Page 60 of To Dance with Death

I’m panting by the time I climb the last step, the stairs relentless on my already aching knees. I take a moment to myself, skirting the outside of a rotunda. Even so, stars—so unnervingly absent here—prick my vision with every blink.

My lungs ache with each inhale, but I draw in air, let it settle deep within my chest. It smells sweet and soft, like lilies with an undercurrent of spice, which I gather is from the decanters of wine stationed at several nearby serving tables, artfully arranged between stacks of gem-encrusted glasses.

A voice slips into my ear from over my shoulder. “Once upon a time, you’d dress up like that for me.”

Illian sets down a tray of empty flutes near the bar station, his gaze walking a slow perusal over my outfit.

Anger flares. “I did, and happily so, until you threw me away.”

I expect him to defend himself like he did at my father’s wedding. Instead he simply…nods. “I do wonder what might have happened had things been different. Had I handled things differently with your father, for one.”

“You don’t get to regret your actions now,” I say, sweeping my gaze across the landscape if only to remember to breathe. “You don’t get to tell me you’re sorry for conspiring with my father—”

“That,” he says, “is not one of my regrets. Without him, I would not have met you.”

“In case you forgot, I am the reason you aredead.And I’m glad of it.”

I’m about to storm away when he says, “Perhaps I don’t entirely blame you. I was jealous, and desperate not to lose you.”

“If you are searching for forgiveness, you will not find it.”

“I don’t believe I asked for that. I merely wished you to know,” he says, his hand reaching out, his finger brushing over my top lip.

I slap his hand away. “You will not touch me. Ever again.”

“Your anger will fade in time. It does for all of us.”

“Mine won’t.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a half smile. “There will come a time, Vastianna, when you will have to accept where your future is leading you. What it looks like. On that day,” he says, “I will be here.”

I shove Illian’s words from my mind. I refuse to let him distract me; he’s only trying to keep me from his brother. As he always has.

Focus.

Entice Anton into spending time with me. I’ve been given that task before. But I need to find him first.

I wander across the walkways, searching. My stomach swims with nerves. An Aegis finds me, however, and directs me toward the largest rotunda. It’s lit by hundreds of bobbing lights congregated underneath the dome, spotlighting the raised platform at its center that’s currently occupied by a trio of souls writhing together in some semblance of a dance. They giggle and shove playfully at one another while a fourth climbs up to join. A second later, they straighten and descend the platform.

Then I see why.

Anton, on the other side, folds his arms and gives me a knowing smirk that seems to say,The stage is all yours.

He saw me arrive. His gaze dips to my attire as I step up onto the platform, his brow rising a fraction.

Our dance begins there. Our game, like before—where we hold each other’s gaze and do not look away, because to do so means forfeit. It means the other has lost, even if we do not know what that loss entails.

I unspool the two coils of gossamer tied to my hips, letting them unravel along the floor in thin, wispy strips. “Care to strike a match, Majesty?”

Perhaps it’s fitting that he, too, wears all black tonight—just like me. Instead of a robe, he has donned a sleeveless jerkin and pants, like something he would have worn on the isle. The decoration, however, is on his arms: stacks of thin gold bangles that wrap his forearms and wrists. Several golden loops still hang from his ears.

He reaches for an incense stick, lights the edge of it with a candle’s flame. A spark jolts straight through me as he climbs the first stair, the second, the third, to meet me at eye level.

A thin stream of smoke coils around his hand.

He kneels before me.

One touch of the incense stick, its tip still crusted with that white-blue flame, and a slither of fire walks a line up a stretch of gossamer.