Page 45 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

Stopping at the dining table and seeing the small rolls left on the serving tray, I manage to stuff thirteen into the bag slung over my shoulder and make my way to the front door.

I smile faintly as I look back over my shoulder. I made it. No one is here. The handle is cold under my palm, and for the briefest of moments, I hesitate, looking again toward the quiet passage. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.

“Hello again, human.” Sloan greets me with a broad smile on his face, spinning a small blade on the tip of his index finger. He catches it as he stands, the action too swift to be natural. Too swift to belong to a mortal. “Hungry?” He eyes my bag with a raised brow.

“Not anymore.” My hope of escaping is shattered, my momentary swell of pride gone. Raising my chin, I push past him, closing the door behind me. I won’t go back inside like an obedient little pet. I may not be able to escape, but I can use this opportunity to survey the lay of the land. I can gather herbs and… and… go back to my cage after.

He laughs. “Odhran mentioned that you’re a little… what’s the word?” He puts two fingers to his chin, clearly mocking me. “Prickly.”

“Give me that knife, and I’ll show you prickly.” I narrow my eyes at him. Declan schooled me in archery since I was eighteen and showed me the importance of moving without overthinking my actions. He’d taught me all the knowledge his father had handed down to him—all but hand-to-hand combat. I don’t know how to defend myself with a blade, how to hold it, or where to strike. He’d left out exactly what I need the most, all because he thought I was breakable. All because I am a woman.

Sloan’s laughter has no bounds as it booms through the trees. Birds fly from their roosts at the sound, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “I am to be your chaperone, of sorts. Where you go, I go. Lead the way, my lady.” He gives me a wink that sets off an instant headache.

“Fine,” I spit out the word, marching straight past him and down the path leading into the forest.

The trees are enormous, as tall as three manors stacked on top of each other. They creak and groan as they sway in the wind. The woods grow denser and darker the further I go. Sloan follows a few strides behind me, his smile amused and toothy when I catch his gaze from over my shoulder. My skin crawls with the feeling of being watched, but it’s not his eyes I sense on me that sets my nerves on edge. Birds cease their chirping. Golden rays of sunlight dim in mist, cool against my cheeks.

I increase my pace, sweat beading on my brow. If Sloan plans to follow me around like a lost puppy, I’ll make it unpleasant, even if it hurts me. Aed stirs at the back of my mind, tense and unforgiving. “Turn back,” he hisses.

“Show me the way to my sister. I’m not going back. I won’t be locked away in a cage.” Even my voice in my head speaks with a tremor, and I hate it. All my life, I’ve lived behind locked doors, facing consequences if I was caught returning after my brief moments of freedom.

“You know nothing of cages!” His words are a violent snarl.

“I need to take a piss,” Sloan calls out behind me, ducking behind the wide trunk of a silver-barked tree. “Give me a second, will you?”

“Take all the time you need.” I grip the strap over my shoulder, biting down on my teeth as I stare down the path ahead. The moment I hear him start to empty his bladder, I run.

My footsteps are loud, grating on the gravel path. My heart beats so fast it hurts.

“Fuck!” he curses, his voice more distant than a moment ago.

My chest aches in rebellion. I don’t have my rolled cigarettes filled with dried jimsonweed, nor my honeyed drink. Nothing I came to rely on is here to help me now. I wasn’t made to run, but I wasn’t made to be locked away, either. This time, sheer willpower dulls my pain. My eyes dart to the surrounding trees, to the shrubs and the moss-covered boulders. I won’t be able to outrun him. There’s no use in trying.

Stepping off the path, my stomach lurches. Footsteps sound behind me, distant but growing louder. My foot slips on the dried leaves covering the damp soil, and I try to regain my balance, but the earth comes too close. The air leaves my lungs as I fall onto my side. A sharp pain steals my voice as it shoots through my ribs. My fingers dig into dirt, but it doesn’t stop me from sliding down a slope, right through a circle of mushrooms. I knock my head on something hard, and the world tilts on its side and goes dark.

I open my eyes to find myself in a ditch, surrounded by sticks, leaves, and dirt. A hollowed-out stump catches my attention. Wet and rotten, it’s covered in strings of pale green moss and weeds alike. Moving to my knees, I crawl towards it. My head aches as though split in two. Tossing my bag in first, I quickly follow suit. My lungs wheeze when I settle into the soft, crumbling stump, my elbows tucked against my chest as I face the path ahead. Carefully, I reach forward, arranging the leaves and foliage to look as undisturbed as possible. The smell of dampened dirt and timber is strong, but not as strong as the overpowering beat of my heart and the roaring of blood in my ears.

Sloan runs down the road ahead, passing me. My breath quickens, my hands trembling.

He doesn’t pass me again, but I don’t risk climbing out too soon. Back home, I’d be flogged for this type of behaviour until I forgot not to cry. Then my cage would become smaller, limited to my room. But here, I have no idea what these monsters will do. No, I can’t risk climbing out too soon.

TWENTY-THREE

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Faeries bleed just as easily as humans do, with a few small differences. Faerie blood runs thicker, like fresh cream compared to milk.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

The sky is dark when I crawl from my hiding place. Sloan had walked past, heading back to the home I’d escaped from. He was talking to himself as if he were stating a case in the town square. As if he’d decided on a suitable sentencing without any chance of dispute.

That was hours ago, and now I’m freezing.

My elbows dig into the soft, rotted bark beneath me as I propel myself forward, struggling for space alongside my bag dragging at my side. My stomach burns from hunger, my mouth as dry as the leaves beneath my chest. Argh! I groan, straining through the narrow opening I’d burrowed into like an animal. Like prey.

Cool, damp soil pushes under my nails. The night air is crisp against my skin, and the mist wets my face. I should have brought my cloak. I should have planned this better. I should have… should have…

Sitting on my knees, I throw my head back, breathing in the fresh air for the first time in hours. Hours that feel like days. My head hurts, aching from where I’d knocked it when I fell. My scalp is wet when I touch it, my fingertips glistening a dark red when I hold them under the miniscule specks of moonlight. The world around me tilts at the sight. Shit!