Page 86 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

Orange capes outnumber black armour tenfold, but Odhran stands tall at the forefront. His sword of black gleams in the moonlight. Cavalry ready their charge, gathering on the edge of the battlefield. I steady my breath, take aim, and release. The arrow soars through the air, missing its mark. Fuck! Drawing a second, I release the string. It pierces the armour of a Fómhar rider. He falls, and his horse takes off into the woods. Those among him scatter, unified in uncertainty, searching the shadows but not finding me.

“Good,” Aed growls, his talons digging into me.

Biting down, I reload, muscle memory guiding my movements. I’m using a skill Declan taught me to fight against his planned ambush. I stabbed him. I stabbed my friend. Raising my bow, I take aim, ready to let my arrow go, just as I’m ready to let Declan go, too.

I let loose another arrow, watching as it pierces through the enemy’s ranks. Another rider falls, and Aed roars with approval.

Odhran shapes his shadows into an impenetrable shield as Sheridan tessers his men away. I watch as King Brogan’s cavalry charges, ignoring my arrows streaking the night sky. Odhran is retreating, shielding his men as they go. He’s standing ground on their behalf. Reaching behind my back, my heart clammers against my ribs. My quiver is empty. My last arrow shot.

I barely feel my legs as I run toward him from the edge of the forest. Each stride is clumsy with exhaustion. “Odhran!” I cry out. His eyes find mine amidst the chaos. The roar of battle is deafening. Black tears spill from his eyes, brought on by an overuse of power. There has to be balance. There is always a cost.

A spear sings through the air and misses me by mere inches. I don’t let it deter me, not halting my approach, not even when the ground trembles beneath my feet. Not even when a rider charges at me, sword drawn.

“Take the spear!” Aed snarls. “Use it! Now!”

I stop and turn, bending down to pick it up out of the mud. As I grasp the cold metal, the weight of the spear fills my hands. Hatred surges through my veins. I rise, my grip firm, and face the charging rider. His eyes widen in surprise, but it’s too late.

With a primal scream, I thrust the spear forward, aiming for his horse as I angle the other end into the ground. The force of the impact threatens to knock me off balance, but I let go just in time as horse and rider fall to the muddy ground. My muscles ache, but I push through, driven by the urgency to join Odhran behind his shield.

A grating roar sounds behind me, and I turn to look. The rider regains his footing, sword drawn. My bare foot catches on something hard, slicing into my flesh—a discarded sword from one of the fallen. I duck under his swing, narrowly avoiding the blade that seeks to claim my life. Out of nowhere, a dagger cuts through the air, planting its black blade deep between the soldier’s eyes. His features relax, and the anger in his eyes fades as he falls to the ground, defeated.

I turn my attention back to Odhran who clutches his abdomen. His shield of unwavering resolve has fallen. I charge toward him, dodging arrows and sidestepping fallen warriors. My heart pounds in my chest, an erratic, fast-paced rhythm that matches the intensity of the battle. Odhran’s gaze never wavers, his eyes filled with exhaustion.

Hooves echo through the valley, growing louder as more riders approach. It’s like a rolling thunder drawing near. Dangerous and threatening. Everything inside me vibrates with panic. I’m not a warrior. I don’t strategize. I only want to correct the wrong I did. I never should have trusted Declan. I never should have taken notes of Odhran’s map and plans.

Only a few of Odhran’s men are left on the battlefield. Three riders charge at me, their steely resolve contrasting with my complete lack of arms. A deep sense of dread seeps into my veins.

“Look after her, Reptile,” Odhran’s voice echoes across our bond.

“Certainly, Blood Sucker,” Aed agrees.

I want to scream at them. I want to tell them I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. That they shouldn’t speak in such a tone. That they better not dare leave me. But no words form on my lips, neither through our connection. My gaze returns to Odhran, and a wave of his power, as dark as the night and colder than ice, strikes my chest. I stagger backwards, and a chill runs through me, freezing me from within. His outstretched palm points in my direction as arrows fly toward him, piercing his body, one after another. He falls backward onto the unforgiving ground. My eyes remain fixed on Odhran until I can’t see anymore.

FORTY-TWO

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Poppy, particularly red poppies, have strong narcotic properties. While the seeds are generally opium free, the plant itself should be handled with care. It does not only serve to lessen physical pain, but also grief after the loss of a loved one. That is why they are commonly found at burial grounds.

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

“Cuisle mo chroidhe,” Odhran’s voice is a sensual rumble against my skin, planting kisses along my neck. The morning sun glows on his skin, his features relaxed, happy. “This is how I wanted you to wake up that morning after… This is how I want you to wake every morning, forever.” His lips curve into a smile as he leans back onto his elbow, raking his fingers through messy silver hair.

I smile back at him, feeling content. If I could freeze time, I’d stop it right here, in a moment so perfect it’s like a…

I swallow. “How did we get here?” I ask him, looking around the room. His room. The one I haven’t seen again after leaving for the coronation. My heart lurches, unable to trust this moment.

“Does it really matter?” His eyes, a shade of light grey, soften as they mimic the gentle caress of his fingers trailing down my arm, leaving a path of warmth in their wake.

“It doesn’t make sense.” The words escape my lips in a whisper. I search for any wounds, any visible marks that would indicate the battle we’d fought. Any reason to believe that this is true. But there’s none to be found.

“Odhran…” My chest tightens until I can barely breathe.

“I saw into your dream when you were sleeping,” he whispers. His warm breath tickles my ear. Leaning closer, he plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, his lips soft against my skin. I breathe in the smell of cinnamon and peppermint, a subtle and intoxicating scent. I want to hold on to this moment. Perhaps I’m finally losing my mind like I believed I would a few weeks ago. Perhaps this is real, and I’m sabotaging my own happiness.

My fingers tangle in his hair. Drawing him nearer, I murmur, “You are my dream. Every perfectly imperfect part of you.” You’re the only one who truly sees me. The only one who doesn’t expect me to fit into some sort of mould. We are two sides of the same coin. Our lips meet in a passionate embrace, our emotions and desires intertwining.

“Bryn,” Aed’s voice calls to me, as gentle as a breeze through tall trees. I ignore him.