Page 144 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“It’s not your turn for a question.”

“It used to be us—Isa, Willow, and I. Then Willow and Isa cut me out when our agreements… slacked. Now they’ve changed the design so many times throughout the years, I’ve lost track.” I nod, and he asks, “How long has Isa been gone?”

“Almost four months. Why do they keep changing the design?”

Freyr shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not doing what they want it to do?” He studies me for a moment, through his freshly healed eyes. “Look, all I know is every time we rebuild it, they take it. Most times they give it back, but the materials aren’t reusable. Has Desdemona been using her magic?”

“Yes,” I say, almost as if it’s a question. I want to ask why. I’ll save it for my next question, as there is one more pressing. “What is the weapon being made for now?”

“Honestly? I have no idea, not with how often they change it. My best guess is something they can use against the lesser planets.” He leans against the wall, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees. “Unluckily for you, I’ve run out of questions.”

Chapter 29

High Hopes and Huge Falls

DESDEMONA

The Lucents do not only govern the powers of the future—they govern the subconscious. It is within the depths of minds that they thrive. No one knows the full extent of their power, for every few hundred years someone comes along with the inclination to rewrite their history.

– LUCENT MAGIC AND THE NATURE OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND BY CLEMENTINE PROTNUS

Breck is dead. I burned him alive. I knew it, but I didn’t want to. I’m sitting across from Headmistress Constance, face to face. “And Jermoine?”

“Jermoine lost both of his forearms, but he lives,” she says like it should be comforting.

I’d assumed Lucian told her it was me, but she told me no other Fire Folk in Visnatus could do the damage I did. I still think Lucian told her.

And Eleanora.

“So what’s my punishment?” I spit the words out.

“I don’t punish the Folk for reaching their potential.” She shrugs. As if killing a boy and burning off another’s arms is my potential.

It is, isn’t it?

The only thing of value I’ve ever done is kill.

“Okay.” I put my hands on the arms of the chair, pulling myself up. “Is that all?”

“No,” she says, nodding her head down to the chair, telling me to sit back down. “I believe you’re looking for something?”

My eyes meet hers, but I keep my face blank. There’s no way she has proof that I’m searching for forbidden text. The only thing I searched in the finder that could raise suspicion was about the war. Not illegal.

“I’m not looking for anything.” My mom, a way to the void, a way back home. I don’t show any of my longing, I swallow it, stuff it down so far that there’s no possible way that she could sense it.

Everything I want sits untouched in the deepest pits of my stomach.

She smiles at me and leans back in her cushy chair, intertwining her fingers together. “I’ll aid you,” she tells me. “For a favor.”

“Aid me in what.”

“Finding your mother. What else would it be?”

My heart stops, and she smiles. She’s smiling. I have to take a breath of air, get my heart pumping blood again, and ask her what she knows before I blindly accept.

“My mother is dead.”

“Desdemona, dear?” She sits up straight, leaning over her desk and into me. “Don’t treat me as if I am puerile.”

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