Page 201 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

I also don’t know why I say my next words. Maybe I’m testing him to see how far his proclamation of trust will go. Maybe I want to arm myself with knowledge for the day that he turns on me again.

Or maybe I just want to know.

“Then tell me something about you no one knows.”

Lucian’s face goes from smug to faltering and he blinks at least ten times before he says, “I killed a wolf when I was ten.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Is that what a prince thinks a secret is? I’ve probably killed a thousand corenths.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “he wasn’t a corenth to me. He was my best friend. The last present my father gifted to me before he died.”

Suddenly, I’m frozen. Every shard of humor I’ve held onto shatters. “Why’d you kill him then?”

But isn’t his dad the king?

“It was my punishment. Lusia was taking both mine and Bao’s life forces, and told me if I didn’t kill him she’d kill us both.” He looks away. “If I died then, Azaire would’ve too… I did what I had to do. But that doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

A better person would give their apologies. But I am not a better person. “No.” I think of my readiness to crack Aralia’s skull and my wavering remorse for the Folk I killed and all the misdeeds I’ve committed from then to now. “It doesn’t make it any easier.” I have nothing more to say—even though I should—except, “A punishment for what?”

Lucian twists the corenth sculpture in his pocket for a while before answering, “When I was one the Arcanes killed my mother, when I was six, my father. Lusia and Labyrinth took me in, not as their nephew, but as their son. I had to lie about my birthday because it was only three months after Lilac’s. One year, on my eighth, I worked up the courage to tell Lilac that small truth.”

I watch him watch the snow falling outside the window with a blank stare. How deeply I’ve misjudged him. I want to say something, I want to be able to convey my sorrow.

“I—I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry…”

“For laughing?” He finishes for me. But no, I think it’s more than that. “Don’t be. I can only imagine how silly it must sound.”

“What?” I whisper.

“Having an extra mouth to feed,” he answers.

“I wasn’t thinking about it like that,” I tell him.

“Well, it would be justifiable.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He meets my eyes and with a single nod says, “I trust you. Should the next question for you be whether or not you truly trust me?”

“No. It shouldn’t.”

“Noted,” he says to the silence, and that’s where we sit for far too long. My knees tucked to my chest with my hands wrapped around my legs, and him with his long legs stretched in front of him and a posture better than I could ever hope to have.

Another person would’ve given him the answer he wanted. A better person would’ve told him the truth—that I am not trustworthy. But a better person would also be trustworthy. Faulty logic, I guess.

“I put my survival over basic compassion,” I say, telling myself it’s to fill the silence, but I think it’s because I want to answer his unspoken question. Something about me I’ve never told. “But I think that’s just what it means to be human, isn’t it?”

Lucian contemplates for a moment. His eyebrows crease like he’s deep in thought, and he says, “Being human means you get to find out where the line between good and evil is. Then it’s your job to stay on the right side of it.”

“Right.” I look out the window. “I don’t even know what it means to be a good person then. Let alone where the line is. That’s what I’ve never told anyone.”

But I think I know where I stand. My mom did too. I really can’t blame her for not wanting me. She basically said my nature is evil. And I don’t have the courage to disagree.

“You trust me then, Marquees?” He finally looks at me.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “It ain’t over til bones turn to ash.”

“What?”

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