Page 2 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

I stare up at him in envy of his carefree grin. “I…”

A deep and heavy gong echoes through the woods. The watcher’s bell. Birds fly from the trees, scattering aimlessly into the night. In all twenty-five years of my life, I’ve only ever heard tales of it being rung. The last time was the day of the great massacre, long before I was born.

I look toward our home and the slippery path that led us here, then back to Declan, my heart racing.

Gong, gong.

Declan’s face pales.

Gong, gong.

I run before I think things through. Before I devise a plan of any sort. My legs are numb and unsteady, like they belong to someone else entirely. Declan is right behind me. The rustling of leaves makes it clear. His presence fuels the scraps of courage I cling to… To run faster… To breathe more deeply… To face whatever awaits us.

My foot slips, and I fall. My breath leaves me with an ungraceful grunt as my fingers splay beneath me, digging into the wet dirt. Unable to find purchase, I slide down the muddy slope a few feet before Declan’s fingers wrap around my arm, tugging me back onto my feet. My palm burns as a fresh cut blooms, and my wrist aches from the impact, but there is no time to stop for assessment, not of my injuries, nor the situation. Declan may be our finest soldier’s only son, and a capable soldier in his own right, but he hasn’t seen battle. He doesn’t know bloodshed, but neither do I. Training in the courtyard, patrols, and second-hand knowledge isn’t enough.

Images of flames and tortured screams flood my mind, ingrained in me through my mother’s tales of the massacre. Most children are told whimsical tales at bedtime, but I received versions that were morbid and grim. “Truth is dreadful,” my mother would say, “best not be surprised by it.” My chest tightens with panic. Is that what we’ll find? Is that what’s waiting for us in our town? My lungs burn, but I refuse to give in to the pain, even as white-hot tears streak my cheeks. Cold, exertion, and dust have been my three triggers for as long as I can remember, the chains that tighten around my chest, the bramble shoved down my throat. I push on, keeping up with Declan but urging my legs to carry me faster. I will not be afraid.

We reach the edge of the woods in record time, and I can barely breathe. “Wait!” Declan commands in a tone that freezes my boots to the cold, wet ground. “Never charge blindly. One more step and we are out in the open.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. I nod, trying to control the rise and fall of my chest and the wild pounding of my heart. Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Deep breaths. Reaching into my satchel for the glass cylinder holding my medicine, I find it missing. It had contained my brew of honey, nettle, ginger, and poppy, my remedy to ease the pain of my shortcomings, but it must have fallen out. Dammit! I take in the meadow stretching out before us. Tall grass sways in the wind, silver in the moonlight. Past the meadow, the tall and thick wall awaits us. It was constructed to keep us safe, to keep us in and The Others out. Yet I feel I may suffocate within its confines.

Commanding voices fill the night. Even though I can’t make out the words, I can visualise the chaos waiting on the other side, and I swallow my building anxiety. The creature’s sharp-toothed smile broadens as my throat goes dry.

Waiting for Declan to confirm whether it’s safe to cross the meadow is pure torture. We need to keep going. His family is on the other side, possibly needing his help. My family… Laoise…

“Walls can’t keep out what’s already inside,” the creature mocks. I squeeze my eyes shut. Unlike before, a golden glow of light now looms over the manor. Every lantern and torch possible is alight in the courtyard. Every candle and oil-dipped wick within the manor and every home are burning brightly. There’s no way we can enter without being seen. Not now. Not when every man within those walls is on high alert.

“Let’s go.” Declan nods toward the furrow and the wrought iron grid that runs across it.

“Whatever happens,” I whisper, not needing to face him to confirm that he hears me. His posture tenses immediately, shifting the energy between us.

“I knew this was a bloody bad idea. We should’ve never come.” His tone is clipped, but I know him well enough to understand that he’s only trying to hide what he fears deep down. “The coast is clear. Run!” He shoves me forward, but my feet stay rooted to the spot.

“What about you?” My eyes widen as I look back at him and the red rowan berries stitched to the collar of his jacket, but he doesn’t look at me. The artistic son of a soldier now resembles a warrior himself, his shoulders drawn back and his jaw set with self-control.

