Page 154 of A Dance of Lies

Fabric comes loose, the skirt fluttering down my legs. Anton thrusts forward, but the chandelier rattles, forcing him to stop lest it fall.

“What was it I told you all those months ago?” Illian trudges on, his fingers edging toward my throat, and it takes everything in me not to lose control of my bladder. “Ah, yes. I told you your last evening would be spent with me. You still owe me a performance, Vastianna, and you just said you wish me to keep to my word.”

With that, he tugs a ribbon on my back, and another layer of silk sinks to the floor.

Cold air grazes my shoulders, my collarbone. I’m left in nothing but a minuscule bustier and a wide sash hugging my hips like a skirt shorn high on my thighs.

“Turns out,” he says to Anton, “you’re not the only one who can construct a gown.”

“Piss-poor job if it’s falling apart.”

Illian’s laugh is caustic. “You always had that souls-awful sense of humor.”

“It must vex you,” Anton says, “that she would never have chosen you of her own free will.”

Illian merely shrugs. “I have her, all the same.”

“You do realize you can pay someone to fist the grapes. Less hassle, more willingness.”

“Hatred does not last forever. In time, she will learn that I can please her as well as any.”

“What, you think your extra limb is the size of a gourd or something? You can’t overcompensate your way into her favor when you’re the very definition of arectum.”

“Jealousy suits you well, Anton.”

This is what Illian wanted all along. It wasn’t just me he was after. He wanted power, yes, but that wasn’t enough. He tried to have Anton assassinated time and again, and so it never would have been enough for him to win. No, he wanted to flaunt his prize in front of the brother he loathes. It might be the only reason Anton is still alive.

Illian doesn’t intend to let him go. He brought him here so that he might watchthis,and then he will no doubt finish what he failed to do before.

He might even makemedo it.

I grab Illian’s sleeve. “Please—I will dance for you, if that’s what you want. And anything else.”

Because two can play at Anton’s game. Two can race to seize Illian’s attention and deter him from the other.

“Vas, you are not his possession—”

“I want to,” I cut in. Because he’s right. I am not Illian’s possession, nor his plaything.

I am a performer.

So I turn to Illian and place my palms softly against his chest.“We can find a way to be happy,” I tell him, “so let us strike an arrangement. Make a bargain with me, Illian. If I promise to give you my nights, will you give me my days? As your wife?” The words are so sour they curl my tongue, but I cage it between my teeth.

“I am not letting you out of my sight.”

“I’m not asking for that. I wish only for the freedom to dance during the days. To have people to spend time with.” I think of Laurent. Marian. Brigitte. If I can get him to release them, I can find a way to get them far away. “Let me choose companions. Show me the mercy you once did, and every night, when the stars light the sky, I will come to you happily.”

Illian pulls me in by the waist, his cold fingers digging into my hips. “And I suppose you also want my brother to go free.”

“You were my savior, once,” I say, carefully plucking the same strings he had earlier, when he’d tried to swayme.“You said as much, and you were right. You were my protector. You were myeverything.”

The words are true. I had idolized him, respected him, and I let that sincerity show in my gaze. “Be that once more,” I whisper. “Let me look upon you with gratitude and admiration as I once did. Keep your word. Let him go and have me instead. Willingly, and forever.”

“Release him, and have your gratitude?” he asks, tilting his head. The feline smile he gives me unsettles me to my core. “Will you beg me for it?”

I glance at Anton—at those defiant, emerald eyes, the fierce, unwavering set of his jaw—and all over again, I return to the Sky Garden, curtained under the branches of a flowering willow, where Anton is telling me that Copelan doesn’t deserve me. I recall that plush red and violet room, his heat on top of me, and instead of pulling away after the danger was gone, he instead set a tender kiss upon my lips. Then I am in the rowboat, breathing in gulps of sea mist when he is calling me strong, and after, in his quarters, hisheartbeat the only thing tethering me to reality, his voice in my ear telling me I am art. The fire that sparked between us in his chamber, forbidden as it was, before Basile interrupted us.

And now, now he’s pleading with me, protesting what I might do, no matter what it would cost him.