Chapter 4: The First Lie

Cassian

Somebody is lying to me. I just don't know if it's the woman I'm supposed to trust or the woman I'm supposed to kill.

I stand outside the North Tower door with my hand on the wood and don't go in. Bram is waiting behind me. He hasn't said a word in ten minutes, which is how I know he's worried.

"She won't tell you what she saw," Bram says finally.

"No."

"She went white as a ghost, Alpha. She grabbed the doorframe. I thought she was going to be sick."

"I know. I was there."

"Then why not just order her to tell you?"

Because she'd tell me. That's the problem. And I'm not sure I want to hear it.

I push the door open.

Lyra is sitting on the windowsill with her knees pulled up, watching the sun climb over Ashgate. She's changed into the plain gray dress the maids left. Her hair is braided. She doesn't turn around.

"Two days," she says. "Did you sleep?"

"No."

"Me neither. Isn't it funny? The two of us, wide awake, both waiting to be murdered."

"Only one of us is being murdered."

"Right." She finally looks at me, and her eyes are red-rimmed and sharp. "Careful. You almost sounded like you cared."

I let that go. "What did you see when I caught you?"

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

She's quiet for a long moment. Her fingers pick at the hem of her sleeve.

"The vision went on longer this time," she says. "I saw the end. And you weren't alone when you died."

My pulse ticks up. "Who was there?"

"Seraphine."

I don't move.

"She was standing behind you," Lyra says. "Watching. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't running. She was just standing there, like she'd been waiting."

I know I should say something calm. I should ask for details. I should be the man who trusts evidence.

Instead, I hear myself snap, "Get that out of your mouth."

"Cassian —"

"Seraphine Vale has served this territory for twenty years. She saved my life twice. She's been my oracle since I was seventeen." I'm shaking again. I hate it. "You've known me for two days. You're going to stand there and accuse her?"

"I'm telling you what I saw!"

"You're telling me what you want me to believe."

"Why would I want that?"

"Because it gets you out of a noose."

She flinches like I've hit her.

"Wow," she whispers. "Okay."

"Lyra —"

"No, you're right. That's exactly what a guilty woman would say." She slides off the sill and turns her back on me. "Get out."

I don't. I can't. My wolf is pacing so hard behind my ribs that I can barely hear my own thoughts.

You hurt her, he growls.

She accused Seraphine.

She told the truth.

You don't know that.

I do.

"Alpha?"

The voice is soft, and it makes both of us freeze.

Seraphine stands in the doorway. She's in silver-gray again, hands folded, cloudy eyes shining with what looks like gentle concern. Bram has stepped aside for her. Of course he has. Everyone does.

"Forgive me. I heard raised voices." She glides inside. "I came to speak with you privately, but perhaps it's best that she hears this, too."

"Speak," I say.

She takes a breath. She looks sad, the way she always does when she's about to deliver hard news.

"Alpha, I have been reading the old texts. There is a documented case, four centuries ago, of a Death Seer who bound the mind of a wolf through touch." Her eyes slide to Lyra. "The bond that forms between mates is very strong. Very open. A Seer could use it to twist a man's thoughts without his ever knowing."

Lyra makes a strangled sound. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Consider it, Cassian," Seraphine says softly. "Why did you spare her? The evidence was overwhelming. Any sensible Alpha would have carried out the sentence. Instead, you kept her. You defied the Council. You broke your own law." She smiles, and it's the saddest thing I've ever seen. "That isn't like you."

My stomach drops.

She's right. It isn't.

I can't tell her the real reason. I can't say, my wolf spoke to me and told me that if she dies, I die. That would sound even worse. It would sound like exactly what a bewitched man would say.

"I'll consider it," I say.

"Please do." Seraphine touches my sleeve. "I only want you safe."

She leaves. The scent of her, cool and floral, hangs behind her like a cloud.

Lyra hasn't moved.

"That," she says slowly, "was the best performance I've ever seen."

"Enough."

"She just told you I was mind-controlling you. In front of me. With a straight face."

"Perhaps she's right."

Silence.

Lyra turns around. She isn't angry anymore. Somehow that's worse. She just looks tired, and sad, and very, very young.

"Then test me," she says.

"What?"

"Test me. Pick anyone. Someone I've never met. Somebody you trust." She takes a step toward me. "If I'm the one twisting minds, I won't know a thing about them. But if she's been messing with memories, I'll see it. Give me ten minutes with one of your guards. Bare hands. Bram and you in the room. If I'm lying, you'll know."

"And if you're not?"

"Then you need to decide who you're really afraid of."

I look at her for a long time.

I should say no. Every instinct I've trained for ten years says no.

But my wolf is staring out through my eyes, and for the first time in my life, he's begging.

"Bram," I say. "Bring me Corin Ashby."

---

Corin is twenty-three, with sandy hair and a nervous grin. He's been on my personal guard for six years. I carried him to the healer myself when he took an arrow at the Southern Gate. If there is one man in Blackspire I would trust with my life, it's him.

That's why I pick him.

"Alpha?" He stands at attention, glancing between me and Lyra. "You wanted me?"

"Give her your hand."

"My hand?"

"It's an order."

Corin sticks out his palm. Lyra takes it, gently, almost apologetic. Bram's hand rests on his sword. My own hands are fists.

Lyra closes her eyes.

A second passes. Two.

Then she goes rigid.

Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten on his. Sweat beads at her hairline, and a thin line of blood trickles from her nose, and I take a step forward before I can stop myself.

"Stay back," she gasps. "Stay — I'm nearly —"

She rips her hand away and staggers. I catch her elbow. I don't even think.

"Well?" I demand.

She wipes her nose, breathing hard. Her eyes are wide and horrified.

"His hands are wrong."

"What?"

"He's got a scar on his left palm. A long white one, from a knife. I felt it when I took his hand." She looks up at me. "In the memory, it isn't there."

"What memory?"

"His final one. The last thing he expects to see before he dies." Her voice cracks. "It's Emberfall, Alpha. There are banners burning. And I'm looking at you. On the ground. Bleeding. And I'm holding the knife."

Bram swears.

"But it's not real," Lyra says quickly. "That's the point. It's too clean. No smell, no sound, no weight to it. A real memory has texture. This one's like a painting somebody hung inside his head. Somebody put it there."

I stare at her. My blood is roaring in my ears.

"Corin." I turn to him. "Corin, look at me."

He's staring at his own hand.

His face has gone slack. His lips are moving. The color is draining out of his cheeks, and something behind his eyes is shifting, like a curtain is being drawn back.

"I remember," he whispers.

"Remember what?"

"The festival. The lanterns." He looks up. His eyes are wet and horrified. "I remember killing you, Alpha."

The room goes dead silent.

"I stabbed you in the back. You turned around. You looked so surprised." Tears spill down his face. "Oh, gods. Oh, gods, I killed you. I killed you at Emberfall."

I don't move.

Emberfall is two days away. The festival hasn't happened.

But Corin Ashby is sobbing in front of me, describing my murder in perfect detail, down to the sound I made when I fell.

And he believes every word.