Page 47 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“Ladies first,” I say.

Desdemona scoffs. “So you’re a gentleman now?”

“Always was.”

“I’d say agree to disagree, but self-awareness is one of the things I don’t think you lack.” She looks over her shoulder at me, cheeks reddening. “My inadequacy.”

I can tell that there’s no remorse in her beyond that of fear. It reminds me of my childhood, when I’d say something off-putting and immediately expect retribution.

I’m not sure what’s more annoying—that she looks at me the way I used to look at Lusia, or that she thinks she knows me enough to do so.

“No, no,” I smile, choosing to play along, “tell me, what is it I lack?”

She tucks her chin to her chest and says much more shyly than I would’ve expected from someone so headstrong, “Gentlemanliness, maybe?”

“How so?”

“You almost killed me.”

“Did not,” I say casually.

“Did so,” she says vehemently.

I hold up my open palm and shadows sprout like flowers. “I’m in complete control, darling.”

“Do you call me darling to distract from your lack of gentlemanliness, or is it just what you call all the women in your life?”

“Only the powerful ones.” She huffs, and I find the ease with which it takes to annoy her to be a pleasantry. If I can get a rise out of her so easily then I’ll be able to get fire out of her as well. “I’ve heard life expectancy doubles when you don’t piss off Fire Folk.”

“Then maybe you should stop calling me darling.” Her eyes stay on mine and her lips curve into a smile as she jumps through the portal, leaving me thinking I’ve met my match in her.

Who happens to be a temperamental little thing.

I never would’ve expected her to be so amusing, based upon our first meeting where she was simply a liar. But she’s proved me wrong. I almost enjoy talking to her. Which is a pity, because I will be forced to doom her.

The only thing I need before I do that is to get to the void. If she’s as sore with magic as she’s shown herself to be—which is considerably doubtful, considering the liar she is and the power she exudes—then I will need to sharpen her potential so I can use it for myself.

But I can have a little fun before it comes to that.

On the coast now, I face Desdemona and she asks, “What now?”

“Start a fire.”

Desdemona looks at the tree that was her target last time. “Right,” she says without looking at me.

My eyes haven’t parted from her once. I can’t help the feeling that if they do, I will miss something important. As if the answer to my question will be written on her face. Is this a show, or is she truly incapable of starting a measly fire?

“Yes, you can thank your difficulties to your humble upbringing in Utul,” I say, though I don’t believe it. No one from Utul would be so ill-mannered.

“Yes, Aibek, thank you for reminding me of my childhood.” Ill-mannered indeed. An effortless liar as well.

Only, she clenches her left hand.

“Anytime, Marquees.”

She looks at me with a frown before her eyes settle back on the tree.

I give her a few minutes before I ask, “Do you want help?”

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