Page 65 of A Dance of Lies

“The way he was looking at you. What did you say?” Defensiveness kicks in, hardening my resolve. “I said nothing beyond my request, to which he agreed.”

“He was practically standing on your toes.”

“I can’t control what he does,” I say, unable to stifle an exasperated breath.

He shakes his head, scratching behind his neck. “Of course. I am sorry. It’s just, that’s the way, that’s what . . .” He trails off, and I remember.

“Your partner,” I whisper.

He heaves a breath, his eyes falling. He had told me she involved herself with a Crown. It had ruined her career.

“Who did she . . . ?” But I trail off.

I already know who she was involved with. I saw it in Copelan’s stance, the clench of his jaw. Just now, I saw it.

And who else? Anton is charming. Deceptively so. And it’s rather easy to pique his interest. He collects women like he does his jewelry,piled thick and waiting to be used, a bevy of them stashed away at his Glory Court. Illian might have a strange fascination with me at times, but it was always confined to just me. Souls know a hundred other courtiers vied for his attention.

I put a tentative hand on Copelan’s strong shoulder, feeling the way it shudders beneath my touch. “Kings can take many things,” I say, and he meets my gaze. “I’m sorry for what they’ve stolen from you, but they can’t take moments like this one. They can’t take ones they aren’t here for unless you let them. So I think the greatest revenge,” I tell him, “is creating as many as you can, while you can.”

I would kill for another memory with Emilia. Just one, where I can sink into her quilt, soak up her laugh, flip through her memories. She used to say the greatest revenge is a smile. A smile for every harsh word, a smile for every moment of pain.Fake it if you must, my darling; if wielded properly, it can be more effective than a blade.

Fingertips skim the line of bared flesh above my leggings.

I understand what Copelan is saying. We don’t need words; we rarely use them, after all.

A moment. This one. Maybe I need it, too.

My palms grow damp, but I grip his arms. He hoists me up.

We rehearse. And there’s something a little furious, a little desperate in his movements, as if he’s trying not to snap and break free—but from what, I don’t know. I feel it in the way he holds me, the way he pushes the boundaries we’ve set. The way his fingers glide lower than they ought, the way they linger and splay.

The way mine do the same.

When we finish, I’m panting, and so is he. We stay that way, a hair’s breadth apart, watching each other until our breathing settles and I’m ready to collapse. Only then does he lead me back to my room, a hand on the small of my back.

“It’s only a few days away now,” he says, standing outside my door. I pretend it doesn’t affect me when he lifts a finger, twining it around a loose coil of hair. “Are you ready, Vas?”

“Sure,” I lie. Because Illian isn’t going to like it one bit.

Not when Copelan’s hands are about to be all over me in front of the whole Gathering.

When he leaves, I try for a nap, though I’m interrupted when Annais slips into my room. I ask her if she needs anything, but she merely gives me a passing glance before settling down to stitch a worn costume.

That’s when I notice what I hadn’t before, nuzzled there against her breastbone.

A necklace with a single charm. It almost looks like a Miridranian birthstone etched into a coin. A four-pointed star in particular, which signifies a child born amid tribulation. And around the outer edge of the coin, there’s an engraving. I can’t quite make it out, but it almost looks like the age-old language from the time of the clans—clans that existed in these lands before Miridran itself. Like the one Queen Mercy hailed from.

“Annais,” I try. There’s a wariness to her gaze when she looks at me. I swallow, threading my fingers through my hair. “Do you have children?”

Her eyes fall shut, and I don’t miss the way her fingers inch toward the necklace. But she drops them, fixing her gaze steadily on the needle in her hand.

And I’m not sure if I imagined it, or if it was merely the whisper of wind outside, but I could have sworn she answered me underneath her breath.

I could’ve sworn she said, “A son.”

Chapter Eighteen

The few days before our next big performance blend together.