Page 22 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“You think you’re so strong and mighty, don’t you? Standing there, telling me what to do, as if it’s my job to listen. If you plan on reporting me, then do it! I can handle the consequences.” The look he shoots me is harsh enough to pierce through steel.

“Seems like you’re the one who wants to bark out orders, not me.” He pushes off the wall, taking a step toward me, allowing the hazy amber glow from the stable fire to touch the side of his face.

“Perhaps I’m sick of taking orders.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Honestly, Miss Ashglo, I’m too tired to be bothered. Persecuting you will be a far greater effort than it would garner any enjoyment on my part. Save me the trouble and get the fuck inside.” He slips the satchel from my shoulder and slings it over his instead. My heart stutters.

“Do you not think I fucking would if I could?” I exclaim, grateful for the noise of the distraction Declan created. “Now give that back!”

He sheathes his blade in one swift motion. If I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it. My breath catches when his hand grips my elbow. “Only if you’ll be a good girl and behave.”

“Fuck you!”

He drags me from the corridor toward the manor until I’m caged between him and the locked door. Still facing him, I meet his gaze. Ash floats in the air between us. His stare is so intense I fear he sees right through me. With my heart hammering against my ribs, I search for the doorknob behind me. The sting of its cold metal bites my palm as I turn it, but it won’t open. No surprise.

Odhran swallows, and I watch his throat bob. He’s close enough that his black shirt brushes against my chest. My mouth goes dry when his hand touches mine, covering it completely as he turns the doorknob I’m still holding. My skin tingles under his. He’s cool while I’m on the edge of combusting. The air tastes as soft as satin and feels like rain on a hot summer’s day. The sensation is something I can’t describe and have never needed to before.

Click.

The door swings open enough to allow a breeze to twirl the hem of my dress. His breath is a warm caress on my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“The poor damsel can’t even manage to open a simple door.” His deep voice radiates vibrations from his chest. I blink slowly and push the door wider, stepping inside to close it in his face. My heart is still racing as I stand on the other side of the thick wooden door, my cheeks practically glowing from heat. Dammit!

TWELVE

DECLAN OWYN DUSKRUN

They do not merely despise lying—they are unable to speak the words. It is unknown what a halfbreed may be capable of, or whether they even exist.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

The bell is heavy, its chime deafening, and its effect immediate.

“Fire!” I shout. The word rasps against my throat, digging its nails into my chest. “Fire!”

Sir Duskrun, my father, charges from our small home a few paces to my left. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the entirety of what’s unfolding before him. “What’s happened, son?”

Servants and soldiers alike flood out of their sleeping quarters, sparsely dressed yet ready to take action. The flames cast their golden glow across the gravel courtyard in the stable block, leaving a dark silhouette stretching out in front of me. My deceit, my destructiveness, is bitter on my tongue. My lip curls with disgust for what I’m about to do… lie.

“A lantern. We need to save the horses.” His fingers dig into my shoulder before he turns to the building behind me glowing like a beacon in the night. He doesn’t question me. There’s never been a need to, other than the midnight trips I take with Bryn, but no harm has ever come from those.

“We need to free them! Close the latches on the courtyard gates! Grab every bucket you can find!” His barked commands harden the growing knot in the pit of my stomach. This is my doing. Me, the son of the region’s most decorated soldier. But this is for her. To save her. Glancing over my shoulder as I continue ringing the bell high above my head, I see the path toward her door, but I don’t see her. It’s quiet and dark on that side of the building, and I don’t like it one bit.

Horses race from their newly opened doors, galloping, bucking, and kicking up crushed stone. Their snorts are loud, but the panicked neighs from the stables are even louder. Smoke billows like dragon’s breath from every opening. Most of the stable doors stand agape, save for the one on the far left. Melody.

Letting go of the wooden handle, I hear the bell fall with a grating gong. I run to her stable, but my feet aren’t as fast as the beating of my heart. She’s my father’s mare, one he’d bought with the last of his savings. He had her put to Lord Ashglo’s stallion in order to grow his investment. The pun in that statement has been a joke in our home. One brought on by hope. This is her eleventh month. I’d meant to set her free, but I was too busy worrying about Bryn making it to her door to pay attention to anything else.

Water sloshes as buckets are hauled from the well at the centre of the courtyard and emptied onto the growing fire. They don’t extinguish the flames, and no one dares to go inside.

“We’re going to lose the building! We need more water!” My father’s voice stands out above the rest. It’s the straw. We’d filled the whole damn building with it, stocked for the winter so we wouldn’t run out of supplies. I pull my shirt over my nose, lower my head, and run past him before he has the chance to stop me. Melody’s stable is in the far-left corner at the back of the block. Fire singes the hair on my arms as I brush past the open flames. Smoke burns my eyes, and I barely keep them open.

“I’m here, girl,” I call out, coughing into my shirt. Her panicked movements guide me toward her stable. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to think.

Sweat beads on my brow when I reach for the hinge on her door. “Fuck!” The metal burns me, the pain sharp. I expect to see my skin removed from my flesh, but I don’t look. Dropping the material covering my nose, I tug my sleeve over my hand, freeing the latch with one forceful tug. This is my mess. I won’t let her die, nor will I let my father lose his savings because of something I’ve done.

“That’s a good girl,” I tell her despite the ache in my chest and the trembling in my hands. Her nostrils flare with distress as she holds her head high. The whites of her eyes are visible when she nearly charges over me. I grab hold of her halter just in time, tightening my grip as she pulls against me. “It’s alright, girl; I’ve got you. I’m here,” I say as calmly as possible. Covering my nose and mouth once more, I run her out of the building. She knocks into me, and I almost trip, barely dodging the flames that lick up the walls.

“Declan!” My mother’s panicked cry turns to a sob of relief. She rushes toward me, forgetting to tie the sash of her nightgown as it flutters behind her in the wind. Her arms wrap around me the moment I’m out in the open. “You stupid boy! What were you thinking?” She tightens her grip, and I hug her back.