Page 40 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

I clutch my mother’s book to my chest and climb between the covers, more at ease than I was before, and fall asleep before I read a single page.

TWENTY

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Once humans taste faerie wine or fruit, they are unable to find enjoyment in anything other than its taste. They would either drink or eat themselves to death when left to themselves, or starve by refusing any other alternatives thereafter.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

“Apparently, you need something to wear,” Eadan hisses from the far side of my bedroom. The door slams shut with a resounding thud. The sunlight streaming through the window is near blinding, contrasting the darkness I’d sought when I crawled into bed. My hand, searching beneath the covers, finds the book within reach, bringing a sense of relief that loosens the tension in my muscles.

Resolutely, I avert my gaze from her and fixate on the scenery beyond the windowpane. The view before me is reminiscent of the vivid descriptions found in the many books adorning the highest shelves of our personal library. The tall trees, their tips painted in a radiant orange by the early morning sun, stand like majestic sentinels at the edge of a neatly kept lawn. Beyond, lies a forest so thick and impenetrable that it seems capable of devouring anyone who dares to trespass its depths.

Navigating through the forest would be like wandering through a labyrinth, but I refuse to submit to being a mere pawn in whatever they’ve planned for me.

“Thank you, Eadan,” she says sarcastically, smirking as she speaks. Irritated by my lack of response, she persists. “How kind of you, Eadan.”

“It is kind of you,” I mutter through gritted teeth, keeping my gaze fixed on the window.

“Oh, how thoughtful of you to finally respond,” she retorts, her tone implying an eye roll as she sits on the edge of the mattress.

I clench my jaw even tighter, fighting the urge to snap back. “I have other things on my mind.”

“Obviously. Like staring out the window,” she replies. “Do you know how fortunate you are to be here and not with the rest of your people? Odhran believes you can help our cause, but I think he’s just afraid to admit why he brought you here.”

“Leave me be,” I snap.

“Please, please, don’t strain yourself with flattery. It’s not like I’m being told to lend my belongings to you. A mortal,” she sneers, disgust evident in her voice. “One who shouldn’t be anywhere near our home.” The old Bryndis, who once cowered under her father’s roof, would have tried to defuse the tension. But this version of myself, the one who no longer cares, meets her gaze with burning hatred.

Her piercing stare locks onto mine. Time stretches as we engage in a silent exchange, wordlessly conveying our mutual desire for my absence. The weight of her unspoken message hangs heavily in the air, as if etched into the very atmosphere. Unwanted. Disgrace. Liability. She stands abruptly with a huff.

The loaned garments fall onto my bed, their impact resonating with a dull thud. The echo of her departing footsteps reverberates through the room, each step laden with an unyielding heaviness.

“Breakfast is served in the dining room,” she adds, and the door clicks as the lock opens.

“Wait,” I call to her, cursing myself for giving in, but I have so many questions, and she’s added another to my ever-growing list.

“What?” She purses her lips, glaring back at me.

“You called me a mortal.”

“So?” Her brow rises.

“That would imply that you’re—” Faerie. Somehow, I need to hear her admit it. I need something more than what’s written in a book. Something more than a voice echoing in my head. I need to hear her say it. Maybe then it will feel real.

“Stupid spell. Stupid fucking spell. Don’t let them find out. Keep them ignorant.” She groans to herself.

Her gaze focuses on me once more. “Immortal.” She raises a brow. “Yes. I’m part of the faerie court, high fae, to be exact. Does that clear things up for you, my lady?”

My lady. My eyes narrow at her. The way she turns a simple title into an insult has my blood boiling. “Not quite.” A deep breath gives me enough courage to ask, “Why am I here?”

“Fuck if I know,” she huffs. “That’s a question that should be aimed at Odhran himself. Perhaps you have some mysterious gifting that Odhran can’t pass up or can pass on to Eamon to utilise. Perhaps he sees something in you that I fail to. We need a liar and a thief; mortals generally are best suited for the job if they can stomach our courts. According to him, you’re best suited for the job.”

I frown, throwing the covers off of me to stand. “Gifting?” More like a curse. A useless curse. What’s worse is that I have all the markers of a witch, but no power. I have no one to teach me what to do or how to claim my heritage. I’m merely a human with a target on her back.

Her laughter echoes through the room. “Out of everything I said, that’s what you’re stuck on?”

I bite down, frustrated. “Forget it.” I march straight to the bathroom and lean over the pristine white basin; the porcelain is smooth and cold under my palms.