Page 118 of To Dance with Death

“Moranya’s curse is broken. I am more whole than I ever have been, and I will not stand idly by and let this happen. Will you stop me?”

“Stop you?” She barks a laugh, then cups his cheek with her hand before dropping it to his shoulder. “I have always respected your wishes, Anton. I will do so again—only this time, I’m arming you to the teeth.”

He grins. “Good, because I have a plan.”

Chapter Forty-One

The following morning, after Moranya’s ritual to draw enough power from the mirror to sustain the realm in its absence, she reminds me of all the consequences should I fail to bring it home.

The waiting left me wanting to jump out of my own skin. Every second that passed could mean more death at my father’s hands.

Finally, when Moranya reluctantly hands me the mirror, I feel the hum of energy within it, like the vibration of a faraway storm. Except the longer I hold on to it, the more I feel it holding me in turn, like a hand wrapping around my own. But quickly, Moranya paces to me with a cloth satchel. “You will only use it when you must. Promise.”

“I vow to be careful,” I tell her, wrapping the mirror in the cloth and tucking it inside the satchel. “And I will only use the mirror as we agreed.”

I can only hope I’m not too late.

The moment I step through the portal, I sense the proximity to battle in the air as if smelling smoke. Ifeeldeath as if it’s a tangible thing.

The scent of copper cuts through the sands of Razam like a blade.

As for me, it seems as though I’m in the ruins of an old tower, having stepped through an old window. Moranya’s portal. The tower is in a small forest clearing, and not far away both Miridranian and Razami tents are scattered between the trees and a set of hills overlooking the beach.

Past those, the battle rages.

As I draw nearer to the tents, metal clashes. I hear shouting in the distance, the clanking of weapons, and through the gaps between trees, I even get a glimpse of the chaos swirling before the shoreline.

I rush through the camp, past the medical tents. The sight of the wounded soldiers—so many of them—makes my stomach churn. I imagine the souls unstitching from their mortal tether, restless and discomfited with nowhere to go.

Another consequence of my borrowing the mirror, Moranya told me. Without her using the mirror’s power to usher the souls into her lair, souls would float near their bodies, eventually fading away the way they used to. Yet another reason I must return the mirror before the deadline—so that she can save them before they vanish altogether.

The final consequence: She would not have the mirror’s power to return Anton to life should he perish in battle.

I have to be fast.

I release a breath when I locate what must be a makeshift armory, finding Queen Sadira bedecked in shining plates of gold and thick onyx cloth alongside Prince Mantrin and Prince Veer, two of Sundar’s brothers.

“Your Grace,” I breathe. She turns, her dark stare narrows until she recognizes me. A few steps brings her to me, her gaze hard and otherwise impassive. It’s why I don’t expect it when she pulls me to her in a brief, stiff hug.

Before I can hug her back, she holds me at arm’s length. “Vastianna—”

I rush out the quickest version of the story I can: The bargain I made. What I can now wield. That she must let me—before it’s too late.

“And the consequences of all of this? For you?” Sadira asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. She cares, I realize. Not just for her country, for Anton.

She cares forme.

I swallow, thinking of the seductive nature of it. “I don’t know yet. But Your Grace, Sundar—”

She lifts her chin in pride. “My son is a hero.”

I hesitate, then decide against telling her about my and Sundar’s time together in Moranya’s Realm. I want to reassure her that I hope to save him, that I’ll try my damndest, but it’s a promise I am still not certain I can keep. I can’t break her heart all over again.

Sadira cups a hand on my cheek, smiling a little, even as a tear glosses her eyes. Then, without another word, she instructs Mantrin, who is built much like Sundar, to round up more fighters. “The battle is fierce, Vastianna. We will escort you safely.”

Gratitude swells within me. I have the mirror, yes, but I must use it sparingly. Not just to protect against the seduction of such power, but to prevent more death. Because I’m going to aim it at the one man who set us all on this path.

I am going to sever my father’s soul.