Page 3 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“Hurry up!” I look back at Declan who is seemingly oblivious to my near heart attack. If not for the sloshing in my boots, I’d be pacing. I can’t stand still, can’t wait idly until we’re discovered. Hurry the fuck up, Duskrun!

“Just a second.” He has his arm almost shoulder-deep in the icy water, his jacket thrown over his back.

“There’s no time to look for it now!” He always has to cross his T’s and dot his I’s. The son of a soldier. A perfectionist.

“They’ll see it’s missing when they do their rounds in the morning. I have to!” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Not. Now.”

“What are you afraid of, young one? Getting caught or not being able to silence me for much longer?” The creature’s voice drips with malice, and I swear something sharp drags up my spine, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“I still have another vial left,” I tell it, boldness setting in and taking over. When backed into a corner, what other choice is there but to fight?

“By the gods, Declan, we need to get inside before they come back from wherever they went. We don’t have time!” Not when everyone is awake and not when the path is clear enough to make our way back to our rooms in secret.

“Fine,” he seethes, shaking the water from his arm while his shirt remains plastered to his skin. He’s next to me a heartbeat later, dragging me across the square, even though I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself. Shrugging free from his grip, I ignore the wave of annoyance radiating off him. He isn’t the only one burning with irritation.

We dart across the open square, pressing our backs to the wall on the other side. The drumming in my ears is deafening. I don’t bother to leap over the puddles the way I did earlier tonight and march straight through them. Declan ushers me past the empty stables and around the corner. There it is, the door I used on my way out and my only way back in. His hand falls to the small of my back as he flexes his fingers against my dress beneath my cloak, his breath pluming white on a deep exhale, as though he has something he needs to say. Our earlier conversation refreshes itself in my memory. So I can legitimately claim you.

“Wait,” he whispers, fisting my dress in his palm. I look up at him, and my stomach flutters. In his eyes is a question he dares not voice. A question I dare not answer. Is that even something I want? A romantic relationship with Declan? To be his wife?

I hesitate, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Our eyes meet, but I look away. Perhaps it’s nerves. Perhaps…

He clears his throat. “We need to get our stories straight. In case anyone asks.” The fluttering in my stomach vanishes as quickly as it came.

“I never saw you. Tonight never happened.” My gaze falls to his muddy boots. Pressing my lips together, I take a step toward the door and away from him.

“I never saw you.” His throat bobs, and he releases my dress. “And neither of us ventured outside these walls.” His voice grates against his throat.

I nod and walk away as heaviness settles in my chest, the sound of retreating footsteps holding me captive.

As I reach the door, I’m not surprised to find it ajar. The blue sandbag wedged between the door and its frame is still there to keep me from being locked out. The last thing I need is to be stranded outside with no way to get in. How would I explain that?

Pushing the bag against the wall with my foot, I turn to close the door behind me. Do I want Declan to ask for my hand? He has been my friend for as long as I can remember, the only one to not judge me by my stepmother’s false accounts. Unclasping my cloak, I hang it on the brass hook by the door before unlacing and stepping out of my boots. Even in the dark, I know where to find it. I cough into the crook of my arm; afraid someone may hear me.

“You know you can do so much better than the stable boy,” a sweet voice says from my left. Laoise steps out of the shadows and into the spear of moonlight streaming through the glass pane above the door, her arms folded neatly across her chest.

“What are you doing out of bed this late?” I try to act calm. It’s been a wild night, rendering me a nervous wreck. Smiling at her, I hope she doesn’t recognise my lack of sincerity, or worse, my attempt to hide what I’ve been up to.

“He is the help, Bryn. Ashglo’s do not frolic with the help.” I roll my eyes at her comment. At sixteen years old, she already sounds like my stepmother. Her eyes widen, but I wrap my arm around her shoulders. She’s shorter than I am and feels fragile in my arms. Despite my father’s tall and strong stature, he’s sired three daughters, all slight and finely built, the youngest, a mere four years old and prone to illness. Perhaps it’s a mercy that he never sired a son. Girls get away with being delicate. They don’t grant boys the same leniency. Social acceptances are rarely fair and without cruelty. Why can’t a strong woman lead? Why is a sickly boy easily discarded? And why can’t women wear pants?! Women aren’t only meant for breeding alone; we can do so much more. Should do so much more.

“He’s my friend,” I answer, unsure of my words as I speak them. We’ve never labelled what we are to each other.

“One that spends midnight hours with his arm around your waist? I saw the way he looks at you.” She gives me a sideways glance.

“I promise you; we are only friends.” The truth is that I’m not sure what we are.

“Good!” She smiles, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

Lanterns glow from the end of the passage, lighting our way as we continue toward the stairs and ultimately our rooms. I stay behind her, hiding the waterlogged hem of my navy-blue dress. The material is cold against my legs as I walk, a stark reminder of where I’ve been. The shuffling of our slippers echoes through the barren space. Laoise takes her lantern from the small round table at the end of the passage and immediately halts, studying me. Her jaw drops as her eyes roam down my body. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, aware of the mud on my skirt. Aware of the way it may look and the conversation we just finished. Aware that the mud stretches well beyond the hem, as if I had lain flat on the ground.

“Bryn…” My name on her lips comes as a gasp.

“What?” I frown. “I fell.” It sounds unbelievable even to me.

“It looks like you…” She gasps again. “Father is going to… We need to get you to your room.” She grabs my hand, and a smile tugs at my lips. Laoise may be my half-sister, but at this moment, I love her with my whole heart.

A mumbling of voices sound from the hall ahead. I squeeze Laoise’s hand, telling her to wait. I can’t make out the sources, but I hear enough to know they belong to two men. The deep, rumbling baritone of one alludes as much, and the low response of the second confirms it as my curiosity gets the better of me.