Page 83 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“There’s no time. We need to go!” I struggle to catch my breath as sweat mists my forehead.

“Go where?” She rises from her velvet pillowed bench.

Rushing towards her, I grab her hand, dragging her behind me. “I’ll tell you everything. Just not now!”

“What’s wrong?” Laoise asks breathlessly as I tow her behind me, running hand in hand back to the ballroom.

“We’re leaving. It’s not safe here.” I want to tell her about the faerie in the woods. About King Brogan. The thinning of the veil. Seeing my mother. Odhran. My new friends… I want to tell her about Declan’s betrayal and the fact that he tried to glamour me. I thought I knew him, but I know nothing. I don’t even know what he is, but he isn’t human. Humans can’t use compulsion. There are so many things I want to tell her, but all will have to wait.

“And then? Once we’re out?”

I look back at her, pausing for a moment before we round the last corner leading to the ballroom. Something that looks a lot like hope flickers across her features.

“We can’t go back home.” I regret my words the moment I see their effect in her eyes. “But I have friends. They’ll help us.” There’s no doubt in my mind that any of them will help us to safety. The only problem is that they aren’t entirely safe, and it’s because of me.

The ballroom, once bustling with dancers, now sits in stillness. The absence of music is suffocating. Guests huddle together, their gazes fixed on the dais. Amidst the crowd, I spot Eadan a mere thirty feet away. Distress mars her typically confident appearance. She struggles to navigate through a group of faeries, her eyes wide with desperation.

“My first act as your new king is to eradicate our court of all the traitors surrounding us.” Eamon stands on the dais wearing a crown of pure gold. I see him wave his hand toward the onlooking crowd, and soldiers dressed in golden armour step forward. My heart flutters when they select faeries from the crowd, hurling them toward the vacant centre of the floor, along with a human cupbearer and a lesser faerie man dressed in a white double breasted kitchen staff uniform. Wine is spilled across the polished marble flooring like blood at a murder scene. Begging and pleading falls upon deaf ears. No one dares to help them. No one dares oppose the new king.

“We are Samhradh.” His voice soars through the room. One swift swoop of his arm signals his guards to run their blades through the faeries, the waiter, and the kitchen staff coordinator Eadan knows, right there in front of everyone at the centre of the dance floor.

Eadan’s lips part, releasing a desperate plea. “Run!” Chaos erupts around us. I watch in horror as her platinum hair becomes a lifeline for her captor, yanking her backwards. She fights, swinging her arms and lashing out at the guards encircling her. Our plan has failed in the worst possible way.

I rush toward her, my fingers wrapped around my blade. But her gaze meets mine, solidifying her message. Run!

Aed leans closer. “You cannot save her,” he whispers.

Tears well in my eyes, burning with anguish, as we reluctantly blend back into the crowd. Laoise squeezes my hand, but I don’t look at her. I maintain eye contact with Eadan. Even though she may not be saved, she won’t face her fate alone. I’m here, a representative of her chosen family, even though I don’t deserve to be.

Eamon steps forward with his new queen at his side. I recognise her face and perfect blonde locks—the woman I saw in Odhran’s bedroom. King Brogan is behind them, sipping from a golden cup. “I found out that a coup consisting of my senior officers has been conspiring against the crown. They meant to poison not just one ruler but all kings in attendance. It is blasphemous! Treason!” His gaze falls upon Eadan, now forced onto her knees, facing the ravenous crowd. A guard tightens his grip on her hair, keeping her in place. Her eyes remain locked with mine, and a single tear rolls down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing she can’t hear me but wishing she could.

Eamon continues, “My brother, the bastard prince, leads this rebellion.” The weight of his words crushes my spirit, but I refuse to look away. Refuse to let King Brogan, the man who was supposed to be our ally, see the pain he’s causing us. I refuse to let him win.

Amid the chaos, Eadan mouths her final words. Tell him I am sorry, she silently conveys as a sword pierces her neck, severing her head from her body. My vision blurs, and everything becomes hazy and indistinct. Laoise gasps at my side, tightening her grip on my hand. It’s like a dream, too surreal to be true. Like a chilling nightmare, where I’m merely a spectator looking down on the scene before me. I didn’t have time to tell her there’s nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t have time to tell her how much I valued our short friendship. I didn’t have time to ask for her forgiveness. One moment she’s alive, and the next she’s gone. The smell of blood mingles with the bitterness of bile rising in my throat.

On unsteady legs, I slip out of my strappy heels, urging my younger sister to do the same. We retreat into the shadows. Each swift step is heavy with grief as we make our escape. Laoise vomits onto the cobbled paving the moment the door closes behind us. The carriage is gone. We’re too late.

“The mirror!” Aed hisses, but I ignore him. “You promised!” The pain in my arm is barely bearable, but I force myself to breathe through it.

“Odhran,” I call out into our bond. He doesn’t reply. Instead, I see glimpses through his eyes. Soldiers falling around him, mauled by beasts with green and black fur. Beasts with eyes glowing like fire and sharp spines rising from their shoulders. I see his hands, each wielding a blade of black. Blood runs down his arms in crimson rivers.

My ears ring. My vision tunnels. My footsteps become uncoordinated. Not even my thoughts are coherent as panic consumes me. Get out of there, I want to scream. Get out now! But I only get one word across… “Ginger!” My safe word, the one he made me choose when we were in his bed.

FORTY

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Surgical depth wounds on a faerie fully close in around two to four days compared to a human’s one to three weeks.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

The night air wraps around me. Thick clouds have gathered to drown out the moon and stars, leaving the world in darkness, save for the lanterns placed strategically along paths and doorways.

“She should be here somewhere,” I mutter to myself.

“Who?” Laoise speeds up to see my face. “Who are we looking for?” There’s a slight quiver in her voice.