Page 3 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

We don’t bother to look at one another, but I already know the face he’d make. It’d be the embodiment of we’re screwed. I make a mental vow to not die today.

Or tomorrow for that matter.

“Clothes for my little siblings,” Damien says. “It’s getting cold out.”

“From the saul?” he says.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what’s a kid like you got to trade?” The Nepenthe’s hand reaches for the whip at his side. A display of power. It’s not like he could use it now—whippings aren’t an easy punishment, they have to detain you and bring you to the post. No, he’s just doing it to show us that no matter our actual power, we’re still weak. Always will be.

I don’t understand why the kingdom still brings them here. The Nepenthe are disgusting, power-hungry, and murderous. This kind of thing brings them joy, and after killing so many of us in the war, I don’t get why we keep giving them the satisfaction.

I grab Damien’s hand—telling him to stay quiet without saying it. “Bottles,” I say quickly with a soft smile. “We hiked to the river and collected sand so I could make them.” Technically, making glass is something the welders do, only for the kingdom and other elites of Elysia, but there’s no rule against making it yourself if you get your own material.

“A Fire Folk, are we?” he says lazily, stepping closer and gliding his disgusting gray eyes down my body. I bite my tongue and close my fist.

“Yes, sir.” Not that he deserves the title.

“Shame. By the looks of it, you’ll be in the welders’ quarters soon.” By that he means dead. Damien tenses next to me.

“Yes, sir.”

He leans back a little, his hand still close to the whip but not on it. “Why aren’t you in class?”

I keep my face entirely blank. Unreadable. Nothing to show but what I want him to see. Nothing to use against me, should he find a reason. “Mom’s sick. Wanted to get her something warm.”

He smiles, eyes still on my body, and from the look in them, I know he’s more than just surprised at my fuller frame—which is a common look I get too. I’m stronger than the majority, Damien too, but no keeper ever looks at him the way this one is looking at me.

“She’s real sick, sir,” I say. “Freezing up and all.”

The Nepenthe grunts and then brings his eyes back to mine. “All you got in that bag is clothes and bottles?”

I tilt my head to the side, smile deceptively, and nod. “Yes, sir.”

He shoves his hand in his pocket, leaning to the left and looking around the space—the dirt, trees, and clay buildings—before looking back at me. “Get out of here. Don’t forget I made your life easier.”

“Thank you, sir,” Damien says, and I can hear his anger. He shouldn’t have said a thing.

We walk a little quicker than we did before, and when we’re a good bit away from any visible keepers Damien says, “I hate those creeps.”

“At least we’re alive.”

He stops and pulls me behind a tree. “Which way did you walk to the saul?” he asks me in a hushed whisper.

“Through the barren, why?” The patch of land that never recovered after the war.

“Marice is dead. Same with a dozen others. Whipped.”

This time, there’s nothing I can do to control myself before my face falls, lips drooping down into a heavy frown. Marice. We would give him the skins and leftover bones of the austec in return for the waterskins and the broth he would make of them. He made the catch bag Damien is holding right now.

He must be dead because he was found with livestock remnants. Because of us.

“Shit,” is all I can seem to say. Marice. I think of all the nights me, Mom, and Damien’s family sat around the fire with our broth listening to his stories of how he and Sevyn fell in love and survived the wars together. Every word that came out of his mouth demanded your attention.

“Sevyn? Is she okay?” I ask.

“I think she ran,” Damien says, looking over my shoulder. “Couldn’t find her anywhere. We should get moving.”

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