Page 34 of A Dance of Lies

Finally, he says, “I am calculated, precise. Cautious. And it limits me. But you . . . you are my opposite. You came to me injured, yet your determination hasn’t faltered. I doubt other dancers have half your resilience. And there’s something about the way you spinideas, the way your mind works. It’s contagious.You’recontagious.” He takes a breath, as if to say something more, only to release it again.

I’m so thrown off-kilter, I feel as if the world is a tide moving beneath my feet.

No one has ever said anything like that to me before. Compliments have been lavished on me in the past, but they were always tied to my physicality. My sensuality. Not my mind.

I can’t help but notice the way Copelan’s fingers flex, almost as if he might reach for me. And when he wets his lips, holding my gaze, the air stills in my lungs. The moment seems to freeze, like a petal caught in the air. I don’t understand the admiration pinned in his amber-flecked gaze.

“I see something in you,” he says, relaxing his hand. “Here, the pressure can feel insurmountable. Suffocating. I know my talent. I know how to put on a show. But I can’t give the Crowns something they haven’t seen before, not the way you can. The dust, the wings, the things you craft and the way you lure us into a story . . .” He shifts on his feet. “That is why I relented. You are the missing piece, the spark we needed.”

Warmth blooms in my stomach. He believes that I’m resilient. Valuable. Aspark.

I need him to believe it still.

“The trick is to be remembered.” I take his hand, folding it in both of my own. This—it’s familiar. Touch is our language. “My mistake last night was that I didn’t consider the ramifications for you or anyone else here. I won’t be so thoughtless next time.” I want the words to be true, but guilt clings to my ribs, threatening to cave them. It’s a promise I might not be able to keep. My next apology isn’t for what I’ve done but for what I might do—and what it might cost him. “Copelan, I am sorry.”

He swallows, his thumb running a path along my hands. Butterflies skate across my skin from his touch, my heartbeat fluttering with them as he says, “Last night, in your room . . .”

Voices trail into the garden from around the bend, breaking apart the moment.

“. . . the seal, which will ensure . . .”

“. . . assuming we can retrieve . . .”

They’re meant to be hushed, but they bounce around the enclosure until I catch a glimpse of ivory locks swept up into a golden circlet.

Princess Aesir halts by the fountain, oblivious to our presence on the other side of the arbor. A slightly taller, broader figure accompanies her, and it isn’t until I see the hand resting on her waist that every muscle of mine locks in place—

That ring.

I blink. I must be mistaken. I’d thought that here, at the Gathering, I might overhear a familiar name or two, just enough that I could ascertain the happenings at home in my absence. But I never thought . . .

I shake my head. I’m seeing things.

Because it can’t be.

Not him. Not here.

But the large star of that burnished brass ring is unmistakable, and I know what I would find should I look closer at its engraving: a hawk in flight, its talons clutching a strand of lupine.

Then the figure angles just so, the prominent jut of his chin unmistakable.

My body reacts before I can make sense of it, my pulse surging into a painful beat.

He wasn’t at the Welcoming; I’d have seen him.

How . . .howis he here? I shrink back into the vines, wishing they would swallow me.

“We should give them some privacy,” Copelan says, until his eyes latch on to my trembling hands. “Vasalie?”

“Please,” I beg him, voice low. “Please stay quiet and don’t say my name.” It isn’t the same; I’d changed it, but I’d been so young. It’s different, but not different enough.

Copelan darts a gaze back toward the princess, still deep in a conversation I can’t make out. Then the softness I’d managed to pull from him shrinks as he turns that glare back on me. “If you want a second chance, you will tell me what’s going on. The truth,” he hisses.

I shake my head.

I can’t possibly tell him that the man speaking with the princess is my father.

Myfather.He is here, at the Gathering. I need to leave, hide—