TWELVE
DECLAN OWYN DUSKRUN
They do not merely despise lying—they are unable to speak the words. It is unknown what a halfbreed may be capable of, or whether they even exist.
The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper
The bell is heavy, its chime deafening, and its effect immediate.
“Fire!” I shout. The word rasps against my throat, digging its nails into my chest. “Fire!”
Sir Duskrun, my father, charges from our small home a few paces to my left. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the entirety of what’s unfolding before him. “What’s happened, son?”
Servants and soldiers alike flood out of their sleeping quarters, sparsely dressed yet ready to take action.
The flames cast their golden glow across the gravel courtyard in the stable block, leaving a dark silhouette stretching out in front of me.
My deceit, my destructiveness, is bitter on my tongue.
My lip curls with disgust for what I’m about to do… lie.
“A lantern. We need to save the horses.” His fingers dig into my shoulder before he turns to the building behind me glowing like a beacon in the night. He doesn’t question me. There’s never been a need to, other than the midnight trips I take with Bryn, but no harm has ever come from those.
“We need to free them! Close the latches on the courtyard gates! Grab every bucket you can find!” His barked commands harden the growing knot in the pit of my stomach.
This is my doing. Me, the son of the region’s most decorated soldier.
But this is for her. To save her. Glancing over my shoulder as I continue ringing the bell high above my head, I see the path toward her door, but I don’t see her.
It’s quiet and dark on that side of the building, and I don’t like it one bit.
Horses race from their newly opened doors, galloping, bucking, and kicking up crushed stone.
Their snorts are loud, but the panicked neighs from the stables are even louder.
Smoke billows like dragon’s breath from every opening.
Most of the stable doors stand agape, save for the one on the far left. Melody.
Letting go of the wooden handle, I hear the bell fall with a grating gong.
I run to her stable, but my feet aren’t as fast as the beating of my heart.
She’s my father’s mare, one he’d bought with the last of his savings.
He had her put to Lord Ashglo’s stallion in order to grow his investment.
The pun in that statement has been a joke in our home.
One brought on by hope. This is her eleventh month.
I’d meant to set her free, but I was too busy worrying about Bryn making it to her door to pay attention to anything else.
Water sloshes as buckets are hauled from the well at the centre of the courtyard and emptied onto the growing fire. They don’t extinguish the flames, and no one dares to go inside.
“We’re going to lose the building! We need more water!
” My father’s voice stands out above the rest. It’s the straw.
We’d filled the whole damn building with it, stocked for the winter so we wouldn’t run out of supplies.
I pull my shirt over my nose, lower my head, and run past him before he has the chance to stop me.
Melody’s stable is in the far-left corner at the back of the block.
Fire singes the hair on my arms as I brush past the open flames.
Smoke burns my eyes, and I barely keep them open.
“I’m here, girl,” I call out, coughing into my shirt. Her panicked movements guide me toward her stable. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to think.
Sweat beads on my brow when I reach for the hinge on her door.
“Fuck!” The metal burns me, the pain sharp.
I expect to see my skin removed from my flesh, but I don’t look.
Dropping the material covering my nose, I tug my sleeve over my hand, freeing the latch with one forceful tug.
This is my mess. I won’t let her die, nor will I let my father lose his savings because of something I’ve done.
“That’s a good girl,” I tell her despite the ache in my chest and the trembling in my hands.
Her nostrils flare with distress as she holds her head high.
The whites of her eyes are visible when she nearly charges over me.
I grab hold of her halter just in time, tightening my grip as she pulls against me.
“It’s alright, girl; I’ve got you. I’m here,” I say as calmly as possible.
Covering my nose and mouth once more, I run her out of the building.
She knocks into me, and I almost trip, barely dodging the flames that lick up the walls.
“Declan!” My mother’s panicked cry turns to a sob of relief.
She rushes toward me, forgetting to tie the sash of her nightgown as it flutters behind her in the wind.
Her arms wrap around me the moment I’m out in the open.
“You stupid boy! What were you thinking?” She tightens her grip, and I hug her back.
“I’m alright, Mother. I have…” A coughing fit steals my ability to speak.
She slaps my back, and I raise my hand to stop her.
“I have good genes,” I tell her, clearing my throat.
“Duskruns don’t give up that easily.” I force a smile, but all I can think of is Bryn.
Is she home safe? Did she get caught? Did she actually listen to me and go back to the manor?
“You inherited your father’s idiocy, that’s for sure.” Her relief is evident in her tone, but she still guides me toward the house, away from the burning stables and the crowd that’s trying to save it.
“I need to help them.” I plant my feet firmly, refusing to abandon them. My mess.
“You’ve done enough.” If only she knew just how much I’ve done. If Bryn is home safe, without the risk of being punished, it will all be worth it.
“I’ll be back soon, Mother.” I turn and head back to the last stable on the right and the path leading to the manor behind it.
Collecting a bucket, I aim for the stable door, but there aren’t flames here, only smoke.
No one looks my way. They’re too busy. Tossing the bucket above the door, I look over my shoulder and slip into the shadows around the corner.
The closer I get to the manor, the quieter the darkness becomes.
Wiping the tears from my burning eyes, I force them to focus.
It’s impossible to open them wider than a sliver.
My heart skips a beat, then lunges into such a ferocious pace it’s all I hear.
There, against the door, I see two figures.
One tall and male, bracing a hand against the door’s arch above his head.
The second is much smaller, with a mustard-yellow cloak swaying at her feet. My Bryn.
My feet start moving before I have a plan mapped out in my mind. I’ll end whoever it is right here while everyone is too distracted to notice. Keeping my back to the wall, I use its shadows as cover. My hands clench into fists, my only weapons, but they’ll have to make do.
“The poor damsel can’t even manage to open a simple door,” he tells her, his voice deep and seductive.
I freeze, every muscle locking into place.
It’s not only the words, but the tone used to say them.
There’s no threat to what he said. Their bodies are close enough they could be touching.
They are touching. His hand covers hers, and she… she doesn’t pull away.
I duck into the narrow corridor on the right for a better view.
Betrayal lances through my chest with an aching blow.
Bryn, my Bryn, isn’t afraid of the man in front of her.
I know her every expression, even the one she reserves for him, the one with heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips.
Unable to watch, I retreat into the shadows.
I’m not good enough for her. I stay until her door closes, until his retreating footsteps, even and proud, grate against the gravel path, and the arrogant melody he whistles is consumed by the roaring fire as he walks past me, as if I don’t even exist.