife. I’m different, though. My black hair and mismatched eyes are but another of many elements setting me apart from those close to me.

I grab her wrist and remove her hand from touching me. She laughs, but my grip is too tight. Annoyance and anger affect my judgement, letting my mask slip a little too far. I hate that I hurt her and am livid with myself for getting her dosage wrong. I’m disappointed in myself, irritated at my incompetence, but mostly… mostly… guilt gnaws at me, fraying my nerves. I may have ruined my life, fine, but now Declan’s future may be affected. And Laoise, my sweet and innocent little sister, is hurt, because of me! Her relaxed posture turns rigid as her eyes widen, her smile from a moment ago gone in the blink of an eye. Pity glistens brightly in her eyes, and I look away, unable to stand the sight.

“Stop that!” a familiar voice growls, but I’m the only one who hears it.

The creature stirs, casting its imaginary shadows between the buildings, following me. His movement is slow and cunning, slithering beneath my skin. “Tell me, young one, what is so attractive about being like the smiling girl?”

“Leave me alone!” I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing myself for not indulging in a second drop of nightshade. But as much as I hate its voice in my head not being fully suppressed, I dread the day my supply runs out even more.

“Such harsh words for a lady… although, I have heard you utter words even less ladylike than that.” Like wind blowing through tall trees, its voice stirs within me, steady and distant, yet powerful beyond my comprehension. The shadows across the road twitch, and I flinch. If Laoise wasn’t drugged, she wouldn’t have overlooked my misstep. The big willow’s branches at the centre of the village square seem to curl down towards me like a beast’s claws seeking to draw blood, but only I can see it, my sanity failing me.

“Why do you always do that?” Laoise asks, catching me off guard. A small crease is etched between her brows as she studies me.

“What?” I pull back my shoulders, fixing my eyes on the path ahead, feeling the disapproval of the creature beneath my skin.

“Why do you always shut me out?” Her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks. We walk past the first line of vendors at the market to see the square decorated with bright linen flags, ribbons, and flowers. It’s prettier than I’d ever seen before. Probably thanks to our royal visitor. It’s amazing what people are capable of when they want to impress. Masks dangle from the willow tree, hanging by their ribbons like heretics. Food and treats wait in baskets at every door, filling the air with a sweet buttery scent.

“Go.” I force my lips into a half smile, jutting my chin toward the market square and the unfamiliar wagon up ahead. With its many drawers lining each side, it’s most certainly an interesting attraction. It’s no surprise that it catches her attention immediately. Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she looks at it and then back at me. The knobs on the drawers are a patchwork of mismatched porcelain, painted in the brightest colours. Colours that decorate her wardrobe and belongings alike.

“Go get yourself something pretty.” I wink, repeating my father’s words to her before we left. I hold out a piece of silver in the palm of my hand, offering it to her. If there’s one thing that distracts my sister almost as easily as talk of dowries and marriage, it’s money and all the interesting things it buys.

“Thank you,” she squeaks, rising on her toes with a slight wobble to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. Our conversation, not yet concluded, is completely forgotten, falling short of her priorities. My smile is genuine, as small as it may be. Not only am I free of her questioning, but she’s happy.

I’m not in the market for ribbons or broaches like she is. I don’t care for trinkets and the like. What’s the point, really? I’ll never be the lady of a house, not a grand one at least. Perhaps none at all. My stepmother would never allow me to succeed at anything, especially ahead of her daughter. Father has never encouraged suitors or engaged in any negotiations on my behalf, probably because he feels the way my stepmother does; I wouldn’t know for certain since he barely glances my way. I’m the invisible daughter serving no purpose but to chaperone their little diamond. Luckily, I don’t care for marriage. Being bound to another feels like a new shackle in trade for the one I already have. I’m content with only my music, books, and small herb garden… and Declan. My heart constricts as his words from last night flood my memory. He’s leaving. My hand rests above my heart, instinctively soothing an invisible ache.

I stay close enough to Laoise to hear her laugh politely in awkwardly worded conversation. Her slurred speech is less noticeable than before as she admires the many items on display.

With the preparations for Samhain in full swing, it seems as if the entire town has come to the market. A sea of vendors stretches across the square, their contents plentiful and vast in variety, from prepared meals to elaborate cakes, loaves of fresh bread and the brightest, most colourful selection of fruit I’ve ever seen. The smell is so rich and delicious that my mouth waters, and my stomach churns with hunger, reminding me that I haven’t eaten.

Luckily for Laoise, these vendors managed to enter the gates before the prince ordered them shut. Unluckily for them, they’ll now be housed with welcoming residents or in the town hall until further notice. Bouldermore, being a place of precaution, has more than enough foodstores safely guarded within these walls. Fresh water flows freely from the mountain through the furrow we use as an escape. Livestock are held in liveries, and all residents are safe, but the unharvested crops need to be tended to, and oat hay needs to be cut and baled.

“Lee?” I ask, touching her shoulder. She doesn’t bat an eyelid as she digs through a wicker bin filled with ribbon and lace. “I’ll be right back. Promise me that you’ll stay right here.” My eyes land on the guards standing at every exit, ensuring our visitors stay put and don’t create an uproar in their attempts to leave our town in favour of their own. We’ve never locked our gates during daylight hours, and there’s no telling what some people will do in their desperation to escape. “Laoise?!” I raise my voice, effectively losing my patience. Whether I’m the least loved Ashglo or not, I still carry the responsibility to protect the family name, and I will be held accountable.