Page 9 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“I’m unsure, but it’s uncommon,” he says with a sigh, dropping heavy items that sound like his armour onto the floor. “Anything uncommon is usually unfavourable.”

I don’t miss the sound of her gasp. “You know what this means?” my mother asks. When I open my door a sliver, she has her palm to the side of my father’s face, her eyes darting from left to right.

He leans into her touch. “Someone on our side of the wall broke the treaty.” I immediately recall the damned mushroom circle and the surge of energy that encircled us when Bryn broke it. Mushroom circles are sacred. They’re markers of magic, and one of the reasons we are forbidden from entering the forest.

Her eyes squeeze shut. “May the princes be merciful.”

“May they be merciful,” my father repeats. He drags his hands over my mother’s shoulder, exposing her skin before pressing his lips to her neck. I close the door without hesitation.

There go my hopes of finding peaceful sleep. I’m sure to be left with nightmares instead.

PART TWO

Hope is fickle.

Hope is sweet.

Hope is a murderer,

Who leaves your heart dead at your feet.

-The Diary of Glynis Ashglo

THE PAST

Bryndis Ashglo’s mother never missed a key on the pianoforte. Not until that day. Over the past week, her face had become as pale as the white porcelain cup on the tray beside them. Bryndis ceased her playing, the room turning deadly silent. Her eyes fell to her mother’s delicate hands, trembling like leaves in a breeze.

“Mama, are you alright?” Her small voice grew even smaller, pitched with the sharp edge of concern. Even at the young age of ten years, she knew something was very wrong. “I’ll call for help!” Her heart raced as her chest tightened. Her mother was her entire world.

Bryndis lunged from the narrow wooden bench beside her mother where they were playing their favourite duet. She may have been fast in her reaction, but her mother was even faster, grabbing hold of the girl’s arm and stopping her in her tracks. She gasped, startled by her mother’s abrupt response, so unlike the gentle lady she was.

“No!” her mother shouted. The sound of her voice sounded foreign to the little girl who had spent every waking hour with her beloved mother. There was no one in the world who she loved more. Glancing at her white-knuckled fingers wrapped around her daughter’s arm, Glynis Ashglo released her grip. She brought her hand to her chest, clutching it there as though it were injured. Her eyes were wide with fear, an expression the girl had never seen on her mother’s face until that day.

“No, my love. I’m alright.” Her voice softened, but despite the pleasant ring, she couldn’t prevent her distress from tainting her expression. She was tired. Her eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and fatigue muted the chime in her voice.

Slowly, the girl sat back down, despite the hammering of her heart and the thoughts racing through her mind. There was only one illness to fear in this world: the curse of magic that claimed many lives. No, she told herself. No. Mama will be alright. She isn’t a witch. She’d know if she was. Wouldn’t she?

Her mother’s face had grown pale and her touch cold. Glynis Ashglo was always petite, both in height and build, but her dainty hands had become bony and her eyes sunken above her sharp cheekbones. Even her black hair had lost its shine.

Young Bryndis watched her mother as if she were a subject to study. She watched her bravely pull her shoulders back and lift her chin with pride and determination, watched the pained flutter of her eyelids when she closed them upon a lengthy inhale of breath. Her mother turned her head to smile down at her. The smile she gave her daughter was as bright as any she’d ever given, but it didn’t bring joy to the girl’s heart as it had before. This time it brought with it an ache that wrapped itself around her torso and refused to let go.

As young as she was, Bryndis knew that her days with her mother were numbered, and it scared her. Despite her anxiety, she followed her mother’s example by correcting her posture and rewarding the smile she’d been gifted with one of her own. Be brave, be strong, but always be yourself. It was a valuable lesson her mother had passed down to her.

Glynis’ fingers once again danced across the keys like a butterfly fluttering from one flower to the next, her movements soft and effortless. The notes on the page, simple black ink on white paper, became a melody, and that melody was her mother. She didn’t become the music; she was the music. For the first time in her short life, Bryndis wished for time to stop. To freeze it at that moment. She wished to sit and play alongside her mother for all eternity, but she would soon learn that wishing was foolish.

“Come now.” Her mother nudged her with an elbow, urging her to take her position before her section of the music caught up to her.

Nodding, the girl sniffed back unshed tears and played and played and played, until her mother grew too tired to continue. Until her frailty caught up to her, forcing her to turn back to her room and rest.

“As soon as I feel better, we’ll continue,” her mother said with a smile. A smile that was weaker than the one before. A smile that was accompanied by a glistening in her eyes.

Young Bryndis couldn’t bring herself to smile back at her mother. Instead, she silently watched her walk out through the tall wooden doors of her Great Room. She watched her mother’s slow retreat down the passage and stood wordlessly until it was only her with not so much as an echoing footstep to be heard.

When her chest grew two sizes too small, she ran through that same door, leaving the Great Room behind. She didn’t have a plan laid out, no destination in mind. The girl just kept running, pushing through doors until she found fresh air. Until she could breathe.

When her feet stopped moving, she noticed she was amongst the horses in her father’s stables. Her eyes widened for a brief moment before scorching tears flowed down her cheeks. It was the first time she’d wandered outside the manor without someone to accompany her. Without her mother accompanying her. Looking back, she could see her mother’s bedroom window, the curtains drawn. The girl didn’t want to think of her mother and even less of the magic that struck fear into her heart. She knew all too well what happened to those who possessed magic. If they survived their affliction, they were reaped—taken from their homes and driven away, never to be seen again. She didn’t want to think of her mother leaving her, so she opened the stable door and sat in the corner on top of a bed of straw.

“Hey!” a young boy with red hair called out to her, shaking her by the shoulder. Bryndis had fallen asleep in the empty stall, curled into a ball with her knees tucked against her chest. “Hey! Are you alright?” he demanded, pressing his palm to her forehead before she could orientate herself. She shot up, pushing away until her back pressed against the wall.