Page 18 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“I don’t recall seeing any scars on your body,” I hiss. Water runs onto my skirt when I stand.

She flinches, stepping back. “Just follow my example and stay out of trouble, please. You know how much it hurts me to see you like this.”

“How much it hurts her!” the voice snarls.

“Are you done?” I ask abruptly, clenching my jaw.

“Do you want me to help you with the bandage?” She speaks as if we are reading in the study, and I hate her a little because of it. I hate the fact that I’m the only one to suffer under this roof. How I’m punished for everything that goes wrong, whether it’s my doing or not. I hate how I’m the only one given chores while Laoise gets none. My other sister is still too young to be of any help and too isolated to know me at all. I can’t hate her. I don’t even know her. But I know Laoise, and I know she heard me cry. I know she knew of my punishment, yet she chose to enjoy her supper before coming to see me. There’s also a part of me, a part I wish to ignore, that knows she couldn’t stop this from happening even if she’d tried, but I need my anger like a cripple needs a crutch.

“I can do it,” I snap.

“Fine. You’re being particularly unpleasant, anyway.” She steps back even further, leaving her tray on the bed next to me. Although I want her to shut her mouth and leave, the room is empty without her. That emptiness creeps back into my heart when the door closes behind her.

I stuff a fresh set of bandages, a dress, an extra set of undergarments, and my collection of herbs and potions into my satchel. It’s all that will fit next to my mother’s journal and her copy of The Herbal Healer’s Handbook. Two things I refuse to leave behind. I remember how I would sit at my dresser while my mother took her time brushing my hair; how we’d curl up in my bed as she told me stories and made me laugh, but now the bad memories far outweigh the good. No matter how much I want to cling to my mother’s memory, I know I can’t stay.

Taking a deep breath, I bend forward to lace my boots. The bandages stretch against my wounds, but even if I start bleeding again, I’m confident it won’t show against my dark navy dress. I’m ready—I nod decidedly—and I’m never coming back.

It’s dark, and everyone is asleep. There’s no murmur of conversation or movement when I open my bedroom door. They’ve killed all the lamps, but this isn’t my first time sneaking out of the manor in the dead of night, and I’m determined to make it my last. Holding my breath, I take a step forward into the passage. The floorboards creak softly beneath me, and I stop. My heart races by the time I reach the balustrade. Keeping my steps light, I let the gentle curve of the carved balustrade guide my way, carefully testing every step before I fully load my weight onto that foot. If I make a noise and someone finds me… I shudder to think of the consequences. I won’t only be caught wandering after curfew but also running from home, with clothes, potions, and forbidden articles in hand.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I hear a door close behind me.

“Better hurry, young one.”

I move quickly, landing on the balls of my feet. The rug stretched out in the foyer softens the sound of my boots on the hard floor. I have no other option of footwear to choose from. Heels and flat-soled pumps won’t keep my feet safe from injury, nor will they keep me warm, but my riding boots are as loud on the floor as they are slippery on grass.

The strap of my satchel slips from the point of my shoulder, grazing my back. The unexpected surge of pain almost makes me yelp out loud, but I grit my teeth and push forward despite the compulsion. The faint chime of a bell alerts the servants to go to my stepmother’s room. Hers is the only one with an installed cable attached to a bell, which is fixed in the kitchen. Light spills past the wall, and footsteps rush up the stairs. My heart hammers against my ribs. With a sickly sister, every member of staff is on high alert. Inhaling, I regain my composure.

Dharlah’s panicked voice echoes down the hall, but I don’t stop to listen as I rush toward the door, grabbing my mustard-yellow cloak from its designated hook and throwing it over my shoulders. My mouth is as dry as a desert, but I swallow anyway. There’s no turning back.

“Make haste. You cannot be seen.”

“Why don’t you tell me something I don’t already know?” I bite back.

The moonlight rushes in when I open the door and look for the sandbags that are usually to my right. What if I have to come back?

“Tie your ribbon around the latch so it won’t lock.” I remove it from my braid as I step through the door.

Footsteps sound through the passage, and every muscle in my body twitches. My fingers fumble with the knot. “They’re going to see me!”

“No, they won’t. Just hurry up!”

Light spreads across the wall before me, and instinctively, I step out of sight and close the door behind me, effectively locking myself out. White spots flash behind my eyelids when I realise what I’ve done. There’s no way to retrace my steps, no way back inside except through the front door.

My hands tremble. Bloody hell.

Looking up, I see the windows glowing with light. Someone only needs to look outside to find me. Only needs to call for me to know I’m no longer there. I run along the stone wall toward the stables, praying that I’ll go unnoticed. Hooves clatter as I round the corner and startle the horses in their stables.

“Shhhhhh… It’s alright,” I whisper, leaning over the door to see the young palomino stallion spinning in circles in the far corner. He stops, legs planted wide. “There you are.” I reach out my hand, inviting him closer. His muzzle is as soft as silk, his breath as warm as the tea I’d sipped earlier. “That’s my good boy. I’m going to miss you most of all.” I smile at him before I walk on, careful not to scare the rest of them.

Leaping over the puddle I’d crossed only the night before, I head toward Declan’s window. Their small stone home is separate from the servants’ quarters. Being my father’s most decorated soldier and personal guard, their family receives privileges others don’t. They don’t sleep in the main building or share communal areas like the rest.

Through his bedroom window, I see him fast asleep. The moonlight traces his outline, his blanket reaching below his chest. Guilt tightens its hold on my heart, knowing what I’ll be asking of him.

Tap, tap, tap. I knock on his window, but he doesn’t move. Dammit Declan!

Tap, tap, tap. He only stirs, turning onto his side. The door to the servants’ quarters opens, and light floods the courtyard next to me.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap! This time I don’t look through the window. I fix my eyes on the door and the figures casting shadows behind it, my heart racing at a ferocious speed.