Page 177 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

It’s quiet for a long time. He doesn’t look at me, but I don’t stop looking at him. How could I have gotten him so wrong? He’s not a bloodthirsty and menacing Nepenthe. He’s a man, trying to make it through with a bottle of vesi and a sword that was forced into his hands.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever like you,” I say without looking him in the eye. “But I love you.”

“Yeah?” Leiholan says. “I feel the same about you.” He looks at the wall directly behind me, and I do the same to him.

“Why do you stay?” I ask when the silence grows palpable.

“Vesi,” he grumbles. “Nothing to gain.”

“How are you not angry?” I almost shout.

He gives me a surly look. “If I am anything, it’s angry. Just not the way you’re thinking.” His eyes scan through the room, over my pillow, and to the door. “You should get back, sleep in your own bed.”

I don’t move.

He presses his lips into a line. “We’ll talk soon, promise. Get some rest.” He closes his eyes, and I close mine while I struggle to get comfortable. “In your own room,” he mumbles.

I don’t get up, not until the sun shines through the window. Leiholan’s been up a few times; I know because his bottle of vesi’s been drained.

Heading back to my suite, I wonder if we’re still in lockdown. The hallways look empty and feel quiet, but I’ve heard nothing about there being more corenths.

When I open the door to my room, Aralia’s head shoots up. There’s a long dark-red dress in her lap and a green one next to it. “I got you a dress,” she says.

I throw the school bag that I haven’t opened since before Leiholan lost his leg on the dresser. Funny, it was only four days ago, but it feels like a lifetime. All that anger I had for Aralia is still there, it’s just muted behind the layers of everything else.

“Thanks,” I mumble unconvincingly and fall onto my bed. We didn’t have beds like this back home, and after spending three nights in a chair, I remember what it felt like on my first nights here. Like a patch of thick, cushy grass.

“Des—”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

I guess I knew she’d hate me if she found out. Considering everything they have printed in their textbooks about the septic. Printed by the Royals. Despite realizing Leiholan has been right all along, there’s this part of me screaming that he’s wrong.

“You have to know?—”

“How sorry you are?” I say mockingly and tip my head in her direction. “Got it.” She opens her mouth, and I sit up with more force than Leiholan’s sword. “You don’t deserve my forgiveness. And I don’t want your dresses or your pence.”

“I know I don’t deserve it.” Every muscle in her face droops. “I–I should’ve—” she gulps. “I should’ve done something with Jermoine and Breck. I know that now. I’m not looking for pity or–or anything but… I wasn’t lying when I called you my best friend.”

“Well, I was,” I say coolly.

She closes her eyes with so much force that they crinkle under the wrinkles. “I have to tell you?—”

“No,” I say and turn on the bed, laying on my side and facing the wall.

Aralia speaks anyway. “I knew you weren’t one of us. For a little while I was trying to figure out who you really were, and the more time we spent together—” she cuts herself off, and I fume silently.

Was everything fake? Lucian wanted me to get closer to the Arcanes, and she wanted me to see if I was septic.

I tuck my knees into my chest and hug them.

“I cared about you fast,” she begins again. “Then you didn’t flinch in Arson’s Alley, and I saw the scars on your back one day when you were changing?—”

I turn around to face her. “You think this is helping?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I want to be honest, that’s all.”

“You want me to see where you’re coming from.” My eyes narrow on her. “Is that it?”

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