Page 41 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

I go with the same old lie of, “I’d rather not burn down the mastick,” as if I could even set off a match.

I’ve been bumming off her or Kai’s magic anytime I can in class, but that only works for non-elemental magic like opening portals or casting shields.

To distract from my casual—and seemingly obvious—lie, I say, “You smoke a lot, huh?”

She inhales before she passes me the joint. “Most of us do. Future leaders and all.” The way she waves her hand in the air and widens her eyes goes well with her sarcastic tone. “Means we have tight-ass parents.”

“What are your parents like?” I ask, not because I care, but because it could be good to know. All information has potential. Any knowledge can be wielded.

“They’re the highest regarded advisors in Lorucille.” She shrugs a little. “We moved into the castle when I was young, and I didn’t see them much after that.”

“Oh,” I say, and I wonder, not for the first time, what the war was like in the castle. In a place where you were rich enough to have armor, your own soldiers, barriers, and other means of protection. In the septic, all we had were workers. Tired men and women trained to produce goods, not fight in a war. I wonder if she moved into the castle because of the war. Royal advisors help with that sort of stuff; battles and strategies. My mom used to be one.

“Most of our parents are important or whatever… speaking of parents, are you sure your mom wasn’t taken by the Royals?” My head snaps in her direction. “You said you didn’t find her in the septic.” She shrugs again.

Could that be where she was? Some underground cellar in one of the kingdoms? I hadn’t even thought about that.

“I suppose it’s possible.”

I’ve decided I’ll finally tell my mom about the dreams and my magic when I get her back. The thought alone is the greatest relief I’ve found since I lost her.

* * *

I wonder if Lucian’s words were a threat. Same hour as the time before. The time before when I threatened him. I don’t trust him or the information he has on me. He could easily identify my mom or tell someone that I coerced him into breaking Soman law. I worry about what will happen if I show up and if I don’t.

If he turns me in, I’m likely as good as dead. If his parents don’t kill me, King Easton and Queen Melody will lock me away. But then maybe I’ll find my mom and get to tell her about the dreams. My magic.

My murder.

She’s the only person I trust not to use them against me.

I decide to go to the lake with only one plan in my pocket, channeling him and hoping that if I need to use magic, submagic will suffice.

When I arrive, Lucian is standing at the edge of the lake. He gives me one glance from head to toe before he walks away. I guess I’m supposed to follow, so I do.

“A Fire Folk,” he says as if it’s amusing, stepping across overgrown roots. He’s as sure-footed as the Folk who spent their entire lives in the septic. Just like Damien, he barely makes a noise, even when his steps are audible.

I wonder what kind of fancy training made him adept in comparison to the real threats Damien faced that granted him the skill.

“And a Lucent,” I reply and mumble under my breath, “a makeshift Amun and Eira.”

He turns to offer me his hand when we cross the river. I only accept it to play the part of the unassuming girl from Utul. I lift my chin higher and walk straighter while I try to fight off the part of me that’s screaming to let go of his hand.

Especially because my own is growing hot.

“Why would we want that?” Lucian asks.

“Eternal love maybe?” I say, despite thinking it’s bullshit.

He locks his eyes on mine, just to say, “I wouldn’t die for you.”

“Nor would I, Prince.” While he’s distracted, I reach out to his power. Nothing. I know that this kind of stuff is more powerful when it’s used against your kind, but it makes no sense that I’d feel no magic from him.

He turns away again, walking further into the mastick. “Self-preservation is important. It’s probably best that you haven’t seen how charming I can be.”

“Really? Because I found you almost choking me to death to be quite pleasing.” I shouldn’t be talking to a prince this way, but at the same time, I kind of like it. It almost feels like I could obtain the upper hand—I mean, in something as infantile as sarcasm, but it’s something.

“Well,” he says, “I have known the Fire Folk to be masochists.”

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