Page 64 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
Neirin puts down the drinks he was holding. “Tell her what, Mab?”
“That my sister was here.” I clench my fist tight, the band still cold against my skin. “You knew her, all along, well before I met you.”
Fairies have formed a circle around us, watching, murmuring behind glasses. They give me sidelong looks, as ifI’mthe insane one here, and it’s just like being back in Llanadwen.
“You can’t lie.” I hold his gaze. “But you can misdirect, right? What else am I missing? Will you not even tell me now?”
I think of how I keep falling asleep and waking up foggy, more able to forget my sister. How the food tastes so wonderful but never fills me. My eyes land on the table of sweets behind him, and my throat fills with bile.
I’ve fallen asleep every time I’ve eaten anything he’s given me. The cake, the tea.
Mabyn’s whine interrupts my horror. “We all did as you said and kept away—”
“Was my injury part of the plan, too?” I ask over her, as my heartplummets to the floor. Everything was planned—everything was to keep me here. “Or was that just good luck?”
“Neirin would never—”
But Mabyn’s protest is cut off when I wheel around and strike her with an iron-ringed slap.
She drops to the floor, clutching her burned cheek. Her spindly green legs thrash. Someone peels Mabyn’s hand away, and part of her skin comes with it.
I stagger back, gagging at the burning bacon smell infecting the air.
“It wasn’t planned! How could I plan your injury?” Neirin replies, as if Mabyn isn’t screaming on the floor between us. “Contrary to what you think, Habren, I don’t want to hurt you. Only to win, same as you.”
I turn back to him, horror plastered on my face. “T-to win?”
“What do you humans call it? Oh, yes—I stacked the deck.” He shrugs. “Two champions are better than one, after all. Your sister may have abandoned me, but our deal still stands. Word is bond here. Her favor is still mine to claim, should she win.”
My empty stomach threatens to cast itself up. He wanted us both to attempt to fix Y Lle Tywyll so he has two chances at winning.
“She could die!” I scream at him.
“Of course she could die.” A notch forms between his brows. “That’s why I needed you, obviously—as a backup. You could die too, of course, but I’d prefer it if that didn’t happen now. Hence why I’m letting Ceridwen have a proper crack at it first—though I knew her as Elin before you and Morgen started talking a little too loudly.”
I stare at him, my mouth open. I can’t argue—there’s no point. Neirin will never understand. His cruelty, using Ceridwen and me as pawns in some game and thinking neither of us would ever notice, is beyond comprehension. I shake my head and storm away.
I don’t make it to the door before he follows and catches my arm. “Does it matter? We were going to leave in the morning anyway—”
“No, we weren’t.” I jerk free from his grasp. “We were going to stay here until you got bored of me, or until you’d had confirmation that my sister had lost. Why?”
I feel pathetic as my lip wobbles and tears prick my eyes, but I won’t let them fall.
Neirin only blinks, peering intently at my face like he’s looking for a guide to understanding my reaction. “I want to keep you, regardless of the challenge or your sister. I’m sure Ceridwen is already in Y Lle Tywyll: you wasted enough time of your own accord. I did as I promised, I slowed time. I’m sure she’s fine.”
I shake my head furiously. “You said you’d pause it.”
“No, I said I canmanipulatetime,” he points out. “You took that to mean halting it entirely. I cannot do that; no one can. I merely slowed it down, but I still gave you what you wanted. A chance to rest—to have your little holiday away from being the responsible sister.”
I want to tear my hair out. I’ve done exactly what I’ve judged others for—I’ve fallen for clever wordplay, pretty parlor tricks. Time may have been slowed, but that only does so much. Ceridwen is in Y Lle Tywyll and I’m here. He built another cage within the one his brother put him in, and he lured me inside both. A prisoner watching over another prisoner, entertaining himself, as if I’m a little show put on just for him.
“I told Mabyn you wouldn’t understand.” He runs a hand through his hair. “She was trying to be nice to you, and you”—he jabs a finger in my direction—“have ruined her face. And it’s not like she has a brain to compensate it with.”
I can’t bear to look at Mabyn, so I turn to Neirin with an expression of fury that, for a moment, cows him.
“If you point that finger in my face again,” I say slowly, “I’ll cut it off.”
Silence washes over the room like a fog, broken only by Mabyn’s fading sobs as she’s led away.
