Page 200 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“Aibek?” Desdemona’s voice is soft. The polar opposite of how I’ve ever heard my last name slip from her lips.

I stand up abruptly. “I’m going to go get something more comfortable.”

Chapter 41

When Bones Turn To Ash

DESDEMONA

It ain’t over till the bones turn to ash.

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

I’ve been sitting against the side of the bed watching the snowfall out the window for longer than I can count. Snow is as pretty as my mom said, but I feel like Lucian is playing a joke on me—telling me this is the septic. There’s no way. They have glass and beds with sheets and all, like at Visnatus.

I’d much rather think about the possibility of this being a joke than the probability of my mom. Everything I’ve been fighting for means nothing because she wouldn’t fight for me. I don’t even know who I am—what I am—to her.

A girl who killed kids and chased her from her homes? A girl who chased her from her lover?

My knees tuck closer to my chest, and I begin to count every snowflake I can make out in the red light that comes from downstairs. The room is mostly empty. A bed in the middle, a crowded table to the side, a fireplace in the wall, and a light in the ceiling.

When counting snowflakes becomes entirely too boring, I push around the firewood and find the kindling beneath the pile. I stack the wood and put the twigs in the middle, but I don’t use my magic. I just stare at my handiwork.

Lucian walks in, his fancy vest gone and his white shirt untucked, holding a pile of clothes and a face full of sorrow. I walk back to where I was sitting before, on the floor against the bed, and he takes his seat beside me.

“I suppose,” he whispers, “we’re in this together.”

A dry laugh escapes from my throat. “How about we’re just in it together until we find individual safety.” When he doesn’t respond, I turn to look at him, but he doesn’t turn to me. “You wouldn’t want me as a partner.” I look back at the window. “I’m not really a good person.”

“I see you clearly, Marquees.” He speaks like it’s the truth. It’s not.

“Not if you think I’m good.”

“Never said I did. Remember the myriad of times you’ve held a blade to my throat?”

“Remember when you told the entire school I was from the septic?” I bite back.

“Yes,” he sounds almost remorseful. I can see he’s looking at me now, but I don’t face him. He slowly whispers, “I’m truly sorry about that.”

“Yeah, well, I have a lot to be sorry about too,” I mutter.

“No, you don’t.” I face him and glance at his lips when he says, “Not to me.”

“Right.” I swallow. “Okay.”

“No,” he says again, moving in front of me and picking up both my hands. He holds them like they are Soul Stones. Like they’re stars. Like they will both grant the universe light and burn it to the ground. “Never apologize to me. There’s nothing you can do or have done that requires my forgiveness.”

Lucian’s eyes don’t leave mine but his cheeks turn red. I’ve never seen Lucian flush a day in my life.

I don’t know what to think. There are things I’ve done that require forgiveness. And if my own mother couldn’t offer it to me, no one could.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. That much is obvious. Or at least, he doesn’t know who he’s saying these things to.

Multiple, long exhalations later, I ask, “So you trust me then? Or was that just an act to get me to jump off the balcony?”

He’s unwavering when he tells me, “I trust you.”

He shouldn’t. I don’t know why he does. I don’t know why he is thinking or saying any of this.

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