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Small plumes of green smoke rise in fits and bursts and the distinct, putrid smell oforganosulfurwafts over each time. Between the burning in my veins and the smell of the poison she’s making, I want to vomit.
She’s watching my every movement, waiting for me to crack. Waiting for me to give something away.
“Mother,” I say, stopping myself just short of begging. If I plead with her, she’ll only be angrier that I’m trying to wheedle out of this punishment.
So I breathe through my mouth to avoid drowning in the increasingly toxic scent.
“Since I have already spoken to your brother, I am eager now to hear what you have to say.” Sliding off the table, she steps closer to me. Her long, red fingernail tilts my chin up so that I face her. “Even you can’t lie on my serum.”
I never thought I would be grateful to have my face contorted in pain, but it masks any telling expression I might have inadvertently let on.
Because Icanlie on her truth serum. Not easily, and not well, but it’s possible.
It’s one of the creations she sells, on occasion, so it wasn’t hard to get ahold of. It was the first time I ever rebelled against her, really. Two weeks after Remy approached me at the bar, when I realized I wasn’t ready to walk away just yet.
Taking that tiny glass vial had churned my stomach, even then.
Getting myself accustomed to it had been agony.
But I needed to build up a tolerance. I needed to be prepared in case she ever asked me about Remy. For all that I’ve claimed to be loyal, that always seems to go out the window where he’s concerned.
Really, this has been a long time coming.
She grabs a small spoon from the table and scoops up a portion of the mixture in the bowl. It’s an effort not to gag when I part my lips for her to feed me.
Her brow arches in approval as I swallow the foul mixture down. Worse than the smell, than knowing what it is that she’s just given me, is the feeling that comes next.
Even the diluted version of this could be likened to the feeling of having several broken limbs and being inebriated at the same time, to the point where you can do nothing but tell the truth.
But this—this is the raw form. And it is so, so much worse.
“Now, darling. Why don’t we start at the beginning.” Her voice rattles through my head as heat washes over me.
Each nerve-ending in my body, each bone and each vein feel as if they are being ripped from my flesh.
I fight against the urge to scream. And I lose.
The pain reaches a peak and finally plateaus there, long enough for me to grit my teeth, get my bearings, and prepare myself for her onslaught.
Her questioning lasts an eternity. The only things I register are the pain and Madame’s icy tone. She’s careful, calm, and consistent. Of course she is.
She’s the one who taught me toextract information,after all.
But I’m careful, too. First a series of truths.
It was Damian. He’s not as loyal as he pretends to be.
No, I didn’t know the boy from the bar was the prince. He was a mark.
I thought he was a guard.
I swear it.
It was Damian who betrayed you.
I thank the stars for that confirmation from Zaina so that the words ring with even more truth than the rest.
The best lies play on the other person’s emotions. There was a time when I would have said that Mother was not susceptible to such things, but she grieved Zaina.
