Page 129 of A Dance of Lies

The lantern cuts a harsh shadow against Copelan’s pale face, carving his cheekbones into razor sharp lines.

“Where have you been?” His grip is punishing as he swings around me, peering into the tunnels for himself. “Souls below, you were sneaking about the palace. I saw you disappear, but what in the Fates is this? How did you know of it?”

My mouth parts, but I’m so stunned I can’t even conjure a poor excuse, let alone a believable one.

He laughs, and it’s a pitiless, merciless sound. “One deception after another. Really, I’m dying to know what lie you have for me this time.”

“It was . . . an errand. At King Anton’s request.” I hate myself for lying, but I see no other escape.

His eyes dip down in a mocking perusal. “And what type of errand would that be, Vasalie?”

I’ve never seen him so cold, so finite. It’s as if he’s slammed a wall between us. “Please, Copelan. You can ask His Majesty. He will verify—”

“It’s too late for that.”

My face drains of color. “Too late for what?”

“I’ve already reported you. I wash my hands of this. Let the Crowns judge you.” One stride brings him to the kitchen door, where he knocks twice.

Horror leeches my breath. “Copelan, no—”

Guards pour into the room like smoke. I’m torn from Copelan’s grip and thrown to the ground, breath fleeing my lungs in a whoosh. I gasp, panic speeding through my veins like cold fire.

He turned me in.

He reported me.

Boots step around me. A hand grips my hair and wrenches my neck back.

A figure strides into view, a shadow against the blinding light, but I know that shape.

It’s happening—again.

“After all I’ve done for you,” comes that familiar drawl, followed by the cluck of his tongue. “This is how you repay me.”

My stomach churns at the low, smooth tenor of his voice. He tugs his hood down, his curls spilling out. One flick of his wrist, and a guard jerks me to my feet, fingers digging into the soft flesh underneath my arms. Even so, I struggle to find purchase, scrambling to stand on my own.

And the tunnels are wide open, yawning behind me.

If I could make enough noise, perhaps it would warn my friends—

“Release me!” I shout. “You have no reason—”

A gag is shoved into my mouth, then banded tight. “What a little snake you’ve turned out to be, coiled around another’s arm.”

I thrash, screaming against my gag. Meaty fingers squeeze my throat until stars splatter across my vision.

“Don’t hurt her,” comes Copelan’s voice. He steps forward but is promptly blocked. “Your Majesty, she was to be brought before the Crowns. This is unjust—”

“I’d advise you to hold your tongue, Master Reveler.”

“With respect, Sire, I am obligated to remind you that we are in East Miridran, and punishment must be carried out in accordance to its laws and to the laws of the Gathering.”

I notice, then, how ashen he is, even amid my panic.

“Her registration puts her from Greenwood, a village south of Irivan,” Illian drawls. “Seeing as Central Miridran is now split between my brother and me, she falls under my judgment. I may carry out punishment as I see fit.” He pauses. “I’d hate for my wrath to extend to dear Esmée, who is here in hopes that I might offer her another position once more.”

Esmée.