Page 28 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

FIFTEEN

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Datura Stramonium, also known as Jimsonweed or Thorn Apple, forms part of the Nightshade plant species. Toxic in higher doses, it can cause hallucinations.

The Herbal Healer’s Handbook, by Agnes O’Connell

My lips wrap around a rolled cigarette of my own making. It’s filled with datura stramonium, its leaves dried and crumpled. The weed-like plant goes by many names: thorn apple, jimsonweed, devil’s snare. I call it my saving grace. When the weight on my chest becomes unbearable, I sit in my open windowsill so the smoke will be carried away.

Inhaling a long drag, I close my eyes, fighting the urge to cough. The smoke irritates my lungs before it releases the tightness in my chest. Before it silences the wheezing. I hate my body and all the weaknesses that come with it.

Clouds are heavy with rain begging to be released, covering the mountain until one barely believes the mass of dirt and stone to be there. It’s late in the afternoon, and my stomach growls with hunger. I’d spent all morning reading the book I’d discovered, forgetting my need for food and drink. The book tells of The Others, honey-tongued and cunning. They’re known to be as wicked as they are beautiful. It tells of glamours and boons, of curses so sly you’d easily step into their snare. It teaches of a realm unseen and forgotten by humans and the traditions we blindly follow, which carry more meaning than we’re led to believe. A realm my mother once visited if I believe her letter on the dedication page.

My door inches open with a soft creak. “You aren’t dressed?” Laoise gasps, bursting in and rushing to where I still sit on my windowsill. I don’t flinch, too tired within myself. My proverbial cup is bone dry. Everything I thought I knew has turned out to be a ruse. A beautifully crafted lie. Laoise swats the air around me, holding one gloved hand to her nose. “Absolutely disgusting! This is what happens when you associate with stable boys; you start smelling like one.”

Snatching my cigarette from between my fingers, she tosses it out the window to the gravel down below. “Laoise!” I complain, my voice scratching up my throat.

“Come. We need to hurry. There’s obviously much left to do.” Her eyes rake over me before she grabs my hand and pulls me to my dresser, leading me to the small chair in front of it. I don’t fight her. What’s the use?

I hardly recognise the woman in the mirror. Like a haunting dream, my reflection is unblinking. Dull. She may have the same hair as I do, the same unfortunate eyes—one blue and the other a swirl of brown and blue combined, but I refuse to believe that she is me. Her cheekbones are sharp and her skin pale. Like milk against ebony, so is the contrast between her hair and her complexion. I stare back at the imposter. Taking the brush from Laoise’s silk-gloved hand, I slowly brush my hair. The strange girl in the mirror mimics my every movement. She isn’t me. I can’t look this pathetic.

My back aches with every brush stroke as I work through my waist-length hair. Declan doesn’t want to see me. I asked his mother if I could see him, and she came back to me with an apology, saying, “He’s too tired to see you.” I’d asked if I could return later, but she denied my hope. I’m stuck in my own personal prison cell, alone and wounded. Seeing my sister’s injured hand and the way she avoids using it makes me think I deserve this solitude after all.

“I think I’d rather stay in tonight, Lee.” I find it an effort to speak. She stares back at me in the mirror’s reflection, fists balled on her hips. The skirt of her golden gown sparkles, sweeping across the floor behind her. She looks like a princess. “I’m not in the mood for smiling and dancing. I don’t think I can manage it.”

“You don’t have to smile at anyone.” Rushing to my side, she immediately busies herself with a hairstyle I haven’t asked for. “It’s not like you make a habit of smiling, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind it. You are you, and I love you the way you are, but…”

“But?” I frown, staring at the dark circles below my eyes. I couldn’t sleep last night. Not after Idoniya’s passing. Not after the fire the night before, and not after Declan’s obvious avoidance of seeing me.

“Well… It won’t kill you to have a little fun, will it?” She’s hopeful, batting her pretty doe eyes as she looks directly at me. “Pleeeease…” She pouts her lips.

“Fine.” A weight equivalent to a horse comes to rest on my chest, crushing me. If I stay, ignoring her pleading and begging, I’ll only be left restless with guilt. “But I’m only staying for one dance.”

“Yay!” She claps her hands victoriously.

“One dance. That’s it.”

“Yes, yes, sure.” She collects a handful of hairpins from my dresser and proceeds to style my hair into a braided halo, leaving a few strategic strands to frame my face.

I roll my eyes at her. If she notices, she doesn’t make it clear, having already won.

Laoise turns to my armoire, then stops, clasping her bandaged hand to her chest. Even with the elbow-length gloves, we both know what’s hidden beneath the silk material and who caused it. Me. “Let me call someone to help you get ready. Guests will arrive soon. We have to hurry, or we’ll miss their introductions. It’s the best part! Or, well, almost. I think I favour dancing.” Laoise darts out of my door before I can stop her.

Fine. It’s a short word. One syllable. Four letters. One unfortunate consequence.

Shadows swirl in the far corner of my room. “The prince warned you to stay away. I am curious to see what he will do once he sees you there tonight,” the creature purrs lazily, stretching as it uncoils from its slumber.

“You will not interfere.” I stare at my unblinking reflection.

“You should listen, young one. Stay in. The smiling girl will forgive you. Or, go if you must, but do not think it won’t cause ripples in the pool. Ripples that could possibly turn into tidal waves.”

The girl in the mirror’s lips spread into an eerie smile, and shadows rise behind her like two dozen fingers across my wall. I shudder, looking away. I’m losing my mind.

Reaching into my dressing gown’s pocket, I find the cool glass vial holding the last few drops of my sanity. One drop on my tongue and I’ll have peace once more, however brief it may be. The creature hisses with fury, but I don’t care.

I barely notice the young servant girl who comes through my door, carrying the dress I’m meant to wear. It’s made of dove-grey silk, with a plain bodice flowing into a skirt below my bust. She helps me into the dress, ignoring my still-fresh wounds as she buttons it. Despite the broad neckline, it covers my entire back, and its sheer puffed sleeves hang like bells at my elbows. It isn’t as grand as Laoise’s, not sparkling the way hers does. Where hers is a pale, elegant gold, mine is a soft grey. Where her gown exposes her arms and the rounding of her breasts, mine has mid-length sleeves, sheer, yet decorated with embroidered flowers of the same colour. It’s apparent that they chose it to hide my scars, and the thought brings bile to the back of my tongue. The dress is meant to make me seem elegant but not attractive enough to be wanted. Not attractive enough to risk Laoise’s successes.

She leaves me with a gentle bow. Neither of us speak a word to one another. Turning to my door, I see two items left on my bed. My footsteps falter when one in particular catches my eye. Beside the silver mask, decorated with black feathers to resemble a bird, lies a necklace. The delicate chain loops through a silver pendant, which is set with the most beautiful gem resembling a galaxy of stars. Smooth silver claws like crow’s feet hold it in place. I know that if I pick it up, it will fill the entirety of my palm, just as I know it will capture the sun and dance within. I make a mental note to thank Laoise for my gift as I put it on.