Page 25 of Liar
“Both Sav and Ember have displayed the attribute you tested, Fa—my king. Strength. Stamina. I know it’s unconventional, but so is Sav’s kidnapping, which was out of her control and solely due to her father’s position in government. We replaced her with Ember, assuming that Sav wasn’t coming back. That was our mistake. Not Ember’s, not Sav’s.”
My jaw practically hangs open as I listen. It’s the most I’ve ever heard Thorne say. And arguing against his dad, no less.
“The Noble prince has a point, my king.” This comes from Senator Merricourt, who hasn’t released his daughter since the moment he was able to embrace her. “Why punish the girls for another’s mistake?”
Damion’s jaw clicks. His expression is controlled and resolute until I take a closer look. Fire ripples under the surface, boiling his skin and demanding to spread. He doesn’t like being called out, especially in the presence of the entire Society, but he’s put in a tight spot.
To demand my ejection now would seem personal, a goal Damion’s worked hard to disguise. Thorne’s argument leaves little leeway for Damion to pivot out of, not without revealing his deep hatred of the Weatherbys—a private vendetta not tolerated by members of the Societies. At least, not in front of each other.
Behind the scenes, he’ll work his political black magic to destroy us.
But so will I.
Damion spears his son with a frown promising later punishment, but Thorne doesn’t flinch.
“One might say you are favoring Ember over Savannah,” Damion muses.
“I enjoy toying with Weatherbys just about as much as you do, Father.”
Thorne’s hand drops from my arm. Without its steadying force, I wobble, dizzy with leaking adrenaline—with what I’ve done.
Damion notices, narrowing his eyes at his son.
Thorne drifts over to Savannah’s side, his movements unhurried. Nothing Thorne ever does is relaxed, and I watch with bated breath, waiting for the moment he’ll attempt to crush me.
I’m ready for it this time. I’m ready for you.
Zeke’s blood splatter dries on my face, tightening the skin around my eyes. I hope my stare conveys my thoughts.
Another duke pipes in, “Are we sure about this? Ember Weatherby hasn’t exactly displayed a sound mind in this recent month. If it weren’t for her last name—recently and conveniently obtained, I might add—there is no way she’d be deemed a reliable member of the Societies.”
“I also know to accord respect when it’s due,” Thorne continues as if the duke hadn’t spoken. “And Ember, despite her mistakes and losing her spot on the swim team, has passed every challenge put to her.” He levels his gaze at the duke, then slides its impact at his father. “Including this one.”
Now that is not a statement I expected to flow from Thorne’s talented, vicious mouth.
He’s helping me. Why?
Damion makes no attempt to correct the duke, yet also doesn’t argue with his son, or add that he was the one who “conveniently” attached the Weatherby name to mine. I didn’t expect him to, but I keep my mouth shut, too, unwilling to show all my cards.
Dupris flows to a stop beside Damion, resting a slender hand on his shoulder and tilting her fine-boned face to him. “Damion, the challenge is fulfilled. Let the viscounts clean up this mess, and perhaps we can move festivities above ground in celebration. It’s not every year we welcome two strong, capable Virtues into our membership. They’ve more than proven themselves.”
Never mind that one of Dupris’s prized, precious, famous students is splayed out on the floor, tortured by more of her own. The headmistress seems more concerned with continuing the party.
To think, I’d thought she was one of the saner ones in here.
Damion parts his mouth, a slit of blackness against pale, colorless lips. “You may be right, Blanche. Perhaps I am taking the accords of our founders too seriously. As my son always mentions, we must grow with the times. I suppose this is a similar moment of consideration.” Damion inhales, then says on a release of breath, “Very well. Members, please re-welcome our two Virtues, one our lost princess, the other a proven baroness.”
My fingers stop digging into my palms. My exhales flow easier.
I’ve made it. I’m still one of them.
For now.
Chapter 9
Ember
I’ve become used to the blatant staring at Winthorpe while I walk between classes. People avoid me because Thorne ordered it. People hate me because Aurora demanded it. Without Aiko at my side to distract me with coffee and chatter, I feel the aggressive studies even more.