Page 57 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
“You’re not teg, either,” I remind her.
Beth leads me to the tall front door. It’s heavy oak, carved with leaves and vines that curl around stained-glass panes. She doesn’t reach for the golden handle, but it turns for her anyway.
“I’m not,” Beth admits, “but I can see them as they are. I could come and go between our world and theirs.”
“I can see them, too.” It sounds petulant when it leaves my mouth, and Beth’s lips quirk unkindly. We both know I’m telling a half-truth, that I only see because Neirin allows it.
“He’s down at the edge of the estate, near the boathouse,” Beth says tightly, and she turns to leave.
“Wait,” I call, and she halts. We stand in silence for a beat, but she doesn’t look back at me. “You said youcouldmove between the worlds. What happened?”
Her shoulders rise and fall with a silent, dry laugh. “What always happens. I lingered too long. I stayed for a boy, and now I can’t find my way back.”
The wind gets knocked out of me, just a bit. I suspected that she and Neirin had some form of attachment, but that doesn’t make hearing the truth of it any less unpleasant—and it doesn’t make me any less stupid. There is a deep imbalance between him and me, and Beth is a breathing reminder of what could happen if everything tips too far in Neirin’s favor. He seems to have tired of Beth, and yet here she is, trapped. I could easily fall to the same fate.
“I have no designs on him,” I tell her, and I’m not lying. I like Neirin—perhaps too much—but I’m no fool. I won’t jeopardize my sister and my own dignity for a chance at his fickle attentions.
“Oh, that all ended a long time ago.” She looks me up and down pointedly with a sickly grin. “But it’s good that you know your place—that’ll prevent unnecessary embarrassment, won’t it?”
As insults go, I’ve weathered worse. She waits for a response, and I’m tempted not to dignify her with one.
I fix her with the same assessing gaze she used on me and return her smile. “Does it get tiring, being an unwanted houseguest?”
Beth recoils, blinking like I’ve slapped her. I doubt anyone has ever actually hit her before. I’d be overjoyed to be the first.
“I don’t know,” she says primly, a slight waver in her voice. “You’ll have to tell me once he tires of you, too.”
She storms away, leaving me at the door, a bolt of cold panic shooting through me. I watch her as she shrinks and disappears into the opulence of the house, another trinket Neirin keeps on a shelf. I’m dangerously close to ending up just like her.
I try to shake off the truth as I wind through the tiered garden, passing croquet grounds, abandoned picnics and empty dovecotes. I find Neirin at the base of it all, leaning against the wall of his boathouse.
Inside the wooden structure, two rowing boats bob on the placid lake, chained to the dock. Neirin pushes off the wall, his hands in his pockets, and jerks his head, gesturing for me to follow him around the building. Two wooden practice swords and a straw-filled dummy await us.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“You’ve got that rapier for a reason.” He taps the scabbard as he passes, one finger just brushing my leg, so light I should barely feel it, but I do. “It’s time you learn to use it, before it’s too late.”
I arch a brow. “And who’s going to teach me?”
“I will,” he says, arms held wide as if to say,Who else?
“Forgive my surprise.”
“You saw me kill the pwca.”
My hands fidget at my side. “I assumed that was luck.”
He laughs, unoffended by my attempt to cut him down. “Well, luck is always a part of any fight, but you can’t practice it. You either have luck, or you don’t.”
And don’t I know it.
“Why use practice blades when I have the real thing?” I pick up a wooden sword, holding it out before me by the smooth hilt.
Neirin picks up the other, flipping it deftly in his hand. “To remind you that this is pretend. You’ll have to use the real thing, eventually.” It’s almost ominous, until he grins. “Plus, your rapier’s made of iron, so I don’t want it pointed at me. You’re a bit haphazard and you’ve already marked me once.”
He turns his palm up, revealing the circle of burned skin. I wonder if iron scars can’t be fully healed, or if Neirin chose to leave it there. Which leads to the lightly distressing idea that perhaps hewantsto keep the scar.
“What do you know about sword fighting?” He adopts a wide stance.
