Page 77 of To Dance with Death

But then he jerks, nearly drops me, his mouth pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Fates—I’m sorry.”

I don’t want him to be sorry. I touch my forefinger to the indent in his bottom lip, try to nudge him back to me by grabbing his chin, but he curls his hand around the crown of my head and settles my forehead against his shoulder. “Rest, Vasalie. You need to rest. I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”

But you already did,I think.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I open my eyes to a room set aglow.

It takes me several minutes to understand where I am and how I got to this moment. This bed is not my own. This scent—spiced and ambrosial—is not mine. The view, as I roll to my side, is one I’ve seen, but not at an hour such as this.

The windows are open, the balcony doors flung wide, the waterfall beyond a luminous thread under the unusually bright aurora. An aurora that, now that I’m more awake, is closer than ever, tendrils of it seeming to lasso around the palace. Faint wisps of light even make it past the doors as if blown by a breeze. IswearI can feel their warmth.

Tentatively, I rise from the bed, glancing back to find it empty. My fingers twitch at my sides, then again as I slip past the doorway and onto the balcony, fatigue still heavy in my bones.

I was right about the aurora.

Swirls of light play across the flat of the balustrade, the tiled patio floor—even my palms, now that I hold them out. Like rays of sun touching petals in an open field, shifting only under the movement of clouds.

Lovelyis the word that comes to mind. Glorious. And I can’thelp but wonder what the aurora really is. Remnants of the power Moranya stole to make this place? Or something as simple as granting the souls a kind of sun?

A curl of cerulean loops around my wrist as if it’s alive. A thread of it even circles my finger, though I cannot feel its touch.

“You are awake.”

I jerk around and the light fades a degree, as if caught. Then Anton is there, stepping onto the balcony behind me.

“Somewhat,” I say, though I still feel like I’m in some kind of strange dream. I lean against the balustrade, something itching at the corner of my mind. I’m about to ask how I got here when, all at once, my ribs constrict, flashes of last night blinking into my mind’s eye.

The pool, the water, the heat.

The way I kissed him like it was my one and only chance. I was convinced, even this morning, that it had been a dream. But the way he’s looking at me…

Fates.“I—” I bite my lip, fumble until the words come. “Last night…”

His throat bobs, but his expression is…somber, to say the least. So unlike his usual countenance that it gives me pause.

“It was several nights ago, actually. I thought you should know.”

My gaze whips back to his. “What?”

“You were running a dangerous fever. I…Well, I had to cool you off. Which I did, only your fever came back in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t get it back down again. I had to use a duskrose.”

I try to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. “A duskrose?”

“It’s an herb that grows along the side of the mountain. Souls use them to stay in a state of slumber when the monotony becomes too much. Even for souls, time can be draining here. I’ve used it myself a time or two, so I knew it was safe. While you slept, it allowed your body to cool, and your muscles to relax.”

“How long,” I rasp, “did I sleep?” I do feel lighter, less weighed down, but the deadline…

He pulls a stem from his robe, counting the velvet petals along the top. “Six missing, so six days.”

“You let me sleep forsixdays?”

If my math has been correct thus far, it means the Syndicate deadline is four days away.Four.My pulse hammers in my ears.

“You needed it,” he says brusquely, his expression one I can’t read. “And don’t worry; you didn’t need sustenance while under its influence, though I will call for food now.” He turns around—