Page 136 of A Dance of Lies

I expel a breath as if I’ve been pierced by a lance. Two Crowns—no, three—spring from their seats, accompanied by guards. The rest of the audience follows, murmurs and shouts erupting like a hot spring. “Let us see the letters,” I hear someone shout. “Hand them over!”

The Queen of Razam sweeps upward, a devastating fury darkening her gaze, but two of her sons clasp her arms, restraining her.

Illian disperses the letters among the crowd. “All their plans, laid out before you,” he says. “Anton has been arming Razam behind our backs; see for yourself.”

“No,” I say under my breath. My palms are hot, shaking.Speak out,something inside me begs, but my word will mean nothing here. I am as insignificant as dust. I look to Copelan, but he’s occupied, shuffling the other performers onto boats. As if at any minute this island could sink.

The letters seem to multiply. How many had he forged? The King of Brisendale bounds into sight, grabbing one and unfolding it. I’m sure it is every bit as incriminating as Illian suggested.

Because Illian wrote it.

“The entire Gathering has been a farce,” Illian calls over the noise. “By bringing you here, Anton was learning your secrets. His entire palace is riddled with hidden tunnels; my guards came across them just today.” The liar. “We’ve been scouring them for the last hour. I plan to open them up to you all so that you might witness them for yourself.”

It’s like a string of tension has snapped. A cacophony of voicesfights for attention—some shouting for Anton’s head, others for his presence. The Gathering is in pandemonium. Guards form blockades, eager to protect their Crowns. I spot Aemon and Sana at the edge of the stage, tracking my movements.

When Crowns divide, and nations collide,

Blood will run, high as tides.

“Let Anton speak for himself!” says Prince Raiden. “He owes us an explanation. We deserve to hear it from his own lips—”

“He absconded upon learning that he was discovered, I’m afraid. However, we have taken the whole of his court into custody until he’s found to answer for his schemes.”

I stop seeing, breathing. I don’t believe Illian. He found Anton—found him through the tunnels.

“This should come as no surprise,” General Stova says. “Has he not been under Her Majesty’s skirts ever since the almost-war?”

“A war is what he wants!” says someone else.

“Let the queen answer for this accusation!”

Queen Sadira’s seven sons surround her, tulwars drawn. But she pushes through them now. “You are all fools if you believe this nonsense.”

I have to do something. Another glance at my guards tells me they’re momentarily distracted by the mayhem surrounding the queen, so I snatch the train of my gown, wishing I wish I had time to discard the costume altogether.

Skirting the edge of the island is my best chance at going unseen. I trail around the rocks, blending into the back of the crowd. If I can reach the archway, I could grab a craft and row back to the palace.

I must find Anton.

I’m a few feet from the archway when King Rurik’s voice booms through the dissipating mist from our performance like the growl of thunder. “We have been deceived for the last time,” he says, silencingthe Gathering. He has that much power, I realize. Few would risk angering him. Fewer would risk tampering with their trade agreements, provoking his army.

And yet he’s a dead man walking.

I pause at the mouth of the open cave.

“We have had enough of Miridranian turmoil,” he declares. “Let us settle this once and for all. I may have admired the late king’s intent in following the ways of Razam, but his experiment has been a failure. Miridran needs one king, not three, and King Illian has proven himself the only honorable candidate.”

No.He can’t side with them. Rage courses through me as I gaze around, waiting for someone, anyone, who might see through it, but even Prince Raiden, who looks skeptical, holds his tongue.

“The claims against Anton are irrefutable. Illian Orvere, should you choose to ascend to High King, you have Brisendale’s support in full.” He levels a gaze toward the other Crowns; none dare to oppose him. “And that of our army.”

Beside him, my father stands tall, smug, like he’s already made himself a king. Even his silver hair is missing its usual peaked cap, as if awaiting a crown.

His cap.He must have removed it, perhaps during the show.

An idea strikes me. My words would mean nothing to them, but words aren’t the only way to speak.

There might be a way I can warn King Rurik that his general is conspiring with Illian.