Page 124 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

There’s one question that looms over me more than most, at least lately: will I always feel that man’s death when I close my eyes?

“Revenge won’t be your salvation,” she told me. “But it’s a step toward it.”

“And yet, it’s all I have left to hope for.” If I can’t have freedom, I will have vengeance.

“Everything is more connected than we believe.” She pulled a loose thread from the blue curtain of her window, weaving it through her fingers. “Isa was taken to the void the day Desdemona showed up. You tracked her, and eight—nine days later, the corenths are attacking all over the universe, but not here. Not yet. And when the corenths do make it here, they go to Desdemona, but don’t attack. They go to Lilac, and they do attack. Now, that’s suspicion enough except for one key detail: Lilac took the creature’s life force.

“I’ve been on this universe for well over two hundred years, and I’ve seen that there are no accidents, no coincidences. Life is like a spider’s web, intricately woven together, one string at a time, to create something bigger. Something with the propensity of being understood.” Between her hands was a web of thread. “Like a web, there is one starting point, one thing pulling the strings,” she said with a smile. “Now, you’re thinking it might be Desdemona, but you’re forgetting a vital string. Isa is in the void because of a weapon she created. And why did she create it? Because Willow knew something more happened to my girls.”

“You don’t think Desdemona’s responsible,” I said.

“We won’t know until we look back,” she said, raising both her eyebrows at me with a small tip of her head.

“Message received,” I answered.

Loud and clear.

“But she’s certainly a string. A dangerous one at that. Survivor’s have the habit of letting others lie first. Don’t let her travel too far.”

More or less, those are the circumstances that have led me back to the mountain region of Lorucille. I’ve been here every day for the better part of a week, watching the welders come in and out of their steel-reinforced cave. Once a day, the doors open for five minutes. Four welders come out and four go in. They work in twenty-four-hour shifts, and it’s always the same eight men working, four at a time.

Today, when that steel door pulls open, I run, knowing what’s at stake if Queen Melody or King Easton find out I was here. I slide under the door. Once I gain my feet, two Fire Folk are in front of me, holding iron poles in their hands.

There’s no time for idle chat before they swing. The iron is smoldering, the heat coming from their hands when it passes an inch from my cheek. Shadows move from me, and I unsheathe the sword on my back. To combat the heat, I wrap the sword in shadows before I swing.

The iron snaps on impact, and I bring the armed man to his tippy toes, wrapping shadows around his neck.

“Now, boys, we can go about this civilly,” I flash a smile, “can’t we?”

The other two Folk are looking down from the main room—the only room—where the weapon is held in the middle. I try to get a good look, though I get pulled back into a fight against a burly man and his smoldering fist that slams into my jaw.

The smell of my burning flesh singes my nostrils.

I duck against his next swing and punch him in the stomach, then twice in the face. The man I’m asphyxiating with shadows is trying to choke his words out. I decide to let the burly man meet his friend, stringing him up with my shadows as well.

The other Folk and Freyr start toward me, their hands alight a deep and glowing orange. “I could kill your men with a twist of my fingers,” I warn. “I’m only here to collect Freyr.”

Freyr looks around conspicuously, and the little guy is still trying to talk. I take back my shadows and he plummets to the ground, out of breath.

“He’s the prince of Soma.” He holds onto his neck while he pants like a corenth.

“Yes,” I draw the word out. “It is I. If you’ll allow me to see the weapon and collect Freyr, I’ll be but a moment.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we’re under strict instruction to not let anyone pass,” the Folk next to Freyr says.

“Let’s put it this way.” I clap my hands and dare a smile. “You spare the man and some of your time, and I will spare your heads when I am crowned king.”

“Or we could take yours,” Freyr says. “Here and now.” His eyes turn orange, and I become keenly aware of the tension in my bones coming from holding the burly man without choking him to death.

I take in Freyr’s stature, certainly twice times my size. Perhaps almost thrice. “If you want a rematch, I won’t be so inclined to keep it to physical combat.” I tighten my hold around the burly man’s neck, and he makes a deeply unpleasant sound.

This is it—the moment I may find out how far I am willing to go for answers. If any of them are to swing right now, I don’t believe I will be leaving this room without spilling blood. Though I can’t spill Freyr’s.

“Choose wisely,” I warn. “Friend.”

Freyr swings for my already burnt face with an already smoldering fist. The other two men advance on me as well, one of them equipped with another burning rod that comes for my side. I move out of the way in time, but I do take a burning punch to my other side.

I tighten my hold on the burly man, snapping his neck so I can ease the tension in my shoulders. I slice the previously choking man across the chest, producing a flow of blood. Then I sneak into Freyr’s subconscious while I struggle to fight off the other man.

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