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Still I hesitate, wondering if this is one of his tricks.
At my pause, he sighs. “Test me, if you like,” he says. “Put it on.”
I take it, clipping it around my own wrist. The silk is cool against my skin, but I can feel something alive about it, the same sort of enchantment I always feel emanating from my ring.
“Okay,” I say. “Lie to me, then.”
He leans back against his chair and smiles. “I don’t work for Thorn,” he says.
In an instant, the bracelet turns so icy cold that I flinch at the burn of it. Fine, so it works.
“This bracelet was a gift from my mother,” he goes on, his voice softer now. “She loved anything made of silk, cherished the feel of it. When she gave it to me, she said that she hoped it would remind me to keep my heart soft.”
His mother. I try to imagine him with his family, before he had to give them up. “Did you have such a hard heart?” I ask.
He only nods at me. “I don’t hand over my mother’s bracelet lightly. Now, ask me your questions.”
I take a deep breath. “Did you intentionally lead Soren downstairs last night?” I ask. “Knowing the Wraith was there?”
His gaze stays steady. “No,” he says. “I did not lead Soren to his death.”
I wait for the bracelet to turn ice-cold again, to tell me he’s lying. But nothing happens. “Do you know why the Wraiths are suddenly able to do this?” I ask.
“No.”
“Do you know who might be affecting them?”
“No.”
I feel nothing from the bracelet. All his answers are truths. I nod, biting back both disappointment and relief that Étienne seems to know as little about it as I do. Maybe Raven is wrong in his suspicions about Thorn, after all.
“Were you afraid last night?” I ask quietly.
He nods once at me. “Yes,” he replies.
“Because you thought the Wraith might kill you?”
“Because I thought it might hurt you.”
His answer is so unexpected that, for a moment, I just stare at him. My lips part, but no words come out.
He looks back at me with a calm expression. Then he adds nonchalantly, “You have another test coming up, after all, and I’m not about to miss out on that fun.”
I let out my breath and frown at him, annoyed at how flustered I am. “Are you always this romantic?” I mutter at him.
“You have a low bar for what’s considered romantic.”
“That was sarcasm, Étienne,” I say, pointing a forkful of pasta at him.
“You don’t think I’m capable of romance?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are. Katie said your heart belonged to another, after all.”
“My heart belongs to others quite frequently.”
The words send an unwanted jolt of jealousy through my heart. I blink, surprised by the feeling. “You just don’t seem like the type to fall in love,” I say.
“Why?” He lifts his wine at me, and the light winks against the glass. “Because I work for the god of Lies?”
