Page 72 of To Dance with Death

She notices me, too, a faint glimmer of surprise widening her eyes.

I had wondered how long she might survive at my father’s side when he never intended to share power in the first place. I almost feel bad for her, considering she was designated a Shadow, too. But then…she had earned this, hadn’t she? She’d plotted her own father’s death. Maybe Moranya’s judgment is just, after all.

Still, I can’t help but approach her. “How did it happen?”

She brushes a strand of hair from her shoulder. “A fall. Down the stairs.”

“He pushed you.”

“Then held me in a show of tears, calling for help, as if I’d simply lost my balance. I saw that as my soul drifted away. He found out that I could not bear him a child and secure his line.”

I’m tempted to gloat. She should have seen this coming. She brought this on herself.

Except no one, not even Aesir, deserves my father.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, either,” she says. “So he had you killed and blamed it on that prince, then? It was only a matter of time; he’d planned to kill you off after the Syndicate deadline, the moment he had a more pliable heir.”

She thinks I’m dead. I don’t refute her. “Surely the Syndicate will be suspicious of your death, what with them watching so closely. Between you and Prince Sundar—”

“He has always been steps ahead, don’t you know? He bought off Lord Dameron years ago. Why do you think he offered to stay? He will vouch for Maksim’s innocence. Provide any alibi. Say he saw whatever Maksim asks him to.”

I rub my forehead, my dull headache throbbing all the more.

“Do you regret your role in all this?” I can’t help but ask.

She shrugs. “Even here, I don’t think it has fully set in. Once the numbness and shock wear off, I am certain I will. Then perhaps I will walk myself into the Sands.”

“But surely you would want revenge? If you had the chance, that is.”

“Would that I had the chance.” Her hand cups a flowering bulb—until it tightens, squeezing until it comes apart in her palm. “Of course. But as you can see…” She tosses the sundered petals down, her heel pressing them into the earth. “I am here. And once again, he holds all the cards.”

Tonight, Anton’s party is on a covered walkway nudged against the palace’s right wing, where a wedge of mountain rings inward. Thecanopy is laced in wisteria that drips down to either side, and cool air sweeps through my pinned hair, coaxing a few ringlets loose.

My heart hammers as I drift down the long walkway, my mind replaying my meeting with Aesir. Somehow I will find a way to make my father pay. Forallof his sins.

For now, though, I must focus. My exertion lately has left me more exhausted than before, the painful quake in my knees threatening to topple me altogether. Even my vision is a blur, a smear of stars, my heartbeat a pulse that throbs against my burning eyes.

It’s so much worse than before, and that’s when I realize something is wrong.

I clutch the long swaths of pale chiffon extending from my skirt with sweat-coated fingers. I should turn around and rest, ask Anton if I might take the night off. Instinct tells me I shouldn’t ignore my worsening symptoms.

But I will manage, just as I always do. I’ll find the strength, because I can’t afford to lose any more time.

Still, it’s difficult to ignore the chills spiking along my arms and neck as I near the soirée. Souls cluster by columns, a soft, ethereal melody adrift in the air. The closer I draw, however, the more fatigue takes its toll, the floor warping beneath my line of sight. So labored, so distracted, am I that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me until it’s too late.

A hand wraps around my throat.

I’m flung from the walkway and into a shadowed alcove off the main path, my knees hitting stone. I glance up, startled, as eyes—as blue and piercing as the sun glinting off the sea—knife into mine.

I blink to clear my flickering vision, yet still it takes me a moment to understand. I’d almost thought I was looking at Aesir again, except that it’s…Rurik.

King Rurik, whom I killed.

He looks younger. No beard, longer hair, both eyes, and yet his glare holds a lifetime—and the pain of death.

“It wasn’t a lie,” he growls. “You really are here. Andalive.”

Did Aesir find him? Tell him I was here? But she thought I was dead—