Page 82 of To Dance with Death

I scowl at that, but we’re cut off by the rattle of hinges. The squeal of a door, several floors up. The distinct descent of steps.

Anton utters a curse, jerking me along with him, straight toward, toward—

I brace for impact as he shoves meintothe stained-glass window.

Only it isn’t a window.

It’s aportal.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It’s like we’ve stepped into another world. As if we’ve slippedthroughthe wall and landed inside ruins buried beneath the mountain. Chunks of stone, half crumpled, jut upward, the floor half severed like an exploded vein.

My voice is an echo as I ask, “Where are we?”

I notice the shift in gravity then. The way I feel lighter, some of the pressure lifting off my joints.

“The only place I could think to hide us,” Anton responds, “considering Moranya is about to start her weekly ritual, which will take theentire night.”

“Ritual?” I ask, my eyes crawling around the space. Behind us, an identical stained-glass window reflects what little light there is, save for the thin stream slipping through a crack in the ceiling.

Anton steps ahead of me, and I take the chance to make sure his pendant is tucked securely between my breasts. “Yes, a ritual, and no I am not going to tell you anything about it. For now, we are in the ruins of Mercy’s chapel in Ansa, and we won’t be able to return until she’s done.”

Ansa.We’re underneath his palace in Ansa. It makes sense now that I notice the rows of pews, half broken and bent as they are.

A sudden surge of hope runs through me. The Syndicate will convene here in two days. If I can just keep him here, persuade him to meet with them…

Though of course, that still means breaking his curse first. Because now all his memories of the Gathering are false.

But I managed the impossible before.

At least I know how to get him to Ansa quickly. Which is more hope than I have had in the last twenty-eight days.

“Morta’s teeth, Vasalie,” he says, rounding in front of me. “What were you thinking, following me that way?”

“I…I wanted to know where you were going. I want to understand what’s really between you and Moranya.” To say the least. “If our situations were reversed, would you have made a different choice?”

“I don’t think I’d choose to toy with a Fate with power over life and death,” he growls, loping off and underneath a small arch at the far end of the sanctuary.

He’s fuming—more so than earlier. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s just about my sneaking around, or if there’s something more. Did something happen during his conversation with Moranya to make matters worse?

Then I remember his displeasure on those nights I danced when he was missing all day—and clearly with Moranya.

What was the particular nature of their bargain? And why did seizing his memories help?

I trail after him. “Is this…” I glance back at the stained-glass mural, there beside an altar. “The stained-glass window is a portal.”

“Made for me,” he confirms with a sigh. “But we can’t stay here. This place isn’t exactly hygienic, what with the water leaks, dust, and mildew.”

“So anyone can get into Morta’s Lair,” I say. “Just like that.”

“Ordinarily, no, because no one knows where it is or what to look for. I’ve kept it a secret even from Basile.” He huffs. “It isn’t so different from the one Moranya opened for me in Razam. You know,the one you used. I admit I’m impressed, though, that you attempted to jumpthroughthe window above the bed. Brave, considering it overlooks a massive drop.”

So that’s how he escaped. Moranya opened a portal like this one in a place no one would notice. And that’s just it: No one had.

I decide not to correct him.

“Can we…get back through?”