Page 158 of A Dance of Lies

He walked away, because . . . because hecannotdie.

Whatever Illian says, he’s lying. He cannot hurt me.

He can’t hurt me.

“How?” Illian yells again. He yanks me against his chest, the sharp tip of his dagger digging into my sternum. “Tell me!”

“You want to know?” Anton says, edging closer, his gaze carefully tracking his brother. “Release her first.”

“You think me a fool?”

“Look behind me,” Anton says. Past him, the battle has died down, Anton’s men barricading the doors against a barrage of soldiers trying to force their way inside. “The palace is yours. In minutes, your men will break through. Well done, Illian. But I stand between your victory and escape, and believe me when I tell you that you will not leave here alive if you do not let her go. Everyone in this room will make sure of it.”

Basile lifts his sword in emphasis, veins of red running down its length.

Beside them, Copelan skids to a halt. Gustav joins, too. He pats Anton on the shoulder, seemingly unsurprised at the return of his king. “Good to have you back. Took you long enough, though.”

I feel the vicious beat of Illian’s heart against my back as he says, “All those times. What, did you seduce the Fate of Morta into letting you live?” He laughs, but it’s dry. “I can’t kill you, can I? So what makes you think I’ll give her up only for you to strike me down?”

Anton eases forward, but the sharp tip of glass splits the skin above my heart. Stars spiral through me, rousing a flood of nausea that warps my vision. I don’t hear myself cry out, but I feel it in my throat. A strange scent fills my nostrils. I try to open my mouth, to warn Anton about the rope—that Illian has an escape—but cannot.

“Illian!” Anton thunders. For the first time, his eyes catch mine, but I’m too hazy to latch on to them. “Bargain with me, if nothing else. Trade me for her. Lock me up. Leave me in a dungeon to rot. Whatever you want.”

No.

“Illian,” I wheeze. It takes everything in me to push it out. “Understand this.” My throat burns. My mouth feels as if it holds a bucket of steam. Still, I force my voice through. “Your jewels are not enough. Your power is not enough. You are rich in diamonds butpoor in spirit. You arelacking.” Another tight breath, and then, “He does not envy you. I do not want you. You are but dust in the wind, here and gone again.”

I feel the spike of his pulse. I made my mark. The strange scent grows heavier, filling every pore on my skin like a coat of millen. He shifts the dagger lower, his hand trembling, the tip edging just under my ribs. Pain splices through me in a dizzying rush.

And I see it there, the want in his gaze. The outrage. He shakes with it—shakes with the need to push that dagger up and underneath my ribs, even as he refuses to do it. For all he would hurt me, I am a belonging he will never release.

And he will stall until his men arrive or use me to escape. That, I cannot allow.

There’s a whistling in the wind, a howling. A soughing that I feel in my soul. The sky is dark as dried blood, ready to devour.

I spin and hook my arms around Illian’s neck like a noose.

Today, I claim him.

Today, I take his hand.

I am no longer his victim.

Iwill be the Fate of Morta andIwill bring him death.

Anton’s shouts come on the wind. “Vasalie, no—”

I tip us both over the balustrade.

Let my weight plummet backward.

And pull him over with me.

Chapter Forty

Pain.

The world is blinding, endless pain.