Page 8 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“I gave you an extra helping of honey, though,” I say with a wink. She’s been cutting down on sweet things in preparation for the coming ball, set on looking her best, and I’ve ruined it for her. Even though we’re going through the motions, imitating the way we usually are together, it feels strained and heavy. Neither of us address the awkwardness between us. Instead, we pretend nothing ever happened.

“You can’t pretend forever.”

FIVE

DECLAN OWYN DUSKRUN

It is known that iron wards off The Others, diminishes their power, and if cut by it, they will not heal easily.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

My shirt is soaked. I know Bryn said to leave it, but she doesn’t understand what it’s like to be responsible for something so important. Something that stretches past our own needs to the security of everyone inside. Wet cotton sticks to my skin like a slab of ice. I barely feel the tips of my fingers as I drag them over the coarse stone wall belonging to our small house.

I reach the corner and search the stable yard. Being seen will undoubtedly reach my father, who will spare no time in interrogating me. His questions I can handle; it’s lying to him that I hate, and there’s no dancing around the truth this time.

As head of the governor’s guard, my father was given a small house opposite the three story atrocity where the rest of the servants and guards live. My father sees our home as an honour bestowed upon him. I believe we were given this little hovel, smaller than the governor’s study, to close the planned U-shape of buildings behind the manor, completing yet another barrier between the governor’s family and the forest. At least with horses as my neighbours, I have a smaller chance at being seen and reported.

The door to the servants’ quarters closes as soldiers return to their lodgings for what’s left of the night. It must have been a false alarm. They’re rare, but not entirely impossible. Clenching my jaw to stop my teeth from clattering in the cold, I have one thing to be thankful for: I’m glad I’m not that guard. Whoever was responsible for sounding a false warning will surely answer for the disruption it caused.

I open our front door and see no signs of light. It’s darker inside our home than where I’m standing under the light of the full moon. Slipping inside, I’m relieved to have made it, the door moaning as I slowly close it behind me.

“Where have you been?” my mother asks. Her voice comes from the far corner of the living room. I squint to see her but only make out her outline, one leg folded over the other, sitting on her favourite wooden dining chair.

“I was out with Bryn.”

“I know I’ve encouraged your friendship, but there is a line, my boy. I fear you’ve lost sight, and in doing so, you’ve crossed it.” She stands slowly. Even in this darkness, I feel her judgement burn my skin. “She’s putting you in danger. Jeopardising your future.”

“I love her, mother,” I plead, hoping she’ll understand.

“You’re not in love; you’re confused.” She heads straight for the cabinet of mugs and glasses, reaching for a single glass and a bottle of wine tucked away beside it. They clink together before she sets them on the counter.

“I want to marry her,” I say out loud for the first time, straightening myself as courage floods my system.

My mother’s laughter is like chimes dancing in the wind, musical, even in the wake of a storm. “My love, folk of our kind aren’t quite suited to hers, you know that.”

Anger tightens the ligaments in my jaw as I fight to keep my insecurities at bay. “I’m good enough for her.” I’m not just the poor son of her father’s personal guard, not to her.

A heartbeat later, my mother’s arms wrap around me, running her fingers through my hair and down my nape. “Oh, my boy. I didn’t mean to cause offence. You’ll make a good husband to any lady of your choosing. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.” I step out of her reach to see moonlight touching the side of her face. My mother is tall and slender, with long auburn hair braided into a crown to circle her head. She’s the centre of my father’s universe, and we are the centre of hers. I respect her protectiveness for those she loves, but when it comes to protecting me from Bryn, she’s wrong.

“I’ve promised you that I’ll wait until after the second year of my duty has passed, but that doesn’t mean my intentions have changed.” I search her eyes, level with my own.

“That’s all I ask. She’s a well enough young woman, but service changes us all. Maybe you’ll want different things when the time comes. Maybe she’ll have moved on prior to your return. Just keep an open mind.” She squeezes my hands, pleading with me for reasons I don’t understand, nor do I care to.

The door opens behind me with a heavy creak, followed by even heavier footsteps. “You’ll be glad to hear that we aren’t in immediate danger,” my father declares with a groan, throwing his swords onto the cabinet beside the door with a sharp clap of iron.

“Not in this house,” my mother snaps, and her tone has me stepping out of her way. “You know how I hate the weapons you carry. They aren’t welcome inside.”

“I’ll take them out to the shed in the morning, Gemna,” he answers, fatigue weighing heavily in his tone.

“It is morning, Kraige.”

I raise my hands, ducking out of the situation. There are only a few arguments started that my mother doesn’t win. Like the one where she attempted to keep me from becoming a soldier under my father’s command. “I believe that’s my cue. I’m off to bed.” Closing my bedroom door behind me, I roll my shoulders but remain still, listening to my parents’ conversation on the other side.

“The second prince has arrived ahead of his guard,” my father tells my mother.

“What does that mean?”