Page 134 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“It doesn’t have to be.” Then he says those words. The words I’ve always feared. “In our choices lie our fate. And I know you’ve had a lot of those taken from you. So it’s the ones you do get to decide for yourself that matter most.” His eyes are full of sympathy. Sympathy that I don’t deserve after cutting a man open again and again. “Don’t let them take more of you.”

“Desdemona could be a monster,” I say, avoiding the rest. “She’s why Lilac won’t wake up.” I curse under my breath. “She could be involved with the Arcanes!”

She all but reached the void. That’s no coincidence. I was a fool to think it could be.

I was a fool for her.

Never have I been so blindsided by a pretty face. Because she was more than a pretty face.

She was a lie.

The worst kind—the kind you want to believe.

“She might be, yeah. If you find out she’s not, how are you going to feel about what you did to her?” A line of worry creases between his eyebrows. He looks away, farther than the room, whether to the past or future, I don’t know. “When that was me, I thought I was worthless. I lost my parents, was thrown into this new world where everyone hated me, and I took it personally.”

He was my suitemate at six and didn’t say a word to me until I let him win a duel in Combat Training. He told me he knew what I did. I asked if he wanted a rematch. He reached for his beanie and zipped his lips.

“Does that sound familiar?” Azaire asks. “Desdemona lost her mom, she was thrown into this world, and everyone hates her now, because of your choice. The Arcanes could be around her family for a bigger reason, or it could just be about the weapon. Everything else could easily be a misunderstanding.”

“I’m not ready to bet on that,” I say.

“A month ago, you fought against Lusia to protect her.” I don’t need reminding. “Do you think that’s why you’re so quick to want revenge?”

“When did you become my therapist?” I ask. I don’t smile, though I’m sure he sees it in my eyes. I want to bring some humor back to the conversation.

“Funny. Desdemona called me your babysitter earlier.”

I’m jerked into the moment. “You talked to her?”

“I told her I was sorry.”

Sorry. We don’t use that word. It’s considered informal, too personal. “If by some miracle we find this isn’t her fault, then I’ll issue her my apologies as well.”

Azaire nods a little, his face awfully morose. I see his point. I know he understands what Desdemona is going through. It does not bring me remorse, even if it should.

“Good is relative. You decide where the line between it and evil stands, but there is a line. We get to choose, because as humans we have a propensity for either. But I know you, Luc, and you’re undoubtedly good. Just find your line again.”

I nod and Azaire exhales, his shoulders dropping with the release of the tension. He says, “You know Wendy and I can handle the weapon.”

“No,” I say. “I’ll do it.” Then I pause. “Forgive me. How are you and Wendy?”

Azaire smiles. The kind of smile that he has not had on my account in far too long. What if he is right?

“Really good.” His cheeks turn crimson, and he pulls a leather cord from under his shirt. A little preserved rose is on the end of it. “She gave me this after…” he pauses while he stills. “It’s a totem of protection. You know, with everything going on. Then she kissed me, and from there it’s been,” he laughs, to himself, “really good.” Staring at the rose, he says, “I think I love her.”

The happy words are a hit to my heart. How have I missed this? My best friend, my brother, in love.

“That’s great.” I smile, for him. “You deserve it. More than anyone.”

Azaire shrugs, still smiling. “I think the same of you.” But my smile falls, and eventually so does his. “Can I ask you a question?”

I don’t answer. Not because he can’t, but because I know that he will and it will be one I don’t like—he wouldn’t ask otherwise.

“Are you still planning on destroying the weapon?” I inhale before I answer, but it is answer enough for Azaire. He nods.

“Zaire,” my voice is rough. “It consumes me. I always knew it would come down to this—I’d get my fighting chance and I’d have to do something you wouldn’t like. Perhaps it’s selfish, I know it is, but I want you to do this with me.”

Azaire shakes his head and tugs his beanie. “What are you going to do with the weapon?”

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