Page 26 of To Dance with Death

I study my surroundings as I move. There are shops on either side of me, like a grand plaza, stretching out for several blocks. Bakeries, art studios, cafés—everything I might find in Miridran—and all of it open, myriad scents wafting about. Spices I can’t name. Flowers I don’t recognize, crowding over windows; blue vines flourishing along latticework and windowsills. Small gatherings linger on upper floors and on narrow balconies crammed with guests, a teasing of jaunty music overlapping the melody I still follow.

Fatigue weakens my knees, my legs tired to the point of faltering. Still, I push on, following the music as it grows—a symphony that stirs beneath my breastbone. But my thoughts shudder as I approach a large gate, its doors open to the meandering crowd.

Underneath a final arch is the highest part of the city, which lies at the base of the palace. Here the buildings are taller, finer, carved from salt and marble and glittering stone, the scale and grandeur heightened. I wonder how status is determined here; surely all the souls would choose to live in these finer parts if they were allowed to do so.

But then I notice what I didn’t before, there in the shadows: a few souls, keeping away from the rest, liveried in dark, frayed fabric like the garb Illian wore, their heads hanging low in defeat.

What did they do to deserve their rags? So many questions itch at my mind, but I swallow, forcing myself to move along.

Until one of themscreams.

Chapter Nine

I whip around, only to find a…creature, if it can be called that, dragging the screaming unfortunate soul by the neck, with another joining them from behind. All the while the soul—a smallish man with crumpled features—pleads forgiveness. “Please, I only wished to make it to the Sovereign for an appeal. I belong with the Exalted! Or the Dignified, at the very least!”

My mind whirls. The Sovereign?Exalted?

“Shadows are not permitted in the palace until morning, before the appeals. You know this.”

It’s almost like these beings are guards, or something like it. Guardians, perhaps? They are attired in long robes, each hand clutching a reaper’s axe. And their skin is…translucent. Ghostly in appearance, their features hard to make out. Blurred, in a sense. Perhaps this is my way to Moranya—to allow myself to get caught. To get dragged before her…

“Wasn’t your appeal denied?” asks the other being.

“It was indeed,” says the first being.

“But I must try again! You don’t understand,” begs the soul. “I don’t deserve to be a Shadow. My ruling was unjust, and if theSovereign would only allow me another chance to explain, I am certain he would change his mind…”

Wait.He?

I then recall what Illian said.I’d hedge she came to collect him the moment you left. Probably made him an offer of some kind, which would explain why he’s lazing about like he’s king of the underworld—ruling in her stead.

“Be grateful Her Majesty has handed the daily duties of the realm over to the Sovereign, for surely she would have expelled you to the Sands already for such insolence! Shadow filth. Even the chance to appeal against your initial judgment is a mercy.”

Illian was right. If the rule of the realm had been handed to Anton, it means I would be dragged beforehimif caught. And he would recognize me—not as Vasalie, but as the girl from Razam they used to tempt him.

He would cast me from Morta’s Lair. Or perhaps into the Sands, whatever that is.

I have to stay hidden—at least until I find Moranya. Slowly, I back away, into the shadows.

The soul only grows rowdier, fitful sobs spilling from his lips. He thrashes against the strange beings who are now dragging him down the street. Past him, a final gate gapes open, offering a glimpse of that sprawling palace.

Other souls meander through the gates without a problem; I wonder how the beings know which ones are trespassing. I wonder if they can detect the whereabouts of souls somehow. I pray they cannot sense me, mortal as I am.

There are two more beings guarding the gate itself.

Perhaps I can channel my spirit. Only, when I try, I appear exactly the same. It’s as if this place brings souls into a corporeal form.

Yet I have no choice but to risk getting through.

Holding my breath, I step from the shadows and pass through the final gate. When the guard-like beings do not so much as blink, relief slips from my lungs in a breath.

And once again, the atmosphere changes.

That same lone thread of melody permeates the air, clearer and more harmonious now, and yet the streets, paved in amethyst, are much less crowded. The buildings have tapered off, and instead estates sprawl between manicured trees and gardens, each picturesque with grand fountains, pools, and bathhouses.

The music sounds loudest through a walkway enclosed by trees flowering with bulbs that glow even in the shadows.

I follow the path as it curves, smooth stones rolled out like a carpet until it opens before the palace entrance.