Page 164 of A Dance of Lies

And then,thenthere’s one I recognize, as if a memory had been plucked from my mind.

It’s of Illian and my father meeting in the brothel in Philam, exactly as they had been, frozen in time. This is not artwork. It wasn’t brushed with paint or oil.

Images, trapped in glass.

“We call themstillsfor now, though nothing quite fits,” comes another voice.

Gustav.

And there he is, his smile broad. I hadn’t even noticed him. Or Copelan next to him, both swathed in loose, silken clothes. They are by the window, hovering over a map alongside Prince Sundar.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“I didn’t either at first.” Laurent gives my hand a squeeze; it feels so small cupped by his own. “But this,” he says, gesturing around, “is Miridran’s salvation.”

“We’ve been working on it for years, Anton and I,” Gustav says, approaching. He pauses before the image of my father and Illian. “We can capture reality with a device we call a Lensgraph—name pending. This is one of many reasons the recent tunnel additions in the Palace of Anell were built. We’ve been trying to gather proof of Illian’s schemes for some time.”

The invention Gustav helped build.

The proof Anton promised he would deliver.

The development Basile had referenced.

My feet move of their own accord. There, on the far wall, arestillsof the banquet night. Everyone gathered at the table. The show of light on the walls. Then me, gazing into the looking glass after Anton pulled me away. I shake my head, words trapped in my throat.

“Of course by the time we had enough proof to bring before the Crowns’ Syndicate, it was too late. The last image Anton caught took time to develop, and by then . . .”

The tunnels had been discovered, and Anton had been captured.

My eyes catch on a familiarstillon the wall. It’s the one I sawwhen I’d discovered the room in the tunnel, where Anton seemed to be looking right at me with that infuriating, all-knowing smirk. I touch a finger against the glass, leaving a thumbprint on his bottom lip.

Anton.

“I saw him,” I say. And perhaps it had been a dream, but I swear, swear that it was real—

“Vasalie, your sacrifice that night has not gone unnoticed,” Gustav says. “However, once . . .” He trails off, swallowing. “We had to flee Miridran. The Crowns’ Syndicate will not allow Anton to rule after Illian’s accusations—not without intervention.”

Copelan meets my gaze for the first time, but he quickly glances down. Ashamed, I realize. Turns out I can’t look at him, either.

“So Miridran doesn’t have a king,” I whisper, “with Illian dead.”

Dead, by my hands. But Anton . . .

“The Crowns’ Syndicate holds Razam responsible for King Rurik’s death. And Illian’s, now. The new king of Brisendale is calling for war,” Prince Sundar answers. “He’s camped a portion of his army in the Karithian archipelago, on an island just north of Miridran.”

The new king. The Beast of the North. Myfather.

When Crowns divide, and nations collide,

Blood will run, high as tides.

“It’s a war we cannot win,” Prince Sundar continues. “However, once Anton went missing on the night of your final performance, my mother had the foresight to escape with these,” he says, gesturing at thestills.

She didn’t abandon us.

“It means we can now petition an audience with the Crowns’ Syndicate on neutral ground and lay out our proof,” Laurent says.

Proof—of everything my father and Illian did. Because Anton got that proof. He had been gathering it all along.