Page 19 of A Dance of Lies

“I’ll come up with a better name.”

Unlikely.

Again, he stares at me, unsure of what to make of the wisp of a woman standing before him. But I see the shift as he rakes a hand through his hair. “Your movements were stilted. Have you an injury?”

“Something like that.” I don’t want to elaborate, and thankfully, I don’t have to.

“You are untrained,” he says. I’m not surprised he could tell. “Do you have experience in front of a crowd?”

“Festivals aplenty,” I say. “And I danced at the Melune.”

While that’s true, I wasn’t a tenured performer like he will assume.

After arriving on the shores of Miridran at age thirteen, I was alone, starving, and too young to rent a place to live. Emilia’s ring bought me passage and only enough food to last a few months. During a particularly nasty storm, after the money had run out, I’d tucked myself under an alcove bracketed by two pillars that nestled into the side of the theater. The owner of the Melune took pity on me, hiring me as a seamstress and allowing me to make a home for myself among the rafters. There, I would watch each performance, every rehearsal, picking them apart until I knew every step. I memorized the criticism, jotting meticulous notes across scraps of parchment. I practiced until I was perfect, until they allowed me to join the performers onstage. And when an accident took out a star dancer, I jumped in and saved the performance.

That was the day Illian discovered me.

“The Melune,” the harpist calls, the first I’ve heard from her. “Impressive.”

Copelan paces a few steps, his gaze sliding along my figure. “Would you work with a partner if I requested it?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I haven’t before.” I probably shouldn’t admit it, but he’s made up his mind. I see it in the way his eyes glimmer, the way he now faces me fully, shoulders back, instead of angling away.

Thisis how I held the king’s favor. By watching him, ascertaining what piqued his interest during my initial performance, and each one after that, whether it was me onstage or someone else. I read him like a book, memorized his tells. This man is no different. Men are predictable creatures, after all.

He approaches, corded arms crossed. “All right, Vasalie Moran,” he says. “I am not your trainer, and I am not your nanny. I will not choreograph your dances; it’s why we bring in only the best here.But every performance is subject to my approval, and if the Crowns find you lacking, you will be removed from the isle. Am I clear?”

“As glass,” I answer, ignoring the way my anxiety curdles within me. But . . . “What of the other solo dancer?”

“You’ll alternate. Or perhaps,” he says, a smirk inching upward, “I’ll have you coordinate a routine together.”

I’m not sure if he’s mocking me, but I’m too tired to care. The energy I exerted leaves me shaky and weak, and I crave sleep. But King Illian’s first task, however vague, sits in the back of my mind.I want you to befriend the Gathering’s Head of Staff.

Thankfully, Copelan dismisses me with an assistant, who hands me a room key with instructions before snatching my bags, promising she’ll deliver them to my room.

Outside, a cobblestone walkway winds toward the main palace. Sea-salted air coats my tongue and ruffles the ocean waves at my side, and despite my exhaustion, a new energy threads through my veins as I approach the entryway. And as I glide inside, I ponder whether I’ve slipped into slumber, because the sight before me is one only a dream could craft.

Everywhere I look is glass.

Glossy wisteria coils around a multitude of columns. Panes, gilded and stained with patterns of aquamarine and emerald, arc along the walls and vaulted ceiling. Ribbons of light pierce through, dappling a vibrant mosaic across the floor. Then there’s the glass chandelier: a glimmering, upside-down willow, its branches cascading in tiers along the entryway, draping on either side of me like a veil.

A new addition, perhaps.

I wonder if this place outshines the Fates themselves.

Once more, my thoughts turn to Illian’s younger brother and the stories I’ve heard—particularly the most unbelievable one—that he fell from Miridran’s highest cliff when he was sixteen. Even now, his blood supposedly stains its rocks. Some believe the Fates sent acloud to break his fall. Others say it was a hoax—a rumor meant to instill fear.

But there are witnesses who swear he died that day.Actuallydied. And that somehow, he returned to life without so much as a broken bone—as if he made a bargain with the Fate of Morta herself. But even I know she can’t be bargained with.

Whatever the truth, King Anton wastes his second chance at life by making himself rich—richer than both his brothers—all so he can host lavish parties, revel in his Glory Court, and drown himself in expensive wine.

And as I traverse his palace, the evidence of his opulence surrounds me.

He supposedly made a great deal of his wealth by developing a more durable form of sea glass, made from sand and minerals off the eastern coast. No one knows the exact process by which it’s formed. Not even Illian, who voiced his disapproval frequently. I don’t blame him. King Anton’s sea glass is supposedly stronger, more resilient, and ten times more versatile than regular glass. Yet he often uses it as mere decoration instead of discounting it across Miridran’s other territories—when his is by far the wealthiest, no matter how many diamonds Illian pries from his mountains.

It’s still an impressive feat, much as I loathe to admit it. The resources of the east were seemingly the least valuable, unlike those of his older brothers who trade rare gems, livestock, and ore. And now his territory’s wealth is thanks not only to his innovations with glass but to tourism—some of which is no doubt drawn in from his ostentatious reputation alone.

Underneath another arch, the space widens even more. Glass stairs, like hardened ice, spiral off along the walls, with hallways opening between them. In the center, clear baubles dangle on strings of varying lengths, each enclosing a different flower: asters, crown imperials, hollies, and more.