Page 52 of A Dance of Lies

I think of the days we spent by the hearth, Emilia braiding pearls into my hair and telling me her favorite fairy tales.

I think of the ice-fringed pines, the snow that never melted in winter, even under the harsh, noonday sun, and how Emilia always played in it with me, despite her deep hatred for the cold, because she knew how much I loved it.

I think of the quilt I dragged with me everywhere I went, even outside, because Emilia had made it from her collection of costumes from her time as an actress.

I think of the scarves we fashioned into fortresses until my father forbade it—but even then, we’d simply wait until he left for his post.

I think of Emilia’s smile, broad and freely given, and how when I was angry, she would pinch my cheeks until I laughed.

And I tell Copelan—all of it.

Chapter Fourteen

Idream of the Fate of Morta.

Only, unlike before, when her face was a mere void underneath a pitch-dark hood, I see her.

But it isn’t the face I expect. Dimly, I recognize her, but I can’t place her no matter how hard I try. Pale skin, soft eyes gray like the ocean at dusk. And she’s so familiar, so close—why,whycan’t I re-member her?

Though I sense this is a dream, I know where I am. I’m in my room on the Isle of Anell, my hands splayed on the window. It’s as cold as ice against my fingertips, and through it, I see her like a reflection on the glass.

But she isn’t a reflection. Her lips move independently from mine, forming words I cannot hear.

Has she come to claim me? Offer me death? Beyond her, a tempest stirs the sea like a pot of soup, heavy clouds pouring sheets of gray into the waves. Lightning crackles and pops. Thunder shakes the floor.

She becomes the thing you want most.Someone told me that, once upon a time. A time I can’t recall. A voice I can’t remember.

I try to discern what she’s mouthing, but I can’t understand. Is it a song? A lullaby? But her eyes tell a different story; they flash like the lightning outside.

And then I hear her. Audibly. Loudly.Vasalie!

I jolt, but then she speaks again, her voice a trumpet in my ears.Open your eyes!

My heart stampedes, thundering within my chest. I know I am asleep, but this feels so real, so visceral—

Open your eyes,she pleads again. But I don’t. I can’t. My eyelids are weighted like clamps of steel. They won’t budge. The sleeping tonic—Laurent gave me one. It’s locked me in a dream, like a coffin I can’t escape.

Oh, Vastianna, my darling girl, please!Her eyes are frantic—

Frantic, like the time she pushed me into a closet.

Frantic, like the time she shoved a suitcase in my hands, pressed a ring into my palm, and told me never to return.

Frantic, like the last time I saw her alive.

“Emilia,” I choke. She reaches for me. I see her now, so clearly. Emilia, who saved me. She’s young, unbroken, so beautiful it cleaves my heart in two. My breath comes in short gasps. I throw my fists against the glass, pounding. If only I could shatter it, I could reach her, save her—

Lightning rends the bruise-colored sky. Thunder shakes the palace, fissuring the very walls.

Wake up,she tells me.Now!

I snap awake.

Lightning catches the sharp planes of King Illian’s face.

I lurch, my pulse ratcheting.

He’s lounging in the chair next to the bed, his fingers inches from my skin, hovering over my thigh. But he drops them like he’s been caught. Almost as if here, under the shadow of night, he had nearly done something he’d never dared before.