Page 92 of To Dance with Death

“Thank you, old friend,” Anton says. “But first, I must request your silence. I do not wish my whereabouts to be known.”

“Surely you know where my loyalty lies,” Aimes says. “The same can be said for most around here. Let discretion be the least of your worries. Shall I send you to your old room?”

“Is it vacant?” Anton asks, not bothering to acknowledge Aimes’s proclamation. But I can tell by the puff of his breath, the way he fidgets, that it means more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps it’s good that we’re here. He needs the reminder that his people love and miss him.

“As if I would lend it to anyone but you,” Aimes says, then dips his head towardme.“Will the lady be joining His Majesty? We have one other room available, but it shares a bath with the adjacent hall.”

“She stays with me,” Anton says. He doesn’t look at me. I have half a mind to demand a room of my own just to spite him—if only for being so arrogant, so charmingly insufferable—except that sharing a bathing chamber with strangers who might wander in sounds slightly anxiety-inducing.

After calling a few orders into a back room—for linens, hot water, and laundry—Aimes fetches a key from behind the small, standing desk, then hands it to Anton with a dip of his head.

“What is this place?” I ask as we climb a tightly coiled staircase to the right of the desk.

“A refuge,” Anton says, pausing with me when I take a moment to breathe, to let my heart calm its pace. “But there is a reason I like it.”

I find out why when we reach the fourth floor—thetopfloor. Anton sets me on my feet—he’d scooped me up despite my protests after noticing my fatigue on the third landing—and places me down again just past the threshold.

As I take a moment to orient myself, my gaze crawls across the circular expanse, which, if the vaulted ceiling is any indication, is the entire top floor. Even so, the space is relatively small and unlit save for a single candle, and the threads of jeweled street light pouring in from the giant stained-glass Palladian window straight ahead, which encircles a large tub built into the far wall. Everything else—the walls, fretwork, garniture, and vaulted ceilings—is dark wood. Thick beams divide the bed from the bath, and bracket both the closet and the basin.

“One bed,” I whisper under my breath, panic already setting my hands to tremble. A bed we’ll have to share after a kiss like that, and I am already so very weak.

“While we wait on our accommodations, I’ll grab dinner,” Anton says, snatching a matchbook to light the small candle on the single nightstand. “There’s a pub two doors down. Superb seafood chowder.”

The moment he leaves, I dig for the pages I stole still hidden in the bodice of my dress, worried I’ve soaked them through in the rain. Luckily, however, while the pages are moist, the damage is minimal thanks to the thickness of my corset.

I walk to the edge of the bed and sit near the candle’s flame, flattening the pages on my knees. The first page is riddled with sketches, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the mirror in the center. It’s handheld and somewhat ornate, though common enough that I might find it on any noble’s vanity. I trace a gentle nail along the scribbles. There’s no doubt who penned them, what with the embellishments. Even so, it’s difficult to make out, save for the title on the page.

Mercy’s Mirror.

The rest looks to be notes about its origin. Theories, perhaps. Or tidbits he’s learned from Moranya? I squint and read further, despite the smudging of some of the words.

…was gifted to Mercy by the Fate of Dominion…

I pause. Do a double take.

The Fate of Dominion.

The Unknown Fate—the Fate Mercy was said to have seduced in order to create the Lair of Souls, though no one knew who he was, deeming him as such.

Anton figured out his identity. But how? So little is known about the Fates. Most knowledge has been lost to time, and the few prophets that remain can onlytheorize.So perhaps Moranya had told him that, too.

Swallowing, I move on.

…when directed at one who holds considerable power, the mirror can absorb, or perhaps trap, that power. It grants the wielder the ability to then wield that power on their own behalf…

My heart thuds.

The Fate of Dominion gifted Mercy the mirror. But why? Had she seduced him for it? Then, it was said, she stole his power to create Morta’s Lair. I saw for myself how she ushers in the dead by wrapping an illusion around herself and tricking them to take her hand. None besides Eremis, and then Anton, figured out how to thwart this. So presumably this is all part of her stolen power.

However, it was unknown to Mercy that a Fate’s power is tied to their soul.Another smudge, something I can’t make out. I flip the page. In the corner is the outline of a glass shard, shaped almost like an oblong hexagon. Like a coffin, even. I attempt to make out the writing.

Shard acquired from the Temple of Zur, passed down and carefully guarded by a generation of prophets. It is said to be a shard from Mercy’s mirror. More were found later, which I have acquired.

The next bit reminds me of what Anton said when he fetched me from Moranya’s clutches.

A Fates-touched object holds a remnant of their power.

But then he goes on to write…In theory, the shard would have a fragment of the Fate of Dominion’s power, but only with testing can we observe how much.