Page 13 of To Dance with Death

There is nothing, or no one, he loves enough for that.

“I know what you think of me.” Sadness softens her words into a whisper. Very compelling. “But I am not asking you to take my hand, little king,” she says. “I am asking you to take my kingdom instead. One realm was stolen from you, so why not rule another?”

Chapter Four

Once Mr. Perov left, I scavenged the room for anything I might use as a weapon.

Not that I am a fighter—I’ve little chance of fending anyone off. But being unarmed makes me feel even more powerless. Of course I found little of use, save for two spare iron candlestick holders by the hearth. One I strip of its candle and hide under my pillow while leaving the other on the nightstand next to my bed, which is furnished with a pitcher of water and a small basin for washing.

Outside, the sun sinks below the window’s frame, the sky a melted orange. Minutes later, an attendant comes to my room, delivering my bag.

I don’t bother unpacking, flattening my back against the bed to stare up at the ceiling, my heart still fighting to calm its stuttering from the climb—only to pick up speed once more at the sound of a knock.

It is the last person I expect.

Sofya Kosarev wears her same courtly attire, though hidden beneath a fine pewter cloak. She doesn’t wait for me to move aside, instead wandering past me with a swish of her skirts. I glance out the door before shutting it, noting the lack of guards.

“My father allowed you to visit?” I ask, incredulous.

“I have my own pull with the guards.” Her pale gaze roams the room, perhaps taking stock of my living conditions for the next thirty days.

I suppose it makes sense that some guards might still answer to her. She was royalty herself—she probably lived in the fortress for years alongside her brother.

She pauses by the window, clasping her hands. I notice then the bags underneath her eyes, the deep lines between her brows. Even her complexion seems paler than it should be. I wonder just how much of a toll King Rurik’s death took on her.

I cross to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Why come to me?”

“Either your father is the reason my brother is dead,” she says, “or you and your friends are. I wanted to look you in the eyes myself.”

“And?” I hedge.

“And my instinct tells me both are true,” she says, her gaze dipping to my fidgeting hands. “You had more of a role than you are letting on.”

I still my clammy fingers, forcing down the bile inching up my throat. She is more right than she could know. But I say, “The only one who wanted Rurik dead was my father. Can’t you see through him? Just look at the power he’s amassed because of it.”

At that, she sighs. “That is true. I can’t say I approve of his rule, either. My niece,” she continues, referring to Aesir, “well, she wasn’t like this as a girl. She was a ray of sunshine—always happy, always kind, if a bit naïve. When I think back, her behavior changed around the time your father started spending more time here. Now she refuses to speak to even me.”

“Because he groomed her to accept his hand, to be compliant to his desires,” I say. He said as much himself when I overheard him and Illian speaking at that brothel.

“I also find it strange that she had him crowned as her superior. None of it sits right with me. Is there any evidence you can provide for your stepmother’s murder? Anything at all.”

“Evidence? Not likely. Her body would have decomposed long ago,” I say, my breath tight. “Or whatever was left of it after she was thrown from so high up the mountain.” Perhaps her bones are still there, shattered amid the rocks and buried beneath the snow. The thought churns my stomach.

“Did no one question her disappearance?”

“My father claimed it was suicide. That she jumped from that very window. There was no one to speak for her, and her only remaining family was in Miridran. And no way now to prove she was thrown out—save that I saw it happen.”

Again her gaze turns to the window, where a few flakes of snow drift past. I hadn’t even realized it was snowing.

She shakes her head. “Maybe you are telling the truth, or perhaps it is more complex still. Until I know the whole of it, though, I will do what I can to protect you and your friends. I don’t believe in tampering with evidence.”

“Please,” I say. “Is there any way I can see them?”

Her lips tip into a ghost of a smile. “This used to be my room, you know. When I was a girl.” She paces to the tapestry next to the hearth and pulls it back to reveal a door.

A secret passageway. “Does my father know about this?”

She shrugs. “It wouldn’t matter. He has the tower guarded. You won’t be able to escape. You will, however, be able to visit your friends, both of whom are two floors below; this leads to the parlor that connects their rooms. I was told this tower used to be a lookout—the oldest one in the fortress. There used to be a route to the outside, though it has long since been boarded up.”