Page 43 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

Then I fall to the floor, right on my face, while my back aches from the sudden cold. A shiver racks through my spine before I lose all feeling.

I grab onto the tree that I so narrowly missed when I fell. It takes all of my strength to pull myself up and lean my back against it. The cold continues to rush through my body, and I see the shadows wrapping around my torso.

I curse under my breath before I yell, “Stop!” But it’s barely a scream.

He’s stalking closer now, and when two shadows sharp enough to impale me form in his hands, I know he’s trying to kill me.

What a stupid decision it was to come here. Of course he’d want to kill me. Maybe he’s found out that I killed that Folk or just doesn’t tolerate being threatened. He’s a prince, for gods’ sake. He can do anything he wants and get no flack.

He could kill me at any time, not even needing to know the basis that I’m from the septic. He’s untouchable.

I look him right in the eye before he throws the shadows, hoping that maybe he’ll see me as something small that needs protecting instead of someone he wants to kill.

But, no, he aims the shadows like I throw daggers, right for my chest and throat.

I put my hands in front of my frozen chest for protection and yell, “I don’t have magic!”

Suddenly, I can feel my upper body again, my back, and my torso. Before I can curse at him he says, “Of course you have magic.”

The shadows in his hands dissipate.

“Well, surprise, I don’t!” I rise to my feet and brush the dirt off my pants.

Lucian’s eyes follow my movements, and then they move up my body to meet mine. “You have plenty of magic.”

My breath catches in my throat, but I hope he doesn’t see that. I think of the dead Folk. Plenty of magic indeed.

But I don’t want it.

He smiles, and his teeth look annoyingly perfect, along with his cheekbones. His entire face, really. Because that’s what a life of being pampered gets you. Beauty.

That’s the difference between me and him—I had to fight for my food, and he got to throw the extra away.

He had the luxury of being able to think of something as pointless as beauty. Because it’s not pointless for people like him, it’s a weapon. For him, charisma can be wielded.

Lucian walks around me, holding onto both my shoulders now and grazing his fingers down my arms while he whispers in my ear, “If you don’t know how to use it, I can fix that.” I’m embarrassed by the goosebumps covering my body while his breath tickles my neck, offering relief to the warmth I didn’t know I was feeling.

Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of my hands, the burning sensation in my palms, my stomach. Like something crawled inside of me, ate me hollow, and replaced my insides with heat.

This is what power feels like. I felt it the night I killed the Folk, but I was unable to define it then. Now I have to decide if I ever want to feel it again. If I can kill a Folk as easily as I did on my last night in the septic, then once I find my mom, I could get her back. I could kill the orphia who took her from me. Took my life from me.

And that sounds pretty sweet.

“Fine,” I say and turn my head. I can see the lower half of his face from my peripheral vision, his lips an inch from me. “Fix it.”

* * *

Calista’s sitting on the couch in the suite when I make it back. Most of the time she ignores me, but today she stops to stare.

“What were you doing with him?” she asks.

“With who?”

She drops her utensil against the table loudly and stalks toward me. “Don’t be coy. Lucian. What were you doing with Lucian?”

“We were talking,” I say calmly. I can tell she’s ready to fight. I’m just not sure that I am, not after tonight.

“With your magic?” Calista speaks like she’s trying to imitate me but does a horrible job at it. Her eyes scan my body as she says, “I can see him all over you.”

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