Page 9 of To Dance with Death

“I understand the confusion,” Gustav says with more patience than I could ever manage. “Anton indeed traveled to Razam upon the onset of his symptoms. Razam has the very best healers in the north, and Queen Sadira offered the palace physicians themselves to treat him.”

“I can confirm this,” says Sundar. “He is well taken care of, but it may be some time before he is well.”

“And you expect us to believe this?” asks my father, incredulous. “My reports also say that many in yourowncourt aren’t buying the story, and demand the return of their king.”

Frantic, my eyes find Gustav’s, and he presses his lips together, his chin dipping slightly.

It’s true, then. Another frisson of fear whisks up my spine, panic causing my vision to blur. It makes it even more difficult to remain upright.

“It does seem rather suspicious,” says the councilman next to Sofya. “What type of illness is it?”

“Admittedly, I—I am not sure,” Gustav says, his wavering a damnation in itself. “It seems to impair his…hearing, among other things.”

“He could be dead for all we know!” another Karithian delegate shouts.

Once more, the Lord Sovereign stands. “If all this is true, weneed to hear it fromAntonhimself. We cannot be expected to believe a story in which Anton is an integral player—perhaps the most important player—without his voice to confirm it. While the evidence is indeed compelling, as stated, so too is it suspicious. Regent Gustav, your king is missing—or, as King Maksim says, was last seen in Razam. As such, Syndicate leaders, I propose the following: Within thirty days, Anton will stand before us himself. Otherwise we will assume King Maksim speaks the truth and allow Brisendale the recompense they request for Rurik’s death.”

Gustav pales—as do I.

“And if he is too ill to come…?” I can’t help but ask.

“If his country is at stake, he will come,” the Lord Sovereign says, “ill or not, so that we can see him for ourselves. We will even make it easier for him by convening our next meeting in Ansa, if that meets with everyone’s approval. Syndicate, do we have an accord?”

My father, of course, concedes magnanimously. And why wouldn’t he? Ansa is within striking distance of Razam, which shares a border with East Miridran. The instant Anton fails to appear, he can deploy his army against Razam.

One by one, the rest agree as well.

Swallowing, Gustav nods—the last to concede. He has no choice, I realize. To argue would be to further the Syndicate’s suspicion.

Produce Anton in thirty days, or our testimonies fail. And if I know my father, he will send men to hunt down Anton—to ensure he never makes it. He will have his forces gathered, ready to strike at Razam.

I can’t help but sway.

“At least he bought us time,” Sundar murmurs.

“Before we adjourn, I have one final request,” says my father, sitting tall above the room once more, that steel crown looming above his brow. But I remind myself he is just one man. That he can be beaten. “I demand my daughter be returned to me. She must stay here where she can no longer be manipulated by my enemies.”

My pulse freezes as if my blood has turned to ice.

Sundar immediately steps forward, and so does Gustav, who says, “Absolutely not. Vastianna is not safe here. Surely the Syndicate would not allow this after her testimony, when there’s a chance it’s true—”

“The Syndicate cannot deny me my own flesh and blood!” shouts my father. He scans the room, his glare daring anyone to oppose him. I, too, wait for someone to speak up, my heart skipping another beat. Yet no one does.

“He is right,” says the Lord Sovereign, finally letting his gaze rest on me. “Vastianna, I am sorry, we cannot stand against him in this. To send you away would be equivalent to our holding you hostage.”

“Please,” I rasp, my hands shaking. “I can’t—”

He holds up a hand. “However, we must ensure your safety. If she comes to any harm over the next thirty days,” he says, turning to Maksim, “we will holdyouresponsible. Your daughter will appear before us alive, well, and completely unscathed in Ansa at the next Syndicate meeting.”

“Sire,” I beg. “I appreciate your assurances. However, he will surely find a way—”

“This is all we can do,” he says, a note of regret in his tone. “Syndicate representatives, are we in accord?”

One by one, they agree, cementing my sentence.

They might as well throw me back in prison. My father will find a way to silence me, whether or not he leaves a physical mark. It takes all my effort not to sink to my quaking knees.

Then I feel a steadying hand on my back. The touch is so like Anton’s, the cold of his rings and all, that it makes me shiver. “Then allow me to stay with her.”