10. Lying to Good People #2
Orna let out a strangled sob and clapped a hand over her mouth. Pete rested a palm on her back and rubbed up and down. My heart clenched like a fist.
“They are our livelihood,” Pete explained, gesturing at the large loom in the corner. “And quite beloved.”
The shawl Orna wore must’ve been her own creation, woven from the wool of the sheep she’d lovingly tended. I knew what it was like to be devastated by a loss like that, the way sorrow tangled with fear in the gut. The punishing reality of poverty.
Across the table, I met Faren’s gaze. This, I wanted to say, is the reality of the realm you claim to love.
His returning glance was controlled but compassionate. “Creatures?” Faren prompted.
“A pack of five, at least,” Pete said.
Faren frowned. “Wolves, you mean?”
Pete shook his head. There was terror in his eyes.
Orna trembled and whimpered. When she lowered her hands from her face, her expression was hollow—traumatized. “Not wolves,” she warbled. “They were too huge, with long fangs and—”
“Rabid wolves,” I cut in firmly. “More frightening after dark.”
“I have sight magic,” Orna countered. “I know what I saw, and they were not mere wolves. They had strange protrusions out of their heads, appendages along their ribs, and red eyes that glowed.”
The magic of my Oath tingled at the back of my throat—a warning, an urging.
I’d taken my Oath twenty-four years ago, and yet the binding words were as fresh in my mind as the day I’d recited them: I, Mariana Bellkeep, hereby take the Oath of the Order of the Valiant, pledging my life to the protection of the realm and the safe keeping of its secrets.
The safe keeping of its lies.
It was my duty that determined the cruel, undermining words I said next: “No such creatures exist.” I kept my tone flat and reached for a piece of bread, feigning dismissiveness. “Fear and superstition often warp the perception of what can easily be explained.”
“My wife is not being hysterical,” Pete said—firm, but respectful of the knights seated in his kitchen.
His defense of his wife’s words, the way he continued to rub her back comfortingly, his deeply felt concern…
My fingernails bit into my palms. It was said that hunting monsters was what the Valiant deserved, but my true punishment was being forced to uphold a duty with which I held no allegiance.
Lying to good people to cover up a bad man’s scheme.
Seated in Pete and Orna’s home, drinking their tea, eating bread they’d made from scratch, with butter they’d probably churned themselves—it wasn’t fair.
I did not want to twist and dismiss their words.
I did not want to be unkind. I did not want to be here at all.
They were too pure for the likes of me and being confronted with that fact made me feel brittle and wretched.
“What you have described,” I said slowly, tightly, “does not exist.”
“I believe her,” Faren piped up magnanimously, like the glorious knight he claimed to be. “In fact, we are traveling these parts to—” He made a face and coughed, as if he were choking on a bit of bread. When his eyes darted to mine, he appeared as if he’d been struck.
Was he that much of a brown-nosing do-gooder that he’d never felt the warning of his Oath magic before? I almost laughed at his privilege. But then I saw Orna’s expression—tearful, afraid, searching—and I could not bear to diminish her further.
Instead, I did something I never allowed myself to do: I reached out and placed my hand over her wrist. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d comforted someone, and my touch was stiff. Forced. Her arm tensed beneath my grasp—then relaxed. When she looked at me, she seemed appreciative.
“Do not speak or think of what you saw,” I told her, carefully navigating the tenets of my Oath. “Think, instead, of why two knights would travel this far into the countryside.”
Orna’s lips pressed into a wan, bemused frown.
From across the table, Faren watched me with a peculiar expression, as if he knew that in past instances, I’d threatened and even killed to keep the monsters a secret. As if he could see that something about these innocent folk reminded me of a part of myself I’d been forced to give up long ago.
Engaging further with these people…it was far messier than dismissing them with a firm word and a snarl. Kindness did not contain rumors; compassion only made one vulnerable to heartbreak. This was why I never said yes to tea.
I squeezed Orna’s arm tighter, willing her pay attention. “If anyone asks you what happened, you tell them rabid wolves. Do you understand?”
Her nod loosed a sprinkling of tears. One landed on the back of my hand. Her attention caught on it instantly, then traveled to where my vambrace had rubbed red marks into my wrist bone. I let go.
“They weren’t rabid wolves,” Pete argued, still defensive.
But Orna nodded with resolve. “Rabid wolves,” she repeated quietly.
“Dearest—” Pete began.
“I think we should take their word for it,” Orna urged him. “I think it’s safer if we do.” Her tone was loaded.
Finally, her husband seemed to understand. He looked to me. “Do you anticipate they’ll return?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Have they returned since the original incident?”
Pete shook his head. “Haven’t seen them since we locked up our livestock.”
“They’ve likely moved on,” I said. “But keep a careful eye. Look for tracks, scratching at the door, any evidence of activity. Diseased predators tend to be more persistent. Keep your animals contained until we return for our horses. We shouldn’t be more than two nights.”
Pete nodded. Faren was still watching me, his frown deepening.
I shoved another piece of bread into my mouth—the butter was heavenly—and washed it all down with the rest of my tea. Then I placed my palms on the table and stood.
“We should go,” I told Faren.
He must’ve heard the finality in my voice, because he pushed away from the table, rising to his full and formidable height. With his armor and weapons, he seemed to take up half the room. Pete and Orna grew watchful again, ogling Faren as they followed us to the door, their hounds in tow.
“Thank you for this favor you’ve done us,” Faren said, reaching down to scratch behind one of the dogs’ ears.
“You honor us,” Pete replied, not looking at me. It was clear he had not appreciated the way I dismissed his wife’s claim and had accepted my lie only because Orna had.
I could not blame him, and didn’t want his false respect, unearned and predicated only by the armor I wore. I just wanted them to take care of Simon while I was gone.
I reached for the door, ready to escape the heat of the cottage and the twist of guilt in my gut. The cold and punishing wilds were a far more appropriate place for someone like me.
“Wait,” Orna said, halting me.
She hurried over to the loom and rifled through a nearby basket.
When she returned, she held out a pair of fingerless gloves.
The weave was neat and tight, made from wool yarn that had been expertly spun.
The colors were rich, a pleasing blend of browns and deep reds that reminded me of a forest floor in autumn.
I stared at her offering, my cold fingers curling at my sides.
“Your armor,” Orna said, gesturing at my vambraces. “It pinches, no?”
How was it that those who possessed the least were always the most generous?
“These will help,” she insisted, holding them out.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. It was too much.
“How kind,” Faren cut in smoothly, nudging me with his elbow.
“Too kind,” I managed.
Orna kept her arm outstretched, waiting.
Belatedly, I snatched the gloves from her hand. The wool was so soft. My heart broke for the sheep she’d lost. They’d probably had names. She probably knew exactly which individuals had contributed to the making of this yarn. The sorrow of it made me sick and angry.
Monsters roaming the countryside, terrorizing civilians.
Secrets kept not to minimize public panic, but to cover up a conspiracy.
Folks grieving and facing winter starvation—for what?
Because Lord Haron wished for more power?
I felt more guilt toward my service to the Valiant than the crime for which I’d been sentenced.
I looked at Faren, decked out in gold-plated glory.
He wore more wealth than these homesteaders had ever owned, and he walked around as if he deserved their reverence.
It was disgusting. Whether or not he knew about the Lord’s role in the creation of the monsters didn’t matter, because at the end of the day, he still thought it righteous to uphold the systems that kept these folks scraping by.
“Thank you,” I said to Orna. “For these, and the tea.”
Practically shaking with rage, I clutched the gloves against my breastplate as I walked back out into the rain.