Page 41 of Ogres Don't Play

My heart beat faster in my chest as I watched him. He was talking about the ogre thing. Of course he was. Was I ready to ask him if I really was an ogre, and if he’d used me as propaganda, and who was trying to kill me?

I opened my mouth, because the truth spells should be sinking into him. “I…” I closed my eyes and then opened them, gripping a fork. I wasn’t a coward, and I needed to know what was going on and what my role was in this whole mess. If I was an ogre, fine. I’d deal with it, even if it changed absolutely everything about what I thought about myself and everyone else.

“Tell me, are you the prince heir?”

His smile was one of delight, like I’d thought of a question he hadn’t considered. He gave me a regal nod, then put the last spoonful of yams in his mouth. He ate really, really fast.

“That’s a yes?”

“Yes. I am the prince heir. You’ve been doing research. It’s not common knowledge that there is a prince heir.”

“Have you been using me as propaganda ever since your ogres kidnapped me when I was five?”

“Yes.” He pulled out a long knife and cut a sliver of meat off the lamb. “Would you like some? You haven’t eaten anything. You’re worried that I spelled it? I did not. Please, eat, Mirabel.” The way he said my name was so weird, like a growling caress. Did he try to seduce all of his pieces of propaganda? Rook must be his best one, so hopefully not. Thinking about the luthier made my stomach ache.

“I’m too stressed out to eat. Also, I’ll get distracted by the sushi and lose my spelling. I’m not good at subtle spells.”

“That’s the angel in you,” he said with another smile. His gleaming eyes showed me what he thought about my angel. That she was edible, but I wasn’t. I was toxic to him.

I shook my head. I was definitely misreading things if I thought some prince heir was hitting on me. “You admit that I’m a piece of your propaganda. Do you really think that I’m…” I grabbed a sushi roll, stuffed it in my mouth, chewed, swallowed, then blurted out, “An ogre?” before I could change my mind.

He blinked at me and held out a piece of lamb speared on the end of his knife. “No. You are part ogre. When you were five, do you remember them taking your tusks out? Driver put you to sleep, but your mouth ached for days afterwards. Do you not remember the spelling he cut into you?”

I swallowed hard. “Driver took my tusks?”

“Of course. Your father is absolutely weak when it comes to his Miracle. Driver is never weak.”

“You were there. You told him to do it?”

“No. I am also weak when it comes to Miracle. All children, actually. That’s why I’d make a terrible chieftain. I wouldn’t be able to throw the sickly ogre babies out on the mountain for the wolves to devour so that our tribes could grow strong.” There was something about the way he said that, not like he was too weak, but that the entire idea was beyond revolting, absolutely unacceptable. And he was going to change it.

“Did you save Rook when you saw him? How small he was?”

He laughed, a rumbling avalanche that went through me, sweeping away my thoughts for as long as it lasted. “Ah, sweet Mirabel, you’ve enspelled me so you will have truth you didn’t want. I am Rook the Luthier.”

Chapter

Fifteen

Istared at him, certain that my ears deceived me. “What?”

He gestured at my harp. “I crafted that harp while I was interning with elves. Rook was part of that construct I used to enter their ranks. Of course, I was fully spelled to have a more elven appearance, but the basis was Rook. It took a great deal of effort to transform into something with so much less mass, but it is useful for many different occasions.”

“You’re not Rook.”

He smiled and ate a sliver of lamb. “This is perfectly done. Driver is one of my inspirations. He can do absolutely anything, including cook the most delicate elven dish, so why couldn’t other ogres? Particularly me. I always had a moderately good ear, but it took a century to develop a good tone. Ogres have too many vocal chords, so tone is a challenge.”

I stared at him. “You aren’t Rook.”

He pointed at me. “You spelled me to speak the truth, did you not?”

“But Rook…” I twisted my hands while I stared at him, searching for signs of the genius luthier who I’d slept with. This guy was so perfectly ogre, from his tusks made for goring to his hands made for ripping heads off bodies and bowling with them.

“Rook wrote the piece you played while he was living among the elves, playing the role so he could learn all their secrets.”

“An ogre spy? That was your motivation? Not making music?”

He smiled, and those teeth made the idea seem ridiculous. What ogre would hide among elves for the music of it? “Rook wrote the piece you played in the shop to demonstrate your abilities, and I was unable to resist the song. Do you understand?”