Page 47 of To Dance with Death

Sundar treads over to the window, a slice of waterfall visible. “Have you considered that Moranya’s judgment might be completely backward?”

“More and more,” I tell him. “But murderers are still cast out. Even Illian isn’t allowed into the city on account of his sins, save as Anton’s servant. It’s not based on your status in life, but the sum of your actions. Moranya’s judgment might be flawed in that she overlooks your heart and motives and instead punishes based on the sin alone. But it has a structure of some kind.”

“Be that as it may, something isoff—and it’s more than just twisted judgment. I don’t deserve to be among the Exalted. I might be a decent fellownow,but by the Fates, I was a terror in my teens and twenties.”

“You couldn’t have been that bad,” I say.

A laugh. “Vasalie, I once stole a considerable portion of my mother’s treasury then promptly lost it all gambling—in a single day! That same night, I crashed her finest racing chariot by accidentally ramming it into a local forgery, which in turn set fire to half the town. And that,” he says, “was during a relatively good year.”

“Okay, so maybe you are right.” Somethingisoff, more so than Moranya’s echelons and edicts.

“Even my guide,” Sundar adds. “He is an absolute cad.”

Dahlia had mentioned the guides, too. “I assume he was another soul?”

“Yeah, a bratty good-for-nothing toad who told me the afterlife was a free ticket to any type of pleasure I preferred, and that he found it particularly fun to pester those in the lower echelons. He explained the whole system here in about five minutes—how HisGloriousnesshears appeals and occasionally grants exceptions to Moranya’s judgment, and the Court of the Eggplants or Exalted or whatever used to spend hours a day enforcing the law before he came along. I spent the rest of the day listening to other nonsense about soirées and senseless gossip until finally I demanded to see my eternal lodgings and he directed me to a rather extravagant apartment here in the palace. Speaking of, where are you staying?”

“Ah…” I sweep my gaze around the space. “Here.”

“Here?” He clucks his tongue in distaste. “Absolutely not. You will stay with me. I have two spare bedrooms, and Morta knows how many settees. Seriously though, what is with all the settees?”

“Do you mean it?” I ask. “That I can stay with you?”

He presses a hand to his heart. “I vow on my mother’s dear, flawless soul to be a gentleman.”

“Thank you,” I say, admittedly relieved. The last thing I want is for Anton to find me in the study, and for all I know, he could wander in tonight. More than anything, though, I don’t want to see him on that balcony again, another pair of hands wrapped around his waist.

But even as Sundar leads me back to his suite—a spacious expanse, its windows framing the glittering city beyond—and shows me to a comfortable room adjacent to his larger one, I still long to run back to Anton. To throw my arms around him,beghim to come back to me. To resist whatever pull he feels here.

To see me once more, like he did on Anell.

Can he really be so far gone?

“That doesnotlook friendly,” Sundar says, standing before the portal into the Abyssal the following morning.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Are you sure you want to try? I don’t know if it will work, or if it’s safe.”

I already know the answer. Sundar, I am learning, would dive into lava for a friend if he thought there was even a sliver of a chance both might survive.

Perhaps that’s why he earned his place here. He deserves it more than he thinks. That still doesn’t explain the rest of the Exalted, though.

“If there is a room full of books and I’m not invited,” he says, “they better believe I’ll bust my way in.”

Please, let this work.

Once again, I swipe a hand across that deadly, ethereal glow, and slowly it melts away, like a blast of cold air eating through chuffs of smoke. Sundar tests the gap with his hand, and when he doesn’t jerk back with a burn, I grab his arm, hauling him through beside me when there’s a large enough hole.

I hold my breath as we step through.

His mouth drops when we emerge safely on the other side.

As before, time dissipates all too quickly in the Abyssal. It’s like a living garden, the space ever growing, expanding, the trees shifting and changing, the river gliding past with the fervor of a tide-swept sea. Petals whisk about, dancing around us in a powerful breeze that ruffles the pages of the codices I dig through.

Being that the Abyssal is spread over multiple tiers and infuriatingly out of order, we still make very little progress—even with two of us searching. This place was not meant for visitors. Eventually, Sundar decides to go farther in, past another branch of the river.

Half an hour later, I hear him squeak.

“I’ve just found my brother’s book!”