Page 74 of A Dance of Lies

The music resumes, louder than before, this time from a trio of musicians who just arrived. At last, the attention is diverted off me, the party proceeding like there isn’t flesh decaying mere feet away. As if the monstrosities here are of little consequence, barely worth so much as gossip.

I swallow, my stomach once again ready to yield my dinner, and turn back to the woman. She does not look at me.

My palms are sweating. The key, heavy as iron, nearly slips from my grasp.

Gently, I take her manacled hands, wincing at the raw, reddened skin where the shackles dig into her flesh. My own wrists throb at the memory.

And she’s shaking.

There’s a lockbox at the end of a smaller chain, which hooks into the shackles. I pick it up.

I can’t . . . can’t help her. Even if I slipped her this key, what could she do? The both of us would be caught.

I slant a glance over my shoulder, where King Estienne slouches back on his throne, a companion curling up with him. She is as tall as he, and equally as muscled. Another sweep of the crowd tells me no one’s watching.

And I’m in the shadows. Even the guards holding the mainchains are laughing, conversing among themselves. They don’t bother to stay alert, and why would they? No one would dare try anything here.

When I lock her into the main chain, I make the mistake of meeting her eyes. They’re big, golden, soft as melted butter. I see the single, stubborn tear glossing her right eye, refusing to fall. She tightens her lips in resignation. There is no hope for her, and she knows it. I am well acquainted with the feeling.

Before I can think better of it, I pry a pin from my hair. She couldn’t use it until she landed on the main shores, but—

No. I won’t risk it—can’t. Ever since my father, and Marian . . . my purpose has shifted. It’s no longer about disappearing, no longer about a second chance, no.

It’s about justice. Vengeance.

I’m about to pull away, to refuse her this chance, when Anton grabs my wrist. My breathing stifles. His fingers dig through mine. He finds the pin easily and wrestles it from me, then drags me along with him.

Fear pounds through my veins, pulses in my eyes.

I’ve been caught.

He will have me arrested.

What was I thinking? I’ve put myself at risk twice now.Twice.

Hate burns within me, like a flame set across oil, igniting at its flashpoint. I shake with it. Shake as it spreads into every vein, every capillary.

I hate all of them. The Crowns, the courtiers, their sickening cheer amid such atrocities. I hate my father. Emilia, for leaving me, when I could have just gone along with my father’s plans and she would still be alive. Most of all, I hate myself for condemning this woman to her fate.

I am so angry that I don’t notice the arm Anton has wrapped around me, as if I’m his souls-damned escort, until he ushers me into a shadowed alcove, sheltered from the two sconces above.

“Foolish Minnow,” he says, holding up the pin. “Tampering with my winnings.” He then slips it back into my hair, just above my ear. I ignore the tingle that runs along my scalp.

I can’t find it in me to muster up an excuse. To defend myself. Even as he waits, his green-gold eyes like lanterns in the dark.

When finally his patience frays, he blows out a breath. “Vasalie, I will not report you for what you just attempted to do, but do not try it again. If my brother had seen you, you would not be standing here right now. You would be on that wall.”

Drip.

Drip.

My fury liquefies, becomesmolten.“You,” I spit. “You dare to protect me, and in the same breath you purchase them? Merely to stock your despicable Glory Court?”

“Yes.”

I clamp my teeth over my lips, so hard I draw blood. A part of me had hoped—desperately, inanely—that he might set them free. He has the power to do what I cannot. But then I recall his arrogance during the banquet. He’s proud of that vile, horrible court.

“I paid enough, didn’t I? What, does that disgust you? Anger you? Are they not criminals?”