Page 15 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

The three of them don’t look convinced. I think back to my dreams; the murder wasn’t very hard then. Maybe I could win in a fight.

What a ridiculous line of thought. I pout some more.

“Marquees had no children,” the Folk says.

I shrug and say, “I’m right here.”

“Where does the name Althenia come from?” the Nepenthe asks me.

“My mother.”

“Who was your mother?” he asks.

“Isa Althenia.” I blink to produce more tears from my already stinging eyes. “But I never knew her.”

“Leiholan,” the woman says, and the Nepenthe nods, then the other two head down a dimly lit hall.

Leiholan watches me with his grip on his sword. I don’t let myself look as defensive as I feel. I make myself appear defenseless. Small and weak, powerless at his hands, hoping for mercy. That’s how the Nepenthe like it. I expect him to ask me questions, interrogate and intimidate me, but he says nothing.

The other two come back into the room, holding a milky-clear ball the size of my hand. “Hogan?” the woman says, and the Folk lifts his hand, his eyes shining indigo just like Damiens, and I can see the small shimmer of an iridescent light flickering out between me and him. So not an Air Folk. I didn’t know Light Folk had any power over sound.

The Lucent walks toward me, the only one whose name I’m missing. “Your hand,” she says. It’s not a question. I hold up the one that isn’t scarred. She takes out a dagger, much fancier than Damien’s fancy one, and pushes the tip of the blade into my pointer finger. After a drop of blood has fallen on the crystal, I yank my hand away and close my fist.

“Squeamish,” I say in a whisper.

There’s the flash of a man’s face that I do not recognize—must be Dalin’s—in the crystal ball, and then my mom. The Lucent looks at me, assessing me, and I know she believes it.

I’ve heard of Dalin before; he was a war hero. A Fire Folk who fought in the second battle between Lorucille and Serpencia—the Folk vs the Nepenthe—six years before the actual war. Much of the credit for Lorucille’s quick victory had gone to Dalin and his ability to wield the Flame as a weapon. His ending wasn’t happy though, a Fire Folk’s rarely is. Despite being called a master of the Flame, he died at the hands of his own.

The Folk—Hogan—and the Lucent look at one another while Leiholan looks at me. “Get comfortable,” he says, and this time all three of them disappear down the hall.

I step forward, and I’m almost to the exit when tingles that feel like being stabbed by a hundred pine needles rush down my body. Then there’s nothing.

* * *

I wake up to the Lucent sitting across from me over a large wooden desk. She has a crystal glass of silver liquid—an intoxicant, I assume—and I am instantly offended that she is the one acting inconvenienced by this.

I take a deep breath instead of screaming. There is a fireplace to my left, full of wood, and a bookshelf to the right of the tall windows behind her seat. I could use a log or a book to knock her out and break the window then make a run for it.

But run where? I don’t even know my way around—which is precisely why knowledge can be wielded.

I try to stand up, only to realize my body won’t move.

“I’m Headmistress Constance.” She sets her glass down with a clunk.“I understand this situation has been shy of satisfactory. For that, I offer you my solace. As I am sure you know, Visnatus is a school for the future leaders of Elysia. It is for the best and most powerful of your generation to learn to wield their energy and their minds. I will not force this to go down sweetly. You do not belong here. Yet, you are a lesser legacy only because of a father you did not know.” She stops and takes a good look at me.

“I’m willing to give you a trial period here. If you can prove to be as,” her fingers tap her desk in unison, “noble as your peers, I will allow you to stay.”

This feels like a trick. “Thank you.” My whole body is starting to feel like my foot when I sit on it for too long.

“I believe it goes without saying that you will be keeping your origins a secret.”

At the mention of my home, I feel my heart ache. I know this place is fancy, can probably offer me three meals a day and snacks between, paper and books and everything my life has lacked, but I don’t care. I don’t want it. I want my home.

“You will be adopting the surname Marquees for the time being.” A jar slides across the table to me. “Go ahead, grab it.” I’m able to lift my arm, but the prickly sensation doesn’t subside. “It’s a glamour for your scars. I advise you to apply generously. It should last three days at a time.”

Right. Who I am isn’t worthy here. It’s good for me that hiding is something I’ve been doing my entire life.

The headmistress declares she will walk me to my suite. I grab a little blue-studded knife from her desk on the way out.

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