Page 82 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

And that hadn’t really worked out.

“No,” Wren grumbled at last, and I wondered how he was able to lie so well.

The matter apparently settled in spite of my input, the discussion continued between the High King of Faerie and the High Lady of the Court of Light, with their obnoxious companion chiming in to argue every so often. I was only half listening, picking up on small tidbits of information about security while the Court of Wind was visiting and the benefits of remote patrols across the land as I mulled over the phrasing of Lucais’s question and the ease of Wren’s deceitful reply.

Of course he was willing to take that chance.

Faeries couldn’t lie, but I was out of my depth against a culture so well-versed in the loopholes of language that its people could evade the truth without blinking an eye.

I wondered if there was a time limit on their honesty or if their thoughts played a part in their ability to deceive.

And then, when Morgoya asked the High King and his Hand what their preferred strategy was for explaining the situation to Enyd without giving too much away, I wondered how often they lied to each other.

“Do they not know?” I blurted, interrupting Lucais mid-sentence.

Three pairs of eyes fell on me, glazed over with surprise, and I realised that I was treading in unfriendly territory again.

None of them opened their mouths to answer.

I gaped at them. “The other Courts don’t know about the Malum?”

The three of them swapped apprehensive looks, but it was the High King who spoke.

“No,” he said gravely. “No, they don’t know about the Malum. We kept the deaths of the human girls as quiet as wecould, and the rumour mill decided on its own that it was a rabid pack of Lycanthropes.”

“Werewolves?” I braced my hands on the edge of my seat to stop myself from falling over.

“They prefer the term Wolf-Folk,” Wren corrected, studying a button on his pale blue shirt. “They’re really quite civilised people.”

“I don’t care.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, rebounding off numb lips. I turned back to Lucais. “How can you keep this from the whole of Faerie? Don’t they deserve to know they’re in danger?”

“They’re not in danger ye—” Wren started to say, but Morgoya shushed him.

“They have a lot of questions we don’t know how to answer yet,” she told me. “Part of the reason we loathe our curse of truth is that when we tell it, we tend to give all of it over at once. It can be overwhelming, making those decisions, shouldering the burdens.”

“Just spit it out.” Wren scraped the toe of his boot over the plush green rug. “She’ll make up something stupid in her own head otherwise.”

Morgoya gave him a long look—which he ignored—before speaking again. “If we disclosed the threat the Malum pose, we would have to tell them what—and who—the Malum are.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “You mean that when this all happened, during the—the whatever war—”

“The Gift War,” Wren murmured.

“You didn’t tell anyone about it?” I ignored him and tilted my head to the side, eyebrows bunching together. “You said they lived among you, that they were friends. What did you say when people asked? Surelysomeoneasked when they didn’t come home?”

“It was contained to our inner circle. The rebellion began in this Court.” Lucais’s voice was strained. “There was so much destruction and pain during the Gift War that when someone didn’t come home, they were automatically presumed dead by their loved ones. We simply never corrected them—because theyaredead, in a manner of speaking. It was too painful—”

“It was guilt,” I interrupted, levelling my cool stare on him. “You were the High King then, weren’t you?”

Lucais blinked at me.

“You tried to give them their magic back and banished them to the Ruins when you couldn’t because you felt guilty for what happened.” I felt my voice rising to near hysteria and did nothing to quell it. “That’s why you didn’t have them executed and why youstillaren’t doing anything about them. You’re putting the whole of Faerie at risk and blaming it onme—”

“I don’t have time for this.” Wren jumped to his feet, startling me into silence, and began smoothing out non-existent creases from his clothes. His eyes were on fire when he looked at me. “You want a history lesson? Fine. Go to the library. Read up on the Gift War, andthencome back to fling accusations at us if you still can’t put two and two together.”

Heat bloomed over my cheeks, and my hands curled into fists. “I wasn’t—”

“Tomorrow morning,” he went on, staring at the bookshelf behind Lucais as he straightened the collar of his shirt, “I’ll be in the training room. If you want to learn how to get yourself killed, stay here and pass judgement. If you don’t, I’ll expect to see you there at dawn. Don’t be late.”

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