Page 184 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“Because I don’t believe you,” she says, smoke piling up around her while she fails to make it to the window. Before I say anything, she goes, “Be my date.”

“Huh?”

“You hate me, and showing up to the ball with the likes of you would do negative numbers for my reputation.”

This time, I pull the joint away from her, but I don’t answer. “Are you sure it’s Azaire who’s dead?”

Every bit of animation falls from her stature. “Yeah.”

I inhale the smoke deeper than ever before.

* * *

Reluctantly or not, I can’t tell, I enter the ballroom with Aralia on my arm. Some eyes are on us, and Aralia gives me a sly smirk that says, I told you so. Oh, whatever. This is nothing compared to what she did to me.

Besides, in this dress I almost defy reputation. It can’t be that bad for her.

Green vines are draped over the twenty-some shining glass-and-silver chandeliers that reflect light through the room. The tables the government officials sat around during the Gerner are nowhere to be found. Good, I’m glad they won’t be here again. That turned rather sour for me.

The night starts rather slow before Aralia starts collecting her alcohol, and this time I show no reservations about drinking it until the room spins almost as much as my night with Lucian.

My eyes rake the crowds, and I can’t help it. I want to talk to him.

What is wrong with me? Aralia all but told me she would’ve let the Folk kill me, and Lucian is the reason they wanted to. These two traitors are still important to me, and I kind of hate myself for letting them be.

Knowledge is a weapon, and if I let them get any closer, they’ll become another weakness I can’t afford. I block any and all empathy from my brain.

More people start looking at us—at Aralia. Looks of contempt or disdain, and I wonder if she is really going to pay a price for this. She links her arm around mine, the way we used to walk to class together.

Afraid she is going to say something stupid, I whisper, “I don’t want any more attention on us.”

“Noted,” she says.

Then, after a few beats, I ask, “I’m not going to have to dance again, am I?”

“You might. The dancers are picked at random to offer a balanced selection to Sulva and Ayan.”

Right, because not only is this our new year, but it’s also the supposed date that the Solar God and Lunar Goddess collided and created our universe. I’m about to say something, but what it was, I can’t recall. “Arcane!” someone shouts, but I can’t see them. Not when I’m looking into the face of one of my old homes.

“Well, Mom and I have to leave a lot,” I say to Bernice while we walk to school. “So I don’t think we should be friends.”

I’m so short. Like I’m standing on my knees.

“What do you mean you have to leave a lot?” Bernice asks me.

“I never get to stay,” I tell him. So I’ve never had friends, I don’t say. Why am I telling him anything? He was nothing but mean to me. “It’s not happy.”

“Oh,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.” Then, “Why do you leave?”

“Oh,” I say. “Because we have to.”

“Why do you have to?”

I kick a pebble and say, “I don’t know.”

Bernice holds onto my hand. “This time you don’t have to.”

“Why?” I ask, giggling. Why am I giggling?

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