Page 75 of To Dance with Death

I would have liked to be more creative, but I’m trusting my instinct, holding tight to my resolve. I lean on Sundar’s assertions, too. Tonight I will release my fear and dance for him, and then I’ll invite him to a game of tabletop joust, perhaps, or we could promenade through the rooftop gardens I saw this morning. Anywhere I might spend time alone with him and loosen his lips.

I just need to make it through this dance.

I sweep into a whirl, bend and dip, sweat beading along the line of my brow—except here, outside, it’s downright frigid, andgrowing colder by the second. Yet a sheen of perspiration coats my skin. Even dancing, I shouldn’t be sweating like this. Still, I force myself onward, concentrating on the rhythm, on planning my steps, even as chills sweep across my skin. And with every motion, my resilience drains like sand clutched within a too-tight fist. The tighter I hold to it, the more it slips.

Before I make it even halfway through the song, my vision flickers like a candle’s dying flame—

Strength drains from my limbs completely, and the world slants as if on a hinge.

Turns black.

Someone shouts my name.Vasalie!

Then I feel myself fall.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anton

He fiddles with his bracelets.

Bounces his leg.

Toys with the fringe of a nearby pillow. Picks at it, unraveling loose threads until he shoves it aside. He’s restless, fidgeting far more than usual. Nothing here is keeping his interest, not even the souls.

It isn’t until his gaze roams the crowd that he realizes he’s searching forher.

Waiting for her.

Fates-damnit. The whole reason he’d fled the mortal world was to sever all attachments, forget the past. Hide it somewhere he’d never have to face it again. Only, ever since she had arrived, he’d tried his damndest to appear unaffected by her presence.

It’s a temporary infatuation,he reminds himself. Even she said that. Yet his deranged selfarguedthat point with her. He even tried to convince her to stay.

There was actual, physical pain seeing her in that pool and knowing he couldn’t touch her in all the ways he wanted to. His hands had itched to glide along her skin, to soothe all the places he could tell she was hurting.

Idly, he slips the rings from his fingers and clacks them in his hands. Calls for a drink. Settles in for an evening of having things he doesn’t really want, wanting things he can’t have…

No. Tonight, he will not be so enamored with her. He will not hang on her every movement. Sure, he will toss her a few glances, but he can’t, won’t—

He catches sight of her then. She’s ashen, far paler than usual, her forehead slick with sweat. And she’s limping, just slightly. Favoring her left leg.

His brows push together.

He calls her name, but it’s as if she doesn’t hear him. When she positions herself, he tells her not to dance, but it’s like she’s behind a pane of glass and he’s on the other side.

Her lips are dry, cracked. The pale, thin fabric of her dress clings to her more than it should.

She doesn’t even make it to the chorus, the apex of the song, before she’s falling.

He’s moving before he realizes it—

He catches her before she hits the ground.

She’s burning in his arms, burning like an ember, and only getting hotter.

Fever.

The word comes to him, sticks like plaster. By the look of it, she’s seconds from losing consciousness, seconds from maybe never getting it back if he can’t cool her off.