Page 31 of Court of Lies and Deceit

Ared sun rises over the tall rock formations that wrap around the back of the sprawling city as we leave the castle grounds. The red light reflects against the canal to our left, making the rippling water look like blood. I suppress a shudder.

Trying to shake off the sudden ominous feeling that crawled up my spine, I turn to my companions, who have all stopped on the street a short distance from the wrought steel gates of the castle. For a few moments, the rushing water from the waterfalls behind us is the only sound that fills the brisk morning.

Then Isera snaps, “Why did you interfere?”

Both Lyra and Galen start slightly at her sharp tone and glance uncertainly between her and Draven, but Draven doesn’t seem particularly offended by her harsh demand. He just shifts his gaze to her furious face and locks serious eyes on her.

“Because Orion likes to play games,” he replies. “Since he’s always hiding behind his wards, I’ve only had limited interactions with him, but even then it’s impossible to miss. He fucking loves to play games with people. Talking circles around them, making them admit things they never wanted to admit, pulling them into dangerous bargains, getting them to do things for his own amusement. He lives for it.”

Isera clenches her jaw, but she sounds more annoyed with Orion than angry with Draven as she presses out, “I can handle that arrogant little pretty boy king just fine.”

“No, you can’t,” Draven says, though not unkindly. There is no cruelty in his voice as he holds her gaze. Only simple facts. “We all saw how badly his nightmare powers affected you.”

She flinches, and for a moment, I swear I can see embarrassment flash across her face. Then the rage returns. “As if you didn’t?—”

“I’m not saying that we weren’t affected too. I’m saying that whatever memory he was using against you is worse than what he was using against us. It affects you more than our memories affect us. And part of being a good soldier is knowing your own limits.”

“I’m not a soldier. And I don’t give a shit about limits.”

“Then you will die before this war even starts.”

“If you think?—”

“Is it true?” Galen suddenly interrupts.

The question jolts everyone out of Draven and Isera’s argument. Blinking, I turn to face him, but he is looking at Alistair. The sudden change seems to confuse Isera as well, because the burning fury in her eyes banks a little as she also turns to frown at Galen.

Another brisk morning wind whirls between the pale stone houses, and somewhere on the street next to ours, several doors are opened and closed. The faint thuds are almost drowned out by the rushing waterfalls.

I flick a quick glance at Draven who, just like everyone else, is looking at Galen. But as opposed to the rest of us, he doesn’t look confused. Instead, he is studying his friend with an expression I can’t read. Shifting my gaze back to Alistair, I find him looking strangely guilty.

“Is what true?” he asks, glancing uncertainly between Galen and the rest of us.

“What he said in there,” Galen says. “Was he right when he said that you don’t even want to be here?”

Alistair starts, looking caught for a moment. Then he draws his pale brows down in a scowl and crosses his arms over his chest. There is a note of challenge in his voice as he replies with a single word. “Yes.”

That moment right before we crossed the border into the Unseelie Court drifts through my mind. That moment when we were all moving towards the wards while Alistair glanced around the open grasslands instead.

So hehadbeen about to leave.

Cocking my head, I study him as he glares back at the rest of us. I wonder why he stayed.

“You don’t care about freeing the Seelie Court?” I ask, making sure to keep my tone neutral and without judgement.

“Or getting revenge?” Isera demands.

She, on the other hand, isn’t checking her tone. Her question comes out like an accusation. It immediately sets Alistair’s anger aflame too.

“No,” he practically spits the word back at her. “I don’t.”

“But you said that we would kill them all,” she growls back at him. “You said that you hated them.”

“I do hate them.”

“Then why?—”

“Because I hate everyone!” His chest heaves, and he uncrosses his arms and instead throws them out wide in a show of frustration. “I hate everyone! I hate people.” Dragging in a deep breath, he rakes both hands through his hair. And suddenly, he just looks… exhausted. A hint of desperation creeps into his green and orange eyes as he says, “I just want to be left alone.”

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