Page 9 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire

merch heb enw

(A GIRL WITH NO NAME)

“Fun?” I spit at him. “I almost died!”

The boy kneels down beside the dead pwca.

He wipes his bloody sword on the creature’s black fur.

The blade shines, topped with a delicate hilt of metal flowers and jewels.

It looks more suited to the mantelpiece than to killing, yet the corpse between us is evidence of its lethality—and of that of its wielder.

He rises and sheathes the blade, and when he finally looks at me again, he grins. He has a dimple. “And whose fault is that? You shouldn’t have been talking to the pwca. You sounded smart at first, but you just couldn’t walk away.”

He steps toward me with a feline grace. He is long and lithe, and my pulse soars. There is something dangerous about him, something slick in the way he moves toward me. He’s rather like a snake slinking through the short grass.

And he is beautiful. His brown eyes widen, lashes casting spider-leg shadows over his high, angular cheeks.

His freckles cover his nose, just like mine—though mine have long begun spreading to my forehead and his are so careful, like an artful dusting of stars over his glass-smooth milk-white skin.

They’re near human, nearly welcoming, but the perfection of their distribution is unsettling.

His wavy hair is black, streaked with a gray that shines as if someone dipped a paintbrush in molten silver and ran it through his locks.

He wears a black velvet dress coat, its broad epaulets embroidered with silver threads and sequins, creating stars, moons and planets across the fabric.

It hangs open over a loose white shirt with a ruffled collar and satin trousers.

I have never seen an outfit less suited to traversing the wilderness, save for, perhaps, my own, which I realize he is currently observing with the same hungry interest that I have given his.

My cheeks flush. A nightgown and an old coat aren’t appropriate attire for a girl to be seen in outside her own house. While that hasn’t bothered me so far, something about his dark, assessing gaze makes me feel completely bare.

And yet, there’s something oddly familiar about him. Like I’ve seen him before, if only for a second.

“You were watching me,” I say, my eyes raking back over the black-and-silver palette he’s carefully constructed. That flash of something at the edge of the woods returns to me and I let out a horrified breath. “You were watching me when I first entered the woods. You’ve been following me!”

He stares blankly. “Obviously.”

“Why?”

“I had nothing else to do.”

My eye twitches and I try to keep the rage building in my chest hidden. He has a sword, and apparently has no qualms about running it through another teg, so I hardly expect him to keep the pointy end away from me.

“Well?” he says, after we stand in barbed silence for a moment.

I swallow, my throat dry. “Well, what?”

“It’s usually considered polite to thank someone who has done you a good turn.”

“A good turn?” I repeat shrilly. “You didn’t intervene until I was almost eaten!”

“And you’re very welcome.” He holds his arms wide and sweeps into a teasing bow.

“I don’t take kindly to being mocked.”

“Mocked?” His dark eyes widen. “You mistake me for the pwca.”

My mouth drops open and I’m silent for a beat, until I explode. “So why didn’t you help sooner?”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I was entertained. Though, admittedly, I don’t quite understand what your plan was. You’re clever enough to solve his riddles but stupid enough to need to prove it.”

“I’m hardly stupid if I bested the pwca.”

“I bested the pwca.” He takes a step toward me. “You answered some riddles and almost got yourself killed.”

“I bested him intellectually.” I twitch.

His eyes roam over my face, his lips parting slightly. My lip curls.

“What was that?” He mimics my twitch. “You’re like a rabbit.”

“Don’t copy me,” I snap. “And don’t call me a rabbit.”

“But what is it?”

“A twitch.”

“I haven’t seen one with that before.”

“Yes, well, happy to be an interesting specimen.” I back away. “I’ll be going now.”

I stride away from him, hands fisted at my side.

“The road is the other way, rabbit,” he calls. “But I should warn you—Ah, never mind.”

I pause beside the pwca’s tree and take a deep breath, my shoulders rising to my ears. I shouldn’t indulge him, but I’m still too curious for my own good. I glance back.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’ve made it clear you don’t need my help—maybe you can best Y Lle Tywyll intellectually as well.”

The Dark Place. My sister’s destination. I turn sharp on my heel and storm back toward him, fists still clenched.

“How do you know about that? Have you been spying on my conversations?”

“You make me sound so sinister,” he says indignantly.

“I lost you near the river. I picked up your trail again because you and the pwca insisted on making your little debate rather loud. Regardless, everyone knows about Y Lle Tywyll; it’s all the teg have talked of since it appeared.

” He shrugs. “But if you meant ‘How do I know that’s where you’re headed?

’ that’s because you’re human, and humans are always ready to throw themselves into danger for our favor. ”

“Funny,” I say. “Because I heard you needed us to go in because your lot die if they try.”

His charming smile falters but doesn’t drop. “You’re certainly more informed than the other idiots the king has sent down there to their deaths. So, what do you seek? Fortune? Fame? The love of some boy who’s never looked your way?”

I shrug blithely. “People go for useless things like that? No, I want what matters. I want immortality.”

Let him think I’m another desperate mortal, fighting futilely against time.

“You are clever, then.” He tilts his head again, a raven on his perch. His curls shift and part to reveal a pointed ear and the silver earrings that sparkle along the shell of it. A small hoop hangs from the other. “What’s your name, rabbit?”

I lift my chin. “Habren.”

“Habren.” He rolls the word over his tongue. The corners of his lips quirk. “That isn’t your real name.”

“Habren” is an old version of Sabrina. She was a princess drowned in the Severn by her stepmother, and the river takes its name from her.

I asked Mam once why she would be so unkind as to name me after a murdered princess when Ceridwen took her name from a goddess-witch of old.

Mam said then, as we gathered by the crackling fire, that the Severn was the lifeblood of Wales, its tributaries flowing through our land, connecting each town, each village and running, impossibly, upstream.