His palm flattens against the small of my back, lingering long enough to send heat racing across my skin. “Right behind you, now go!” His fingers curl against the soft cotton fabric of my dress, echoing the words he spoke in the forest: “I need to go so that I can come back a made man and ask for your hand.” Without further warning, he urges me forward, and I run.

My feet slip on the grass as my dress drags and twists above my ankles, catching on the shrubs and slowing me down. Mud and water have soaked through my cloak, adding extra weight. I’m too slow, much slower than I would have been if I had better footing; much slower than I would have been if I was allowed to wear trousers, like him.

I’m out of breath when I reach the wall, crashing into the cold, wet stone with my palms shielding me from injury. Declan has me by my elbow before I register that he’s next to me, my crimson handprints painting my father’s great wall. Declan’s grip is tight, and I know it’ll leave marks on my skin, but it doesn’t bother me; it’s the least of my worries. The town is in danger. The nightshade is gone. Declan is leaving… What is the harm of a few bruises in comparison.

Dropping to his haunches, he begins to work on the bolts fastening the heavy grid of woven wrought iron to the thick stone slabs of the outer wall. “Dammit!” he curses under his breath, dropping the first bolt. It falls into the freshwater furrow, the color of poorly brewed coffee. He fumbles with the next, his nervousness apparent in his lack of coordination. Two more to go. Declan doesn’t move with his usual grace or efficiency as he tries to clear our path of the only thing locking us out of the manor’s grounds and our town on the other side. My skin prickles with the sensation of being watched.

“You’re on the wrong side of the wall.”

I stiffen, looking back over my shoulder toward the woods, so dark it’s almost black. Mist settles like a white blanket over the trees, leaving only their peaks exposed to prevent suffocation.

The thundering of hooves grows louder, followed by the grating of the horses’ iron shoes over the gravel in the courtyard. “Don’t let them through the gates without identification and just cause!” Goosebumps rush down my arms and neck. People rarely travel at night; they wait until sunrise, until it’s safe to do so. Until The Others are sleeping.

I need to get back to my room before someone notices I’m not there—if it’s not too late already. Getting caught isn’t an option. Declan removes the last bolt and urges me to go first. A decent flogging and lengthy confinement. That’s what I’ll get… what we’ll get. We’ve always known the risks, but never have we been this close to discovery. I hold my breath, then duck under the low stone arch and balance on the narrow ledge that separates me from staying dry or taking an unwanted—and unexplainable—swim. My steps, even though they are few, echo off the double layered stone walls, making my heart race.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I step out from under the arch and into the stable yard’s square. Gravel crunches under the smooth, hard sole of my boot. Every muscle in my body turns rigid as I sense someone watching me, waiting for my acknowledgement before unleashing their fury. Cringing, I reluctantly open my eyes one at a time, straighten my spine, and search the doorways, arches, and corners in front of me, then frown in disbelief. There isn’t a single person in the stable yard, nothing but a lone raven perched atop the stable’s roof. Fresh hoof tracks surround me, smoothed by a strong gust of wind that twists my skirts around my ankles, evidence of horses galloping from the stable yard moments ago.

Declan crouches under the arch, balancing on the same narrow ledge I’d crossed. He’s closing the iron grid behind us, fastening each bolt except for one, which is now at the bottom of the stream.

A loud bang sounds from my right, and my heart lunges into a painful sprint. I almost scream, feeling as if someone has thrown me a hundred feet into the air just to see me fall. My eyes catch on the front door of Declan’s small home as it swings open with a deafening creak. I freeze. My muscles lock into place. Everything in me halts. My lungs, the beating in my ears, the blood in my veins… even the small trace of warmth in my cheeks cools instantly as I wait for someone to exit, for someone to find me standing in the middle of fucking nowhere, covered in mud, alongside Declan, my handsome male companion. A harlot, that’s what they’ll brand me as. A harlot and the man who ruined the governor’s eldest daughter.

The door slams shut, but I remain frozen for a long second, horror confining me. Nothing. No one exits. My muscles relax a fraction. Only the wind, I reassure myself.