Page 52 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

My face turned in his direction, tears flowing freely down my ice-cold cheeks. I could only shake my head, even though I had been listening.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s—” Lucais broke off with a sharp exhale, and I felt heat bloom on my cheeks. Wren hadlied to me, and Lucais was tired of me. “It’s easier for us to offer mistruths when we aren’t responding to a direct question, when we’re making subjective remarks or offering opinions. If you ask a faerie a direct question, you must pay careful attention to your wording and theirs.”

I just stared at him, at the crease between his eyebrows and the dark curls falling across his forehead, with blurry eyes. I couldn’t even look at Wren, couldn’t feel his gaze on me anymore as my entire body went numb from head to toe.

Lucais shoved his plate aside with a clatter and lay his hands down flat on the table, fingers splayed out over the surface. “Aura, ask me who the High King of Faerie is.”

There was a bang on the table, causing the glasses and cutlery to clink, and I started. Wren had either punched or kicked the wood.

He was still seething. I ignored him.

“Who is the High King of Faerie?” I asked, lifting my shaky hands to wipe the tears from my face.

“Lucais Starfire.” The High King looked at me with wide, open eyes. “That was the truth. Now, ask me if I know who the High King of Faerie is.”

I took a deep breath, shifting in my seat now that Wren was no longer looking at me like he was going to strangle me to death. I asked, “Do you know who the High King of Faerie is?”

Lucais’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes.” A brief pause. “Gregor Woodburn from the Court of Earth.” He coughed with his mouth closed, shaking his head as if to clear it. “That was almost a lie, see? Yes, I do know who the High King is, but I added the second part to mislead you. Questions and answers can vary depending on the context, and we can refuse to respond if we don’t wish to tell the truth, but we cannot outright lie to your face if you ask us the right questions.”

My head felt heavy, my blood thick and sluggish in my veins, but I nodded to convey understanding—though it was the most basic kind and utterly useless.

“One more.” Lucais’s voice was acting like an antidote to Wren’s poison. With each exhausted blink, my eyes began to clear. “Ask me if I can show you where the paperdove eggs are.”

Weakly, I arched an eyebrow at the name, but I took a deep breath and said, “Can you show me where the paper dove eggs are?”

The High King nodded and replied with, “Yes.”

I watched as he reached over a goblet of red wine and pointed to a dish of what looked like purple grapes, which were about five platters away from the only bowl of boiled eggs I could see on the table.

“Matching your actions to words is the foundation of honesty for humans,” Lucais explained. “The High Fae have long considered this to be our greatest weakness, so we’ve found ways to work around it. Technically speaking, I answered your question truthfully, even though I showed you the wrong thing. You’ll get used to it, and learn to adapt, too.”

Bringing my elbows up onto the table, I buried my face in my hands and took measured, deep breaths until my face felt warm again. Even if Icouldtrust either of them to tell me the truth, I didn’t want to ask how Wren had deceived me earlier. I wanted to figure it out for myself.

I wracked my brain, trying to recall the specific words.

“I said the Court doesn’t know you’re here.” Wren’s voice was like a distant echo of thunder. “I was referring to the specific room you were in, but I let you believe whatever you wanted. That’s the art of deception. That’s what I’ve beentryingto tell you—”

“I don’t care!” My fists came down on the table with a bang. I looked straight at Wren, at his beautifully deceitful face,and swore at him—a filthy word that he might have recognised from the book he stole from me. “Stop talking to me.”

A muscle in his jaw flickered, but he kept his mouth shut.

I turned back to Lucais, and immediately, part of my guard dissipated. He was sunlight where Wren was frostbite, and I could’ve melted into the expression on his face, the way he sat in the chair with the backs of his hands flat on the table as if he was ready to catch me if I fell. He didn’t look tired of me anymore. He looked almost impressed.

“Take your time,” he murmured encouragingly, noting my concentration as I tried to phrase the right sort of question.

I had absolutely no confidence in myself—not anymore—because it was so easy to become lost in language, and communicating with faeries was like the practice of reading and understanding all of the fine print.

But I could learn. I could adapt, like Lucais said.

“What caused you…to worry about me?”

His attentive frown slackened, chestnut eyes softening as they roamed my face. “I worried because I knew when the two of you crossed the border, and it took you days to arrive here when it should have taken minutes.”

“Why should it have taken minutes?”

He cocked his head to the side at the same time as Wren let out a discouraging groan. “It only takes minutes to evanesce from the House to the border,” he stated plainly.

My eyes shuttered. “But I’m human. You knew I was human. I can’t—”

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