“The railway is making slow progress through Wales,” Dad added, “because that’s what the English want. They want the people separated, the language stunted and the stories forgotten. So they keep the roads rotten and the railways short—but they cannot stop the Severn.”

So, Habren is not my name, but it’s close, and all the best lies sprout from a seed of truth.

“Names have power,” I say. “I like to keep mine close to my chest.”

“You gave me your friend’s name, earlier.”

I’ve been running through the woods yelling for Ceridwen loud enough that every fairy in the forest must have heard, not just him. I tell myself that I couldn’t have known that any of this was even real, but I still feel stupid.

“What was it? Ceri—”

“That’s a nickname.” It’s a stupid excuse, but I can’t think of anything else.

His lips twitch. “I do admire the human ability to lie.”

“Must be a shame having to be so honest,” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm. He might not be able to lie, but I don’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth. “What’s your name?”

He eyes me carefully, silence building between us.

“Neirin,” he admits, reluctance coloring his name.

Dad has been right twice. They cannot lie, and names have power in Gwlad y Tylwyth Teg. My one power, my only card, will be lies.

“And why were you following me, Neirin?”

He fixes me with an admonishing look. “Just because I must tell the truth, that doesn’t mean I am honor bound to answer every question.”

“Then why tell me your name if you didn’t have to?”

Neirin flashes a dazzling, cutting smile. “Perhaps I wanted you to have it.”

I can only snort in response and, when I twitch, he watches the tic with open curiosity. As he takes a step toward me a scent of vanilla and firewood radiates from his skin, filling the gap between us. It almost makes my mouth water.

I should step away, but I hold firm. He needs to know I’m not to be trifled with.

“Perhaps I find you trustworthy,” he tries again, eyes still raking over my face.

“Then you’re a fool.”

He lets out a quiet hum. “Well, it’ll be hard to work with such a dedicated liar, but I can compromise.”

“Work with?”

“Yes,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “You need to get to the palace and I need a champion. We’re a perfect team.”

Neirin starts walking away, assuming I’ll follow. I don’t want to prove him right but I charge after him, fury on my face.

“Explain yourself!” I barge in front to block his path.

He tilts his head to the side and my hair stands on edge, goose bumps rising on my arms.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Clearly not.”

“I know my land.” He waves a hand toward the trees. “You do not. I know our king. You do not. I know where Y Lle Tywyll lies—”

“And I do not,” I say. “What do you propose?”

“I’ll give you true sight. I am ellyll; it’s within my power to do so.”

A pit opens in my stomach. I can’t even fathom how much of the wood I’m missing with my human eyes.

How can I find my sister if half the world remains cloaked in shadow?

I lift my chin indignantly. “In exchange for what? You cannot lie when you offer me terms, Neirin.”

Neirin shivers as I spit out his name, but his brilliant smile doesn’t falter.

“That I well know. Between us, we will agree that you are a member of my court. I’ll take you to the king and you will present yourself to His Highness as a champion.

I’ll then personally escort you to Y Lle Tywyll and guarantee you safe passage there.

If you win, you will make your request of the king and my court earns his favor.

If you die, no hard feelings. But if you lose and live?

Then you will belong to my court for the rest of your days. ”

I blink at him. “What?”

Neirin only shrugs. “My court are fascinated by humans. We would be delighted to watch you wither and die; we see the beauty in rot where you do not. You would be well cared for, Habren. Fed and dressed like a queen, a living history for us to devour.”

My stomach churns at the idea, but I force my face to remain blank. “And what do you gain if I win?”

“I told you—the king’s favor.”

“That cannot be all.”

Neirin’s eyes snag on my frowning mouth before flicking back up to meet my gaze.

“Of course it isn’t. That’s a gamble you’ll have to take.

You can try and find the road. See if you survive the walk, blind and vulnerable, through the heart of our land.

But with my approach, you stand to gain an awful lot and lose very little. ”

“Only my freedom,” I snap at him.

Neirin smiles darkly. “You’ll understand quite quickly that freedom is worth far less than you humans think.”

My lips curl unpleasantly. “Then you really don’t understand us.”

Neirin goes still, observing me like a bird of prey from a high branch. My heart leaps to my mouth and sits there, hammering, until he finally laughs. “Perhaps you can teach me, Habren. All I ask is that you remove your ring.”

I rub my thumb over the dull iron band. Of all the sacrifices he could request, it’s a small one.

He’s the only guide here, and he offers true sight.

If I win, I get my sister and our freedom, and if I lose, I die.

I have no intention of returning to his court as a living exhibit, even if I must slice my own throat and let the blood pool at his feet.

I slowly remove the ring from my finger and stuff it in my coat pocket, my hand lingering there.

“We’ll shake on it,” I tell him, “as humans do.”

Neirin grins eagerly as I extend my arm.

“You will be our greatest treasure, Habren,” he says.

When he takes my hand, I slip my thumb from where it lay flat against my palm, concealing the ring, and press the band of iron into his skin.

He yelps and tries to pull back, but I grasp him tighter.

I hold his gaze, a slow smile spreading over my face as the scent of his own cooking skin fills the air.

Neirin leaps back, clutching his injured hand; there’s a circlet of burned flesh seared into the very center of his palm.

His eyes ricochet between me and the harm I’ve done.

Something dark sparkles behind them. Something altogether stranger than pain and surprise, something I don’t understand and probably never will.

I pluck the ring from my palm and hold it aloft like a trophy.

His eyes narrow on the thin band of iron as I fix him with a cold smile.

I slowly slide the ring back onto my middle finger, where it will remain—a harsh warning and a lesson he shouldn’t ignore.

He must learn fast that I can burn him as easily as he can smile and charm.