Page 129 of To Dance with Death

And it hits him, then, what she’s about to do.

“Vasalie,” he says, starting toward her. “No—”

Large arms wrap around him, and Basile is holding him back. Anton jerks, thrashes, and already, he sees the portal opening, there in a simple pane of glass leaned against the far wall. His heart thuds wildly, and again he shouts, “Vasalie!”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I love you.”

Again Anton attempts to wrench free, but his captain’s grip is steel, unmoving. “Basile, I swear to all the Fates I will never forgive you if you don’t let me go—”

“I accept that, Sire. It is because I, too, love you, as do your people. We need you—and for that I willingly bear your fury.”

This time, when Anton wrenches, he rips free of Basile’s hold. But it doesn’t matter.

Already she’s stepping through, and before he can react, another guard takes an axe to the glass, destroying the pane and the portal both.

Anton runs.

Not toward the shattered glass, but through the palace, his guards trailing him until he reaches the ruins of Mercy’s chapel. Except he doesn’t have to touch the stained-glass window to know that the portal is no longer there. The air is too still, too stale.

Even so, he tests it, finds it hard and unmoving. Glass.

He falls to his knees, his heart shattering.

Chapter Forty-Six

I materialize in Moranya’s tower, then slide to the floor.

My throat is sore with tears. I had expected to leave alone. I knew I could never tell him goodbye. “He wasn’t supposed to come back to see that,” I sob, though little more than breath escapes.

Basile tried to convince me to let him go in my place, but I told one last lie. I convinced him that only one who had already been to Moranya’s Lair could handle the mirror.

I couldn’t let him sacrifice himself, though he would have. Willingly.

Either of them would have, and that makes it all the more difficult.

The sound of footfalls pulls my attention up, and slowly, I force myself to stand.

“You have returned,” Moranya says, her gaze fixed on the mirror in my hand.

“Did you think I wouldn’t keep my word?” I ask, my throat tight.

“I have hoped for this for so long. I suppose I expected you to change your mind. Not about returning the mirror, but about trusting me and repairing it. Especially after knowing the depth of my failures.”

I inhale slowly, turning my attention toward her. “The tales made you out to be a monster, but you merely sought to save the souls of mortals—and the Fate you loved. Who among us hasn’t made mistakes in order to do good? I know I have. Besides,” I add, “for someone who only wanted our kind to live on, I don’t think you would put us all at risk, even for Kastiel.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, “for seeing my truth.”

“It was shame that kept you away, wasn’t it? It’s why you established the Court of the Exalted to rule before Anton came along.” I swallow my sorrow—pretend it away.

“I knew I was unfit to rule it—especially in my grief. A grief that only compounded over the years until I was desperate and thought of little else.”

“And now?” I ask.

“Now it won’t matter. Kastiel is much more a deserving ruler than I would be.”

I place the resin and mirror down on a table.

“Would you like to do the honors?” I hand the mirror to her, wrapped though it is in a cloth binding, and it’s like releasing a breath. I never want to wield such power again. I uncork the resin, pouring a few drops in the final crack. I watched carefully as Anton fitted the pieces back together. “All we need to do is place this inside. According to Anton, your touch can seal it.”