Page 144 of A Dance of Lies

I break the surface long enough to hear Illian’s shouts. “Hurry! He jumped! Just down there!”

The pain in my chest is like shards of ice, so cold it burns. So cold it drains the last of my grit. There is nothing left.

So I let go.

And sink.

And sink.

I know darkness intimately.

I know the bounds of it, the feel of it. There are types, I have learned. The darkness between stars, vast and eternal. The cold darkness of uncertainty, a slick clamor against your skin. The panic that comes with it.

Then there is the hollow dark. Suffocating, hopeless, like in my cell.

That’s how I knew I was not dead when I first awoke. This is not the peaceful abyss or suffering torment of Morta’s Lair. No, it is the emptiness of captivity.

Before I lost consciousness in the pitch-dark sea, two strong arms had taken hold of my shoulders and pulled me back into the world. I learned after that it was Aemon, sent to retrieve me. He had been waiting, had known exactly where to find me. Illian knew I was never in any danger from that fall.

So here I lie, curled beneath rough-spun sheets, my back aching from the cot. Thick curtains deprive me of any light. It’s dark enough to be a prison, and it might as well be. I am in Illian’s apartments, though I don’t know where.

I don’t know how much time has passed.

I feel as if I no longer inhabit my body.

I drink whatever they give me, eat whatever they shove between my teeth, swallow whatever tonic they spill down my throat until I’m a lifeless heap on a stiff mattress.

King Rurik of Brisendale is dead, and I’d dropped that katar. It was the proof Illian needed to show the world that Razam was behind the assassination, and I gave it to him.

I have brought destruction on two countries now. PerhapsIam the new Eremis—the bringer of death the prophecies foretold.

I am certainly the murderer Illian accused me of being, and even my two years in prison no longer feel like punishment enough.

I should not have taken Illian’s deal all those months ago. I should have taken my last breath in that prison. I was well on my way, maybe weeks from accepting the Fate of Morta’s hand and escaping this world forever. But as the hours pass, a single question still pokes my mind, like a pin left in an unfinished dress.

Why me?

Yes, I was desperate for freedom, but there’s more to this. I can feel it. Did Illian sense the darkness in me? Did he know just how vile I would become with my freedom on the line? Anyone else would have betrayed Illian by now. Anyone else would have spared Laurent. Rurik.

Anyone with a soul.

More hours pass.

For the first time, I drag myself from my cot, parting the curtains with my fingers. Idle gossip drifts up from the garden and walk-ways below—gossip I strain to hear.

It seems Queen Aesir was crowned, though the formal ceremony will take place back in Brisendale.

She also announced her engagement to General Stova.

My stomach churns, rising into my ribs. I stay there until the sun recedes and night holds sway, thick and starless. Then, between two towers, an orange glow bleeds onto the distant sea.

The pyre, lit for Rurik’s passing. I assume his body will be buried in Brisendale, but a traditional Miridranian funeral is being held in his honor, with all the Crowns in attendance.

All except two. Queen Sadira is said to have departed in a furious rage with the rest of her court upon Illian’s announcement. They tried to hold her for a hearing before the Crowns’ Syndicate, but between her sons and her guard, she was untouchable.

It doesn’t matter. With the entire north against her, and the threat of war from the south at her back, Razam will not last long. Because of me.

A murderer.