Page 67 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

My heart leaps as the wallpaper gives way to a perfectly cut door, the edge velvety and sharp. I open it without making a single sound. Every nerve in my body vibrates when I step into the dark. Lanterns hang on the wall, curving along a stone staircase, but I have no way of lighting them, not possessing magic of my own. As much as I hated my witch status back home, I want nothing more than for there to be truth to the accusation as I slowly descend the steps.

There’s enough light flooding from the open door to guide my steps, and as I reach the bottom, there’s just enough to allude to a table at the centre of the room. The air is cold and damp and smells foul, like old clotted blood. It’s too dark for details, but I see enough to know there’s a map. My fingers trace the contours drawn on the large piece of paper, kept in place by heavy items that look like unpolished crystals.

“Fómhar,” I whisper, straining to read the words on the map. Four small pawns stand next to it. “Samhradh.” Ten stone flags surround the next. “Earrach.” And then the furthest of them all. I squint to see the name written in perfect cursive amongst contours that can only indicate mountains. “Geimhreadh.” This isn’t just a room. This is where they strategize, where they hide their secrets. This is a war room, perhaps even a dungeon. I take a step back, too quick to be graceful, then run up the steps to collect a notebook and candle.

THIRTY-TWO

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Blood oaths are entered willingly and solidify loyalty. Even if one wishes to betray the other, a blood oath would prohibit the action. This is the equivalent of a faerie bargain, with the exception that it isn’t sealed with a curse but obedience.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

“Are you decent?” Sloan calls from my door, not giving me the chance to answer before barging in.

I quickly shove the replica of their map under my pillow. Two letters lay atop: one with correspondence between myself and Declan, and the other with my notes to King Brogan. My hands shake. “You didn’t give me time to say no!” My eyes narrow at the male who casually flops onto my bed. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s improper to join a lady in her room?”

“You’re decent enough,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“How would you have known that? Never mind.” It’s been three days since we returned to Odhran’s home. Three days since I’ve spoken to him. Three days of clinging to my anger as if it were the only thing keeping me alive. “What are you eating?” My lip curls as I watch him chew.

“Cheesecake, with fresh strawberries.” He scoops another spoonful and stuffs it into his mouth.

Mine waters. “Alright… but why here?”

“Odhran asked me to bring it to you,” he says, smile widening. For three days, Odhran has sent his best friend to deliver small gifts. I’ve refused all the others, including the basket of herbs and plants I’d collected outside the tavern.

“You didn’t think to ask if I wanted it?” I raise my brow at him.

“And ruin your streak of annoyance? Nope.” He pops the last syllable before eating the final bite.

“You’re a pig!” I glare at him, trying and failing to hide my enjoyment of his company.

“Are you flirting with me?” The grin on his face is one of pure mischief. “I thought I could train you today? Get your heart pumping a bit?” He leans onto his elbow, and auburn curls fall recklessly across one eye.

“Why would I want to do that?” I stand to tidy the already neat desk in the corner.

“Have I ever told you why I’m such an awe-inspiring warrior?” he drawls.

“A humble one at that,” I mutter over my shoulder, keeping my back turned to him.

“My father wasn’t a nice man. He was a good soldier and provided us with what we needed, but his temperament was as unstable as the warring seas. He could be nice one minute only to turn savage the next. Most of the time, my mother took the brunt of it.” He shrugs when I turn to face him.

“I—” don’t know what to say.

“It was a long time ago, girly. Don’t worry. Anyway, as I was saying, I quickly learned to diffuse tension in a room with my quick wits and amazing humour.” His laughter is loud and guttural. It’s an awkward thing to do, laugh while telling a story that’s so deeply troubling. Perhaps it’s a habit, diverting towards something lighter when the mood grows sombre. “It works most of the time, but not all the time. When it didn’t, I took to the training arena. It helps to silence the demons eating at you inside.”

“I’m sorry, Sloan. I didn’t know.” My voice cracks.

“Everyone has demons, girly. You, me, Odhran, Eadan, Sheridan. Hell, even sweet little Àine has her fair share.” He stands, strolling over to me, and places his hand on my shoulder, cooling the fire burning in my gut. “Come. Let me show you some of my moves. Who knows, perhaps I’ll even let you hit me.” He winks, and a smile threatens my lips.

Days turn into weeks. Each day, Sloan and I train in the courtyard. Some days we have spectators, but mostly it’s only the two of us. Although my body aches every night, I’ve never felt so strong. He was right—training does help quiet the storm of emotions inside of me, even though it doesn’t quiet Aed. For over two weeks, my head has been filled with his pacing and ramblings as he goes over the map I copied from Odhran’s war room, marked with landmarks and army locations. He’s also memorised the map Declan provided, detailing the castle’s layout, and I’ve been forced to listen to him reciting distances and locations over and over again.

I unwrap the protective bandage around my knuckles and between my fingers, looking up at my reflection in my bathroom mirror. A completely different girl than the one who haunted my reflection at home looks back at me.

I remove Declan’s letter from my drawer and see a new note.

I have found the Mirror of Bones. Why do you need this dreadful thing? Should I be worried?