Page 162 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“Can you turn away?” I ask and she does, after nodding sympathetically. I unsheathe one of my throwing knives and take another uneven breath. All the ways this could go wrong flash through me. I could end up killing him, like everyone else.

I should just leave this to the healers. They know what they’re doing. I sheathe my knife again, and I’m about to tell the woman I can’t do it when I watch Leiholan’s shallow breathing. I can’t help but think of my actions the last time I saw him—I was about to fight him. And over what? I can barely recall.

What I can recall is the headmistress handing me another, bigger, metal dagger. “Without wounding yourself this time.” I grabbed it by the blade. “Magic is a tool. You don’t learn to build a kingdom before you can quarry your marble.” Her eyes met mine while my hand bled on her carpet. “You can withstand the blood, but can you control the heat?” she whispered. “Focus on the metal in your hands. Your energy will go where your attention flows.”

All I thought about was the metal… and the blood.

I unsheathe my knife again and cut open both my palms, so deep that I have to bite my tongue because of the sting. There has to be a better way of doing this, I think when I place my bleeding hands on his vacant leg and try my hardest to focus on the heat that fills my hand and not the goop that is his mangled leg.

I force the heat to fill my entire body until my eyes are just prickly balls of ember and sweat drips down my forehead like I’m nothing but a bundle of fire.

My hands are so hot I can’t tell if it hurts or if it’s just invigorating.

The burning becomes so strong I’m worried I’m going to burn him to death instead of saving his life like I’m supposed to. And when I’m sure that I’m going to hurt him, I pull my hands away.

The stump of his leg is blistered, bloodied, orange, and puffy. It’s absolutely disgusting, but a better sight than the gore before. “I’m done.” The woman turns around and examines my work. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Elva.” Her face is so close to the stump. “You did well.”

Another pair of three comes in a few minutes after she leaves. They look confused, then they look at me and go back to healing him.

I hope they take his pain.

Elva comes back with a knife and a pair of scissors. I look away while she cuts the rest of his leg off.

“We got more healers after your friend of a friend.” I see her words for what they are: a distraction. I guess it’s supposed to be a kind one.

“I heard there’ve been a few attacks lately.”

“There have been. My sister works on the counsel in Viridis. They’re trying to figure out why the corenths are attacking again.”

“It’s been months, they still don’t know?” I ask.

“Nature is slow.”

Great answer, thanks.

It’s the middle of the night by the time Leiholan wakes. There’s been an announcement declaring that the entire academy is in lockdown and we have to stay in our rooms, but nothing was said about the corenth.

“Oh gods,” he groans, twisting his neck back and forth. “Where’s my vesi?” Then he looks down and his eyes go wide. He sounds less groggy when he says, “Where’s my leg?”

“Maybe in a cooler somewhere,” I say.

His eyes narrow on me, and he frowns. “Desdemona,” disappointment laces his voice like venom.

I try not to frown, but it’s even harder to keep the sorrow from my tone. “Yep. Desdemona.”

“Thought you were someone else,” he mutters and closes his eyes again.

“Well, I’m not.” My throat burns. “But I did just save your life, so maybe I could get something more than that?”

He lifts his chin high, frowning, but not unhappily. “Bullshit.”

“Yeah,” I say hastily. “I did.” I don’t like him one bit. But I care about him more than I disdain him. “Doesn’t mean I like you.”

“I find you uniquely unpleasant too, sweetheart.” He raises a soft finger with his words. “Where’s my vesi?”

“Are you not concerned by your missing leg?”

---