Page 161 of A Dance of Lies

“Moranya—”

“Ah, I see she does not.” To me, she says, “You see, he never took my hand because he has never loved anyone. Not even a single soul. I have worn many faces, and yet he has always refused me.”

So that’s how Anton did it.

Eremis loved himself, and so he took hisownhand.

Anton loves . . . no one. He never has. And despite whatever feelings I have toward him, it only makes my heart break.

He loves no one, and I wonder if it’s because no one has ever truly lovedhim.Because he hides his true self, keeps everyone at an arm’s length.

I wish I could tell him that her efforts to turn me against him will not work.

I hope he can see it in my eyes.

But he merely dons his usual arrogance, a mask of surety that pulls his lips into an ever so slight grin. “A compelling yet pointless argument, Moranya, when I will not allow you to keep her here, all the same.”

“You think you have the power to stop me?”

“Souls, no,” he says, barking a laugh. “But I do happen to have a bit of . . . leverage.” He draws a long chain from his tunic, a small, circular pendant attached. He flips it open to reveal a sphere of prismatic glass.

“My turn to tell a story.”

The pendant—I remember it. He had tried to get me to take it when he was hanging from the chandelier, moments before Illian barged in.Find the nearest source of light.

He lets it fall, then twirls the chain in his hand so the pendant twists round and round. “You see, I found it interesting that the first time I died, I appeared before you exactly as I had been before my death, all my belongings in tow. That meant others would, too. Of course, I was never compelled to take your hand, even despite your allure, being that there was no one I loved enough to want to join. And so I saw you as your true self.

“But I knew better, my dearest Moranya, than to make Eremis’s mistake in assuming you would not find a way to outsmart me one day. I decided I wanted my own version of immortality beyond whatever emotion I might feel. So I studied every tale I could find about you and Eremis both.”

Once more, he palms the pendant, then tosses it upward a few times like an apple. “My favorite version of Eremis’s story was the one where you turned his reflection back on him. Not by holding up a mirror but becoming his reflection yourself. I realized, then, that the answer was simple. All I needed was a way to see through your disguise when you inevitably found one to compel me.

“But that begs the question: How could I accomplish such a feat? Then I remembered the Temple of Zur, where some claimed the fragments of the mirror used in most versions of your tale were kept. And while you never used the mirror in the way most people believed, the mirror wasn’t contrived, now was it? There was indeed a mirror, only it wasn’t originally yours. It belonged to the Fate you seduced—and the temple priests claimed a fates-touched object always holds a remnant of its power. Like a thumbprint.

“All it took was a single fragment of that mirror, and two years in a workshop with Gustav Bayard—the son of a glass smith and inventor like myself—to create our prototype. A lens, we called it,” he says, observing it once more. “Of course I couldn’t be certain whether it would work unless I tested it out myself. And you see,” he says, looking to Moranya, “I did, only you did not notice. It was a nice try, using Vasalie’s face. And perhaps I might have taken yourhand, had it not been for this; I suppose now we will never know. Didn’t you wonder why I was fiddling with my jewelry? Oh, right—I make it such a regular habit with you, you were bound not to notice.”

A sob builds in my chest, though I can’t release it. He had tried to give me the lens, tried to explain how to use it, only he was cut off. He wanted to give me a way to return to life, all while potentially risking his own.

Perhaps I might have taken your hand, had it not been for this.

Because she appeared as me. I can’t—can’t—think about what that means, or what would have happened if I had taken that necklace from him.

Moranya’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. She takes a step closer, observing the lens. “A marvel,” she finally says, clucking her tongue. “Truly, I admire your efforts. But there is one problem, see. If I accept your little trinket, how do I know you won’t create more?”

“Oh, I most certainly will, and I’ll hand one to every member of my court if you do not bargain with me.”

“Ah, but you gave yourself away, Anton, when you told me you might have fallen for a face such as hers. Replicate your lens, and you’ll never see her again. Risk it, if you want. But we can settle this much more easily than that.”

Anton fists his palms. “Name your price.”

“You, of course.”

He gives her a knowing look. “Try again.”

“A piece of you, then.” She straightens to her full height until she is as tall as he is. “I want a piece of your soul. The goodness of it. The warmth and comfort, for here, I am so very cold. That is my price, little king. For that, I will give you the girl.”

I try and fail to shake my head.No.I might not fully understand, but a piece of his soul, his goodness . . .

I will him to look at me. To let me go—