Page 88 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“It’s not natural,” Wendy says. She would know, the Eunoia of Visnatus study all of Elysia’s plant life.

“Can you make a remedy?”

“She hasn’t run a fever and I don’t feel any poison in her blood. The only symptoms are around the stab wound.” Wendy reaches for the door, and I’m about to ask what that means when she turns. She sounds exasperated as she says, “Look, all I can feel is her pain and your worry, and it’s too much for me. I’ll be back to check on her.”

“Before you leave, are you done with the knife?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “There’s nothing.”

“Can I hold onto it?”

Wendy scrunches her eyes and looks next to me, at Desdemona’s sleeping body. Then she reaches into her bag. Her voice is shaken when she says “Sure” and hands it to me.

It’s as I expected. It feels like holding power at its source.

It feels like holding Desdemona.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Then she makes it out of the room.

I hold the red knife in my hands as curiosity consumes me. Then, holding the knife by the blade, I touch the hilt to Desdemona’s forearm. The skin sizzles, burns, and she wakes up with a jump.

I slide the knife into my pocket.

“How long have I been out?” she asks breathlessly, looking around the room.

“Only the night.”

“Class has started?” She stands too quickly and leans on the wall for support, blinking sleep from her eyes. Her other hand clutches her shoulder. I come behind her and hold her up by the waist.

“Yes,” I say, almost as if it’s a question.

“Why didn’t you go?” Her head turns toward mine.

“It’s no big deal.”

“No, it is!” she whispers, pulling out from my hold and turning to face me, still clutching to the wall. “You said the body will resurface, and what if they find out he died a day before we both skipped? And what if they go to Wendy and she tells them she healed me and they put it together and they find out I killed him.”

The they she’s talking about are my parents. It makes sense for her to be this worried if Lusia was right about her being septic.

But I won’t let them have her. I won’t allow it.

I take off my jacket and put it on her shoulders. “Wear this when you go back to your suite.” She looks down at her bloody and ripped shirt, then covers it with the jacket. “Take a shower and burn your clothes. If anything happens, I’ll take care of it.”

She looks up at me and, her tone cold and harsh, asks, “Why would you do that?”

I step into the space between us, my hand inching toward her cheek, and when my touch finally reaches her, her breath catches.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, I say, “That’s why.”

Desdemona doesn’t move, though her voice has thawed. “Because you want to play with my hair?”

“No.” I smile, dropping my hand and stepping back, scared at the truth of the next words and what they mean. “For the same reason your breath catches when I touch you.”

Desdemona looks at me like she’s scared I will look away. I believe I’m looking at her the same.

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