Page 156 of A Dance of Lies

“The p-problem with that, b-brother,” says a weak voice from the floor, “is that you haven’t yet won.”

I whirl.

A pained grin slides across Anton’s face.

Then, perhaps by a strike of fate, something vibrates the walls—something that sounds an awful lot like an otherworldlygrowl.

The doors are thrown wide, and a roar like thunder bellows into the room. All the guards, Aemon and Sana included, whip around,swords out, but they are woefully outmatched against a massive jaw stacked with dagger-sharp teeth.

Ishu rips into the two guarding the entrance, Basile behind her. Shouts erupt. Blood bathes the walls, even the ceiling. Several guards race around Illian, barricading him, while the others fight a flurry of claws and steel. I stand frozen, slack, until Copelan’s face appears in the doorway.

“Vasalie,” he shouts, and behind him runs Gustav.Gustav.And others I recognize from Anton’s court. They’re free.

I fling the manacles from my wrists, dropping to Anton’s side. His eyes are open. I call his name, then scream it, because he isn’t looking at me, even though I’mright in front of him.

Blood snakes down his lips, leaking in trails.

No—no.I grab his cheeks, willing him to blink, to say my name. Everything swarms around me in a blur, but all I can see are his eyes, blank and unseeing. “Anton, please,” I sob. “Look at me.”

The man who woke me up. Who saw me. Whoarmedme. Who made me feel strong, empowered, worthy—because Iamworthy. I am notless,even as I am. Even when my body fails me. I am not less . . .

“He’s gone,” Copelan says, grabbing my shoulder. I don’t believe him. I can’t believe him.

“Vasalie,” he says urgently. “We have to flee. The palace is full of Brisendali soldiers. Any moment now, they will hear what’s happening in here.” He pulls me up with strong arms.

Tears clog my vision, but finally I look at Copelan. Copelan, who abandoned me in the Dome Hall. “How are you here?”

He pulls me along, but I can’t seem to control my limbs. “Vas—Souls. I’m sorry,” he says. “I saw what happened during the last performance, and then that wedding . . .” He mutters a curse, and I gulp a painful swallow. The disgust I saw wasn’t at me, then. “I managed to sneak Laurent a key, and he escaped. He told me everything. We freed as many as we could, and now, we have to hurry.” He urges me onward.

But Aemon barrels into him. Copelan staggers back and unsheathes his sword, clumsily throwing it up against an attack, but it’s clear that he barely knows how to use it. Aemon swings his halberd—

I kick the back of his knees, breaking his balance. When he falters, Copelan plunges his sword deep into Aemon’s gut.

More of Illian’s men swarm into the room. The fury of Ishu’s growling shakes my bones.

Panting, Copelan says, “Run, Vas! The balcony. Laurent is below.”

Frantic, I nod, lurching toward the open terrace. Laurent’s voice comes on the wind. “Vasalie!”

He’s on an adjacent balcony several feet below ours. It’s too far for him to jump up, but he holds a rope over his head. “Catch,” he calls. “We can use it to esc—”

A hand wraps around my throat.

“This only ends one way,” Illian says against my jaw. I feel the cold, sharp press of steel against my clavicle. “Or I will send you to Morta’s Lair myself.” He angles my chin toward Laurent’s frantic eyes. “Tell him to throw the rope. Catch it, secure it, and together, we will escape down to the courtyard.”

“The rope isn’t long enough for that,” I say, hoping to buy time. But no one’s coming. Cold sea wind thrashes against the palace walls, a squall on its tail. Thunder snarls in the distance, echoing Ishu’s fury and the clash of steel behind us. Everyone is locked in battle, even Basile, who stands swinging before the corpse of his king—a sight I know I’ll never forget.

“Then rip off your sash and lengthen the rope.” Illian removes the dagger from my neck, slicing at the fabric.

He expects me to be a lamb, to lay down for slaughter, but I’ve grown claws. Teeth.Scales.

I slam into him, wrestling him down, nails carving into the flesh of his arms. The dagger falls from his hands, clattering against stone and sliding a few inches away. I scramble toward it. Laurent is yelling my name.

A sharp pain pierces my thigh, and a cry dries my lungs.

Rough hands flip me onto my back. Illian hovers over me, my dagger in hand. The very one I used to slice his flag. “Thanks to you, I had a backup on hand.” He kicks the other dagger off the balcony.

“You will die for this,” Laurent bellows from below.