Page 111 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

That day, weeks ago, when Lilac came to me and told me she had a vision—that it felt like what I explained Lusia does to others… I should’ve known. I should’ve put it together.

It makes sense. Stealing another’s life force is a rare power, no wonder it is hereditary.

I pull myself together enough to ask, “What attacked her?”

Calista’s bottom lip quivers and she turns away from me, cupping her mouth again and plugging her nose. Silent sobs rack her body before she finally turns to me and whispers, “A moonaro.”

Part Two

The Unraveling

Chapter 23

An Arsonist’s Lullaby

DESDEMONA

The Flame always follows its igniter. Fire Folk, run fast.

– RECOVERED WRITINGS FROM THE WELDERS VILLAGE (TRANSLATED BY ELPHENSTEIN AJ, 536AA)

I throw another rock into the river, then I scream into the mastick. Birds chirp back to me, filling the space with their cacophony, and I decide that my next rock will peg one of them.

It’s just failed attempt after failed attempt. Every single day.

This isn’t the way to open a portal to the void, and the next rock I pick up goes into the skull of a flying bird. And another. And another.

One rock to distract and the next to kill.

I bring my catch to Eudora, and I have to say I’ve missed the hunt.

“Where’d you get those?” she asks while I hold the birds by their legs.

“Anger and accuracy. A little bit of annoyance too.”

Eudora sets a plank of wood on the counter in front of me. “Put ‘em here. I’ll whip something up.” I set the birds down and sit in my usual seat across from her. “How are you doing?”

Now, that is a weighted question. I’ve spent almost the entirety of these last two days at the river, trying and failing to open a portal and screaming at birds. Aralia’s been in bed for those two days. Apparently Lucian’s sister was attacked.

I take Aralia’s behavior as grief, though she won’t divulge anything to me. I thought I’d earned her trust more than that, but I think she’s smarter for keeping it to herself.

At least I know I certainly made the right decision when I lied to Lucian about the moonaro and the whispering, or the wind, or whatever it is. I won’t let anyone clump me up into a mess that involves the princess. I’ve already gotten too tangled with the prince.

Avoid and deflect is plan A. Lie and gaslight is plan B. I’m trying not to think of plan C.

As for Eudora’s question, I’d tell her I was fair if I didn’t already admit to being angry and annoyed.

“Angry and annoyed,” I say, bringing my elbows to the counter.

“Here,” Eudora says, leaning down until I can’t see her. She pops back up, sliding a dish over to me. “Have a pie.”

I smile a little, fiddling with my fingers over the newly presented pie. “I’m all better now.”

Hours later, long after the sun has set and the stars have taken over, I put Hogan’s glamour on the stab wound, and even though it burns I keep putting it on.

Every time I see the thing, I think of the dead Lucent.

I put it on my hand too, because obviously there’s no way to explain why my palm is so badly burnt. My shirt covers my forearm. The skin is charred to a color that looks like ash. But it doesn’t hurt anymore. More often than not, it’s numb.

---