Page 59 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

I know I did—but he bit me first.

“Thank you,” I say quickly, even though I don’t really want to. I can feel the hairs on my arm rise when he looks at me. He just nods once and frowns at me. “And my apologies,” I say even faster than my thanks, getting it over with.

Leiholan laughs, like a full, deep laugh. A real one. “You know, I wasn’t holding my breath.” He sits down on the floor. “What do ya want?”

I think of all the Nepenthe I’ve encountered in my life, how they treated us Folk, trying to stop this strange feeling of guilt for someone as vile as him.

“I don’t want any?—”

“Like I said, sweetheart, I know you.”

Now I’m wondering if he really does. I mean, he saw right through me. The thought is anything but comforting.

“The Gerner,” I say. “I got a gold dress.”

“Gold?” He laughs, then he claps once. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re going to be the belle of the ball,” his words drip with sarcasm.

I ignore his laughter the way I wish I could ignore some of the other things he’s said. “What do I do?”

He shrugs and takes another sip of vesi. “Use it to your advantage.”

When he says nothing more, I ask the obvious question. “How?”

“By doing what I’ve been telling you to.” He waves his hand in the air, saying, “Walk the walk. Prove yourself. Can you waltz?”

“I’ve never worn a dress before,” I say instead of saying the much more telling fact that I’ve never heard the word waltz.

Then he belches and washes it down with vesi. I don’t know how his body can handle so much of the stuff. “It’s a dance,” he says, and I grow embarrassed at how easily he saw through me, again. “Learn. And fast.”

“I can’t exactly tell anyone that I don’t know how to dance,” I whisper, but not harshly the way I’d like to. I’m trying hard to be nice, see if it really gets me as far as he thinks it will.

“Say your parents sheltered you. Most balls in Utul are for debutantes, the kids here know that.” Then he gives me a smirk and raises an eyebrow. Taunting me. “Lucian knows that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, making sure to maintain eye contact and not overheat when I think about who else has watched me watch him in class.

“Oh, please?—”

I cut him off, “And how do you know any of this? About the debutantes and Utul?”

Leiholan gets real quiet. He looks down and says, “I haven’t been home in a while.” And that’s the only answer I get.

* * *

The next time I meet Lucian, I ask if we can dance instead of train—which is a change that I welcome, because I don’t like starting fires or being pissed in order to start a fire.

“Why would we dance?” he asks, watching me with amusement in his eyes. Something I’ve gotten used to, seeing as amusement seems to be his default emotion.

“I don’t know how,” I answer quickly. I’m good at lying, but I hate showing my cards. “My parents were really strict.”

“That puts much into perspective,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re gauche.” He smirks. “A terrible flirt too.”

I give him a quick—annoyed—flash of a smile back. “Just teach me to waltz.”

“Sure thing, darling. But we’re not doing it here.” He gestures to the nature around us.

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