Page 87 of Liar

Jaxon frantically glances at me before returning to his father. “You can’t bring her down there.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do and what you should’ve done as soon as that boy enlisted you to do his dirty work. The Briars only think of themselves, Jaxon. I wish you’d come to learn that so I’m not continually forced to punish you.”

“I’m on Thorne’s side with this,” Jaxon dares to argue. “You’re the one in the wrong, Dad. Damion is nothing but toxic waste on these Societies.”

Thaddeus clamps a hand on his son’s mouth while still wrangling me. I jerk against him like a cat in a bag, with unfortunately as much luck as the cat would have. Thaddeus’s grip is surprisingly vise-like, considering his lean form. I even tried unclasping the cloak, but he’s grabbed me by the hair, stopping any slippery moves on my part.

“Shut up, son. For once in your life, listen to your father and keep yourself out of harm’s way. I’ll deal with this the only way I know how.” Thaddeus turns his glare to me. “Stupid girl, coming here. Stupid, stupid girl.”

“You’d have done the same if it were Jaxon kneeling before Damion—”

Thaddeus doesn’t allow me to finish. He drags me from behind the statue and pulls me down the stairs until I’m tripping on my own feet to stay upright. My hair has become my binding rope.

Thorne’s the first to look up at the ruckus. His eyes widen for one precious moment before he returns to his apathetic and bored expression.

Damion’s next, observing Thaddeus’s catch with a slow, slithering smile. “My goodness, look who at last accepted her invitation.”

“I found her skulking behind the northern pillar, likely in an attempt to save her father,” Thaddeus says.

Pillar, not statue. He’s deliberately misdirecting Damion’s attention so he doesn’t catch Jaxon. I’m motivated to out him, but better sense gets the best of me just in time. Jaxon is somewhat in my corner. Causing him to be punished with the Weatherbys won’t do anyone any good.

“Ember.”

My name comes out as a plea, low and guttural, from Malcolm. His bright blue eyes flash between the dull gray of his hair. “Why? Why did you come?”

“I can’t let you do this,” I say as Thaddeus pushes me toward Damion.

Damion looks down his nose at me as I stumble to a stop. “She wears our color like an abomination. Take that robe off her.” His eyes gleam with malice as he comes up with an idea. “As a matter of fact, strip—”

“I’ll do the branding.”

We all turn to Thorne’s voice.

“Give me the branding iron.” Thorne takes a subtle step forward. I realize he’s redirecting his father’s penchant for violence, and I’ve never been more thankful. I’m tough, but I don’t know if I could handle three viscounts ripping my clothes off. “I’ll happily burn it into Malcolm’s skin.”

After a murderous pause, Damion speaks. “I don’t take well to interruption. You have a valid point, however. We must move this along.”

“Yes,” Dupris agrees. She makes no moves to save me or look in my direction. When I was in the hospital recovering from an overdose, I’d had the feeling she was rooting for Malcolm. But now… “We have a celebration to attend.” Dupris stares over my head, regarding someone with deep affection. “After this terrible business is dealt with, we must celebrate the return of our princess in true Society fashion. By honoring the reunion of our prince and princess with an engagement ceremony.”

What?

I fling my gaze over my shoulder, witnessing Savannah step out of the circle, clad in a golden robe and white dress, appearing like an angel from the surrounding fire. She smiles up at Thorne. With a painful tug, I follow the direction of her smile to find Thorne smiling placidly back.

He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not after what I told him about Savannah and Damion. We’re meant to rob Damion of all his hidden funds. Escape Society rule. Dismantle this twisted world in which I’m standing in.

What does any of that have to do with a ruse of an engagement party?

I try to get Thorne’s attention, but he’s given me his shoulder while he takes the branding iron from a viscount who had the foresight to put it back in the ceremonial bowl and make it hot again.

Shit. Priorities.

I shove my shriveling heart to the side and regard Damion. “Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical? Before you stake your power on Malcolm, maybe it’s time the Societies knew where Savannah’s been and who she—”

Damion sends me a scathing look. “Brand him.”

Thorne doesn’t hesitate.

“No!” I cry at the same time Thorne presses the iron to the back of Malcolm’s neck.