Page 73 of To Dance with Death

“Rurik,” I rasp, fumbling to get back onto my feet. “I’m sorry—”

“Not yet you aren’t,” he says, and I yelp as he shoves me back yet again. “Allow me to describe what it was like having a blade cut into your neck—”

“My, what’s this?” says a newcomer. Light slides over Sorrell’s form as he comes into view—and Dahlia, too. I breathe a sigh of relief as their gazes dip down to mine.

“She’s a mortal,” Rurik spits. “I don’t know how she got here, but she is owed the same blood-soaked death she delivered me—”

“A mortal, you say?” Sorrell asks, lifting a brow. He bends, reaching his hand out toward mine. I take it, letting him pull me the rest of the way up.

Only he jerks harder, until my shoulder slams into his chest. He grips my hair, running his nose along my temple. “Oh, this is too good. How did we miss this?” He laughs, and it’s a cruel sound. I try to loose myself from his grip, but he clings tighter. “Dahlia, it all makes sense now.”

Dahlia strides forward, glaring down her nose at me before taking a piece of my hair and bringing it beneath her nostrils. She drops it as if it burned her. “Is this how you’ve had His Gloriousness eating from the palm of your hand, then? Does he know your little secret?”

“It does not matter,” says Rurik. “Mortals are not permitted here, save by Moranya’s invitation.”

“I think we can handle this,” Sorrell says to Rurik. “You may go.”

Rurik, unused to his new standing in the Realm of the Dead, starts to argue.

But Dahlia lifts a hand, halting him. “You are a Sustained, are you not? Barely more than a Shadow. We far outrank you. I am a member of the Court of the Exalted.”

“Off you go,” Sorrell says.

With a last, murderous glare at me, Rurik stalks away.

Finally, I manage to wrestle myself from Sorrell’s grip, though my vision is rimmed with black, my head throbbing even harder now. “Take me to Anton if you must, but—”

In a blink, I’m crowded against the wall with Dahlia hovering over me. “Anton,” Dahlia says. “How familiarly you treat him.”

“To hand you over to His Gloriousness would be to continue the same pattern,” Sorrell muses beside her, gliding his hand around my hip. “I think it’s time we break it, no? Handle this ourselves.”

“We could drag her into the Sands,” Dahlia says, sliding a nail along my collarbone. “Rid ourselves of her for good.”

“Oh, certainly, but it would be a shame not to have a little fun first.” Sorrell yanks me toward him, pressing his knee between my legs—

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Fates, I’ve had enough Shadow filth for one day,” Dahlia hisses, and I realize that, this time, the voice belongs to Illian.

Illian,of all souls.

Sorrell, on the other hand, looks delighted at the prospect of inserting his dominance yet again. “Far be it fromyouto speak to us in such a way,” he muses.

“Perhaps,” Illian says coolly. “Though the Aegis won’t be pleased with this display. There are two within earshot. No, wait—three. Shall I call them? Tell them you’re playing with His Gloriousness’s pet?”

To my relief, Dahlia backs away, releasing me. “You will pay for intervening, Shadow.”

Sorrell and Dahlia push past him, Sorrell’s shoulder knocking into Illian’s.

He barely flinches.

I slide down the wall, my breathing shallow.

Illian paces to me. He bends, grabbing my elbows to help haul me up.

I shake him off the moment I’m on my feet. “You don’t get to play rescuer.” My voice comes out hoarse, barely audible, but I force it through all the same.

“Always so grateful,” he drawls.