Page 27 of The Shadowbound and the False God

Lyre’s eyes—those catlike, reflective eyes—no longer caught the light. They were dull. Matte. There was no life behind them.

It looked like Lyre, moved like him. His gait, his mannerisms, all identical save for those telltale eyes and the gaps in his knowledge. But this—whoever,whateverthis was—wasn’t Lyre.

Rodney forced his expression to remain neutral despite the way the fur on the back of his neck rose. Forced himself to turn,to deliberately plant one foot in front of the other. The being seemed to know little beyond what it must have witnessed of them since they’d entered the realm. Mentally, Rodney kicked himself for revealing as much as he had about his own history: it had been just enough for the being to parrot back. To sound like it, too, remembered these things.

Yet Rodney realized a being like this shouldn’t be hard to outwit. It knew what it knew, and nothing more. Which meant it certainly didn’t know just how clever Rodney could be when he tried.

“Where do you think Aisling could have gotten off to?” he asked, all false nonchalance. “Did you see any landmarks before we ran into each other?”

“Not a one,” not-Lyre said. “Every tree in this forest looks much the same to me.”

Rodney hummed, slowing to an ambling pace.Distraction.He needed to get the being’s focus on something other than their conversation.

“Watch your step,” Rodney warned congenially over his shoulder. “I’ve been counting paces in case we have to backtrack. I’d gotten up to eighty-six since we crossed that stream—would you mind taking over for a bit?”

“Eighty-seven,” it said aloud before resuming the count silently.

“What do you think Aisling saw? I hate to imagine.”

“Something to do with the king, if I had to wager a guess.” Its speech was slightly slower now, a bit more stilted as it concentrated on the ground.

Rodney hummed. “Could be. How many steps are you up to?”

“Ninety-six,” not-Lyre grumbled. It was beginning to get irritated. Rodney smirked.

“And Raif, what do you think he saw? I’m sure a soldier as experienced as he surely has any number of nightmares—fantasies—that could have played out.” That, even more so than what Aisling may have seen, he wasn’t keen on picturing. The amount of blood alone would likely be enough to make him vomit.

“One hundred andthree,” it enunciated, talking over Rodney now.

“What about the High Prelate?” Though his heart raced in his throat, Rodney’s voice came out even. He let the question hang in the air for a beat. Then another. Still, the being didn’t respond. So he cleared his throat and added, “That would be you,Lyre.”

The way Rodney said the name—the emphasis he put on it—he was sure the being knew. It had to.

The forest fell quiet as the footsteps behind Rodney stuttered, then halted altogether. Rodney paused, too, but refused to turn around. He didn’t want to see the look of pure rage he imagined it wore now as he said, “You’re not Lyre, are you?”

The being didn’t argue, didn’t curse or scream or fight. Just stood silent behind Rodney. Slowly, he let his hand drop to the hilt of the thin sword that hung from his belt. He didn’t want to use it—hereallydidn’t want to use it—but he would if he had to.

A harsh breeze drew frigid fingers through Rodney’s fur, scraping down the back of his neck before it tore off into the underbrush with a loud, whooshing roar. He could feel it then: whatever it was had gone. Still, he didn’t turn around, but continued on.

“Fenian,” the centaur offered gruffly. The pair had been walking in silence for a time, broken only by the occasional, angry sighs he huffed through his nose when Raif tugged on the rope around his waist.

“Excuse me?” Raif asked. He was annoyed at being drawn so suddenly from his thoughts, dark as they were.

“My name—it’s Fenian. Do you have one as well, or should I continue calling you soldier?”

Tempted though he was to remain anonymous, he nodded tersely and said, “Raif.”

“Raif,” Fenian repeated, more pensive now. “Why have you come here, Raif? Or, perhaps more interesting—howhave you come here? In all my time in Elowas, not a single living thing has been granted passage through the door. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure it could even be opened.”

“That is none of your concern.” His response was harsher than he’d intended it to be, but he was still unconvinced that Fenian was not simply another trick sent by the Low One. A trick oran emissary—either way, Raif had little interest in sharing the truth.

“You made it my concern when you roped me like a common calf,” Fenian growled.

Raif ignored the retort, only giving the line another sharp pull to make his point: he was in charge. He would be asking the questions.

But as the trees around them thinned and the pair moved further and further away from the darker parts of the forest, Fenian’s cold features seemed to thaw. The angry frown lines that marred his forehead grew shallow; his fierce scowl lightened. He walked alongside Raif more freely, without needing to be tugged along. Raif felt his own mood lightening to a degree, and his steps along with it. The oppressive weight slowly lifted from their shoulders and their minds.

“Tell me about this place,” Raif said. “How is it safe?”

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