Page 21 of To Dance with Death

I stretch out my fingers and place them against the door—to no avail.

Closing my eyes, I inhale, recalling all the times that I had seemed to fade.

It was when I was afraid. When my emotions were high, seized by terror. Anxiety. Perhaps that’s the link, unintentional as it may be. Or is it merely heightened emotion? Willpower?

I push myself back into time, then let it scroll forward before me, cataloging my trauma. The day Emilia died. The night Illian framed me for murder and imprisoned me. The day when he first pulled me out again and sent me to the Gathering as his spy. And all the while, I push—

I think of when I stood before the court and condemned Laurent.

When I witnessed Anton hanging from the chandelier.

Please,I breathe. I push harder.

Shivers pulse through me, even as my body rebels—

Anton, prostrate on the floor, the spokes of a chandelier impaled into his flesh.

The light fading from his eyes.

Him standing before Morta, his thought not of himself but ofme…

I feel it then. A vibration, as if I’d been plucked like the strings of a harp. I hold tight to the shift as it settles into place once more, cold sweeping over me like a layer of ice—

I open my eyes.

And my hands slip through the door as if it were made of water.

Chapter Seven

Before I can think, I move. And walk completely through the closed door.

Now that I’ve done it, it feels relatively simple. Like holding my breath; I can feel when it slips, when I’m in danger of losing control. I test the bounds as I make my way down the stairwell and into Sundar and Copelan’s rooms. Each time, I have a few minutes before my control begins to wane.

The real test comes when I phase through their door, knowing there will be guards outside.

With bated breath, I approach on silent feet, unsure still of how this works. I can channel my spirit, it seems, but I’ve yet to understand what itmeans.If they turn around, what will they see? A phantom, or a girl?

With all my courage, I dart past them.

The guards do not so much as blink.

Bolstered now, I press myself through the next set of doors. Then I hide in a closet while I regain my strength, my usual fatigue creeping in. With it, my spirit flickers in and out like a flame in the wind. When my strength returns, I continue, phasing through storage rooms and parlors, making my way through the fortress. I slip intohidden alcoves or closets when I feel myself losing my grip. But a few minutes later, I can always channel it once more.

Even so, it’s taxing, like a weight on my chest. But I refuse to leave without helping my friends first.

When finally I locate my father’s wing, I’m relieved to find it mostly empty save for the guards outside. Those, I whip past easily, and the holding cell is simple to find—a nondescript door with a single guard stationed before it. Slipping past him and through the door, I descend a lone set of stairs leading to a cell door, gridded with iron, at the bottom.

Sundar and Copelan are inside.

I blink into existence just outside. Sundar is slumped against the wall, dozing. Copelan, however, notices me quickly, a stripe of moonlight silvering the blond of his hair. “Vasalie?” He blinks. “How in the—”

At that, Sundar rouses, jumping up at the sight of me.

“Shhh,” I say. “There’s a guard outside. We mustn’t be heard. Are you two all right? Has he harmed you?” I scan them both for damage.

“Not yet,” Sundar says. “He’spolitelyrequested Anton’s whereabouts. Wekindlydeclined to tell him. He left us after that, but I’m certain he’s planning all kinds of pleasant interrogation tactics. But, Vas, how are you here? You can’t be caught—”

“I—It turns out you and your mother were right, Sundar. Dying…it changed me. I can channel my spirit form. I canphase.”