The First Lie

Kael set the inner bar. He moved fast but measured. He spoke to a young soldier with a scar on his chin. The boy ran to clear the hall. The room smelled like smoke and old wool. The fire snapped.

Avery stood near the hearth. Her hands shook. She made them still by force. The heat felt thin against the cold in her chest.

Kael pointed to the chair. He pointed to her mouth. He lowered his hand toward the floor. Sit. Quiet. Low.

She sat and folded her hands. She hated that she knew how to make herself small. She did it anyway.

He pulled a trunk from under the bed and lifted the lid. Plain cloth in gray and brown lay inside. He set a dress on the table. He set a simple scarf beside it.

He spoke in short words and showed what he wanted. He folded the scarf over his own hair to show how to hide color. He pointed to her eyes and then to the floor. He bent his own head.

She stood and copied him. He corrected the angle of her chin with two careful fingers and then stepped away.

He called for help. A woman in a dark dress entered with a wooden box. She bowed to Kael. She did not look at Avery.

Kael gave a brief order and left them. The woman opened the box. A comb. Pins. A small pot of dark powder. She braided Avery’s hair tight. She wrapped the scarf and pinned it. Bright strands vanished under plain cloth. She touched the corner of Avery’s eye with the powder. She nodded.

“Careful,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Avery whispered back.

The woman gathered her things and left without a sound.

Kael returned. His gaze moved from head to toe. He nodded once. No warmth. Only readiness.

He showed Avery where to stand. Two steps behind. Hands folded. Eyes lowered. She practiced. He watched. He corrected with a gesture. He did not raise his voice.

He spoke one slow careful line. He touched his chest. He touched her shoulder with the back of his hand. He pointed to the door. He pointed to the world beyond it.

He would say she belonged to him. It was a lie that kept her alive.

Her throat tightened. She nodded.

The key turned. Two officers entered with hard eyes and polite smiles. They bowed to Kael. They did not bow to her. They asked questions.

Kael answered in a flat voice that gave nothing. He said she was a distant ward from the far hills where roads ran crooked. He said fever had taken much of her speech. He said she would bring no trouble.

The officers looked at her hands. They looked at the shoes by the hearth. City softness showed no matter how she hid it.

Kael shifted a step to block their view. The motion was small. The message was not. The talk slid back to orders and patrols.

When the door closed at last, Avery let out a breath that had waited too long. Her shoulders dropped.

Kael lifted his hand. “No,” he said softly. He pressed his palm down. Stay still a moment longer.

She straightened. She lowered her eyes.

Night fell early. Wind hissed at the shutters. The lamps sank. The compound went quiet.

Avery lay on the narrow bed and watched the dark. Sleep would not come. The square lived behind her eyes. The sound of wood. The swing of a rope.

She sat up. The walls pressed close. The air felt heavy.

She eased to the door and turned the handle. The lock clicked. The hall stood empty.

She moved in shadow along the wall. The floor was cold under thin shoes. Her breath made small ghosts.

She found a stair that curved down to a lower passage. The air was damp and old. A thin line of light marked a door at the end.

She reached for the latch.

Boots thudded above. Voices came with them. Two guards talked about a raid near the old arch. They laughed. They said a word she knew now. Outsider.

Avery pressed flat to the stone. She held her breath. The men turned at the landing and went up. Their voices faded.

She pushed the door open. Cold air washed her face. A small back court lay empty. A rain barrel sat under the eave. A narrow gate stood in the far wall.

She crossed to the gate and lifted the latch. It stuck. She pushed harder.

A hand closed over the latch above hers.

Gray eyes met hers in the dark.

Kael stood in shadow. He had no cloak. His hair was damp with mist. He did not look angry. He looked tired. He looked like a man who had been waiting.

He closed the gate with a soft click.

“No,” he said. Quiet. Final.

A shout rose from the outer yard. Torches flared beyond the wall. Metal clashed in the distance.

Kael turned his head toward the noise. His body went still.

“Inside,” he said.

The gate rattled as someone tried the latch from the other side.