Page 60 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

I don’t know what he said, and even less what to say in return, so I kiss him again as he tessers us away.

TWENTY-NINE

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Though not permanently apparent in most, all faeries possess sharp teeth. Civility dictates their visibility.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

Light floods from the tavern’s door and over the wooden steps in front of us. A strong breeze blows, swaying the thick woolen fabric of my cloak as the sign board slaps against the building’s lintel. The Shadowed Cauldron. The writing is smooth block letters, carved into wood. I hear cheering and singing, conversations and laughter. With our rooms located above the tavern during one of the faerie high festivals, there will be no place quiet enough to sleep. Not until the sun rises and they all return to their lodgings. It appears as though I’m slowly developing the sleeping habits of these beings myself. It almost feels normal, and I realise that I’ve always favoured the night.

“We should go inside.” Odhran’s hand is at my back. His fingers flex tentatively against the laces of my new leather corset, guiding me towards the door. The action feels natural, as though it’s always been this easy between us. As if human and faerie aren’t meant to destroy one another. “I must apologise for my friends in advance,” he shares with amusement.

“This isn’t my first time meeting them, you know.” I raise a brow at the tall fae prince at my side. He’s ridiculously handsome when his lips pull into that relaxed crooked smile. Asymmetry has never been so beautiful on such a perfect face.

“There’s no turning back from here. You’re about to uncover all our terrible secrets.” It’s not the arrogant and grumpy Odhran I see looking down at me. This version of him is at ease, almost… happy. Eadan had said he doesn’t like being close to the castle. I never realised what an impact it has on him.

Inside, the tavern resembles a hollowed out tree, with rough timber walls decorated with moss and ivy. It’s filled with high fae and lesser faeries, although there are more of the latter. High fae have a closer semblance to humans despite their pointed ears and striking eyes. Lesser faeries, I’ve learned, represent nature more closely. Some have animal-like features, like tails and fur-tufted ears. Their skin takes on a different color in any shade of the rainbow and are breathtaking in their own unique ways. A lesser faerie man with pale-blue skin flashes me a dangerous smile, exposing shark-like teeth as sharp as razors. I envision them tearing through flesh as his victim’s blood drips down his pale-blue chin. My hand goes to the pendant around my neck—the one Odhran gave me and insisted that I wear, protecting me against compulsion—and wonder if it protects me against Odhran’s compulsions too.

“Faeries are cunning. They may not lie outright, but there are many paths leading towards the same destination.” Aed’s voice is a cruel purr that I choose to ignore. The one thing I can’t ignore however is how Odhran’s possessions can’t harm him, and how helpful it would be if he had a charm preventing his servants from being compelled to turn against him. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel my shoulders tense, my steps becoming stiff at Odhran’s side. I feel his eyes on me too.

“He won’t harm you. None of them will.” He looks around the room, warning anyone who dares to set eyes on me, the only human here. Creatures so tall and large they have to hunch their backs to stand indoors step aside, clearing our path to our booth.

“Hey! They finally made it!” Sloan announces, raising his glass above his head. Ale runs down his arm and drips from his elbow, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He stands, pushing his auburn curls from his face, which are now damp with what fills his glass. Knocking the table with his knee, he makes glasses clink together and sway on the wooden surface. Being the daughter of a winemaker, this isn’t my first time seeing a man intoxicated, but it is my first time joining the table.

“Will you sit down, you big idiot!” Eadan moves out of his way, wrinkling her nose at him. Instead of her usual tight-fitting pants and black corset, she’s chosen a sleek black dress with a slit up to her hip.

“She loves me,” he says with a wink, rolling his head back in comfortable laughter. He pushes his hair from his face once more, but the curls immediately fall back over his eye in protest. Eadan sighs, rolling her eyes at him. Despite her annoyance, she smiles softly before taking a sip from her glass. Hers isn’t filled with ale, but something thick and red to match her lips. My skin tingles as I imagine the source, picturing what, or who, it came from. I can smell its metallic scent from where I sit, and my sister’s face flashes through my mind, accompanied by a bitter tang on my tongue. I’ve been so occupied with my own circumstances that I haven’t put in enough effort to free her of hers. I’ll do better.

“I’m glad to see nobody has killed anyone in my absence,” Odhran says to his friends, pulling out a chair for me to sit at their table. My heart beats a little faster, accepting his offer without a second thought. I think of the meadow and the feel of his lips on mine. My cheeks heat instantly as I let my mind wander a little too far and thank the gods for the dim lighting.

Sheridan’s chuckle is quiet as he stands to make room for Odhran beside him. “The night is still young, and Eadan has yet to show her hand.” It’s only then that I notice the pile of silver coins in the centre of the table, and the deck of cards beside it with five turned face up.

“Read them and weep!” Sloan slams his palm onto the table. Glass rattles in front of me, and the table cracks through the centre, but I inch away from the spillage. I’m not afraid of him or anyone else seated around this table. “Three of a kind,” he announces, his voice booming above the music.

Eadan’s smile is slow to spread, like water soaked up by paper. She remains quiet for a beat, then two, allowing the brawny fae male to gloat a little while longer. His arms raise triumphantly, encouraging praise. “Full house.” She smiles back at him, and it carries the sharp edge of victory. Placing her two cards face up, she finally reveals her two aces before collecting the pile of silver at the centre of the table.

“Fuck my life,” Sloan says in a long sigh, slumping back into his chair. He stares at the table for a minute, his eyes expressionless before he launches to his feet once more. “Wait! She’s cheating! No one wins this often!” Both his hands are in his hair as he paces two steps at a time. “Sheridan?” He looks at his friend who laughs, shaking his head in answer.

“Do you want a rematch?” Odhran asks, gathering the cards. His grin broadens as he exchanges a knowing look with his friends, and I can’t help but enjoy watching their carefree interaction.

“If I’m going to get screwed, I’d rather enjoy it.” Sloan narrows his eyes at Eadan, who purposefully counts her winnings in response. I see the smile she’s suppressing, just as I see the lack of anger in Sloan’s dramatics. “I’m going to try my luck over there.” He gestures to the bar and the group of faerie women in front of it. Sloan sways slightly when he walks away, not exactly setting himself up for success.

I raise my brow as I study the women’s reactions to Sloan. “At least he chose the safe route. He definitely won’t get screwed there,” I say aloud, without thinking. The moment I realise that I said what I thought instead of just thinking it, my cheeks flame with embarrassment.

Eadan stops counting. Odhran leans back in his bench seat, hiding his amusement. Sheridan steals a look at Sloan over his shoulder, and I curse myself, my stupid mouth, and the fact that I always seem to do the wrong thing. Then, they all laugh. I sink into the backrest of my chair, the tension I’d been holding vanishing into thin air.

“The human has a sense of humour.” Sheridan laughs, collecting his glass from the table.

“Bryn,” Odhran corrects him, not taking his eyes off me. Though he’s smiling, there’s no humour in his voice. “Bryn has an excellent sense of humour.”

“Deal her a hand,” Eadan tells Odhran, clinking her glass against mine. “And you better drink. You have some catching up to do.”

“Have you played before?” Sheridan asks, moving a little closer, ready to give me instructions.

“No, never,” I lie, trying my best to look ignorant.

Sheridan rambles on, explaining the rules of the game, but my attention is fixed on Odhran. His eyes sear into mine, his smile never fading. In the game designed to mislead your opponent, the odds are in my favour, the mortal liar.