Page 124 of A Dance of Lies

Horror pales my face. “I would never—”

He holds up his hands, chuckling. “I know; too soon. But while I have you, would you like to see our little project?”

He pivots, but I grasp his wrist. “Laurent, I mean it. No sword, no fist—nothing could make me betray you again.”

At that, his smile falters. “I won’t deny how it felt, Vasalie, but Anton also told me that you came to make it right. For that, I am grateful. There is no quarrel between us.”

“Even so,” I tell him as he ushers me down the hall, “I will never forgive myself for it.”

“Guilt eats up entirely too much energy. I’d rather you spend it on justice,” he says, cerulean light seeping onto the copper floor from underneath a nearby door as we pass.

Blue light, like from the strange room I had witnessed in the tunnels that first time. The one with the portrait of Anton. I had almost forgotten it. Laurent nudges open a door on his left, revealing a small but breathtaking study. A Palladian window arcs along the far wall, moonlight limning stacks of tomes to my right. An embellished mahogany desk stretches the length of the room on my left.

But my attention latches on the sea-glass bust in the center of the room—and the gown upon it.

If it could even be called that.

It’s as if he crafted a mural. It’s half beadwork, the fabric barely visible on one side. The bodice is made from flat, reflective shards, and the pattern wings upward like a hellebore in bloom, each petal veined by copper threadwork. Then, like a reflection in a lake, it fans out into the skirt, the bottom elongated with a train.

“You made this?” I breathe.

A shuffling comes from behind the statue, then Gustav’s head peeks out. “Vasalie? Vasalie!” Clanking down a set of tools, he runs over, his usual grin intact. “What do you think? I’ve been helping Laurent on the steel-boned corset and bustle. We are almost finished.”

“I think I am in a very strange, very surreal dream,” I say, giving the gown another perusal. The glass beads fragment light the way the sun sparks across scales.

Gustav chuckles. “This was from a concept His Majesty began a few years back. It was meant to be a wedding gown one day, but he never completed it.”

“He . . . was planning to marry?” It’s the first I’ve heard of it. An uncomfortable feeling crouches in my belly.

“A proposed arrangement since he was a boy that never came to fruition, with the Lord Sovereign’s niece, Princess Ademi,” Gustav says. “They wrote letters. She visited often. But the summer they were to make it official, right after his coronation, she called it off, and he’s refused to speak of it since. I think it hurt him more than he wants to admit.”

“Is she . . . here? At the Gathering,” I ask.

“She’s never attended. Not sure why,” Gustav says, making another adjustment to the back of the gown. “Look at that. Bustle’s done. It will help lift the weight when you wear it.”

I dare a touch, dragging a finger along its uneven surface, down to where the pattern flares into the skirt.

“Those are made from aranian glass,” Gustav tells me. “It’s rarer than diamonds, made only when Mount Aran erupts every twentyyears or so. Not particularly durable, so we can’t use it for much else, but stunning for a gown such as this.”

Mount Aran, a small volcanic mountain on an island north of Razam.

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell them. “It’s exquisite, but it hardly seems worth the trouble . . .”

“Indeed,” Laurent says. “It’s almost as if His Majesty wants to make a statement.” At my questioning glance, he shrugs. “King Illian has made not one but several attempts on his life, ever since he was barely out of adolescence. Their feud has been long and arduous, yet still, Anton lives. Thus, by putting you—his brother’s so-called pet—in a gown of glass, he is telling Illian that he hasn’t only cheated death, he’s cheatedhim.”

“Almost as if he turned his own Jewel against him,” Gustav says.

I wrap my arms around my ribs. Despite Anton’s flirtation, I haven’t let myself believe he wants me for anything beyond thwarting his brother. Hearing Laurent’s speculation is only further confirmation.

But I am not a thing to be taken or turned against anyone. I am my own, and I deserve justice as much as he.

Then Gustav’s and Laurent’s words hit me.His brother’s so-called pet. His own Jewel.“You two know everything then?”

Laurent smiles sadly. He grabs my hands, squeezing them with his own. “I only wish I could help.”

I turn to Gustav. “I owe you an apology, too—”

But he waves me off. “I understand the stakes for you, had you not followed through on your king’s orders.” His smile is so kind it hurts. “Take comfort, my lady Vasalie, in knowing you are on the right side. King Anton is a good man.”