Page 141 of Fallacies

“My father sent you to spy on me,” the Countess sneers. “He sent you to make sure I’ve not run this place into the ground or killed too many of our little sacrifices. It’s so typical of him,” she rambles on. “Of course he doesn’t trust me. He’s never trusted me.”

There’s no response to her accusation. He lets her fester in his silence.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she snaps.

“My business with the King is confidential.”

Deflection. He doesn’t deny her accusation because he doesn’t want to tell her the real reason he’s here. He doesn’t confirm that she’s right because then he’d be lying.

I hate liars and refuse to become one—it causes me physical pain to do so.

“Confidential?!” the Countess raises her voice. “I’m in charge of this side of the continent! And you—” She stops abruptly, and when she speaks again, her tone is venomous, “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

More silence.

Then, so quiet I almost don’t hear it, “So have you.”

I don’t think he’s talking about her presence in his doorway.

There’s another long stretch of silence before I hear the slamming of a door, and a relieved breath spills out of me at the distant echo of the Countess stomping back down the hall.

My next inhale is cut short when the closet door opens and warm light spills into the dark room.

His towering silhouette fills the threshold, and then he shifts to the side to let me through. I cautiously step back into the bedroom, and he follows, moving to stand by the fireplace.

His demeanor has shifted into something heavily guarded. Before the Countess, most of his emotions were evident on his face. He wasn’t deflecting anything—he was answering my questions fully—but in her visit he found some kind of reservation.

The Hound runs his fingers across the grooves of his now empty glass, lost in thoughts I’m not privy to, and that wasn’t part of the deal.

“So, the Countess is a source and so was the Baron,” I clarify, but it doesn’t pull his attention. “Which means there are three more sources we need to find?”

His head lifts, blue eyes snapping to mine. Striking and anticipant. “We?”

I can see it in his stare—the hope inside it. It only makes me more suspicious of his proposition. The part he wants me to play in it is vague, but if the outcome is freeing the Captures and the Disciples…The risk is irrelevant. I’ll gladly pay the price.

“Look,” I exhale, letting my arms fall slack at my sides. “I don’t believe I’m the cure to the curse, but if you help me free the Captures, I’ll do whatever I can to help you break it.”

A grin escapes him, tugging at his lips, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t captivating. “You’re taking my proposition?”

“I’m considering it.”

He abandons his glass. “What else is there to consider?”

“For starters? Your deal with the King.” His brows pull together. “How are you planning on getting out of it? How do I know you won’t abandon our deal for his? For your freedom?”

His smile widens, and I can’t tell if he’s impressed by my question or just excited to answer it. “There’s a loophole in the bargain I made with Alaric.”

Of course there is.

“The deal is: I bring you to Onyile, deliver you to him, and I get my freedom. His only conditions were that, upon receiving said freedom, I leave his kingdom and his people alone.” At my narrowed gaze, he clarifies, “No slaughtering, reaping, or mass destruction.”

“Um…” I roll my lips together. “Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

“The King thought so too,” he sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “Alaric said I had to bring you to Onyile…but he didn’t say anything about leaving you there.”

I blink back at him, stunned to silence for a moment. “You want to give me to the King…and then…take me…back?” If he didn’t look so serious, I would burst into laughter again. I’m still tempted to.

“Correct.”