Trickster's Queen - Weebly

the middle of Aly's forehead. Gold fire swamped her
mind, making her sway.
She braced herself against the rail and waited for her
normal vision to return. She dug into the folds of her
sarong for the bit of mirror she kept there for
emergencies. Her forehead looked much as it normally
did, pale after the winter and chapped by the sea air
and wind. She grimaced and reminded herself to filch
Sarai's facial balm, then put the mirror away.
“What was that?” she asked him. “I thought you'd at
least leave a beauty mark or something.”
“I would not touch your beauty, my dear,” said the
god with his flashing smile. “And I would be bereft if
you chose to commit suicide rather than be tortured or
questioned under truthspell. No one will be able to
force knowledge from your lips or your hands.”
Aly raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh. So they can
torture me, they just can't make me tell the truth. An
enchanting prospect, sir.”