Page 139 of A Dance of Lies

“I’m going to free you,” I say, studying his bindings.

“It might not look like it,” comes his hoarse reply, “but truly, I can handle the situation on my own.”

“You’re practically an extension of the chandelier, attached to it like that!”

“Terrible choice on my part to put it there,” he says.

“There has to be a way to free you.” I want to tug at the chain that binds him to the chandelier, but it is fastened way higher than either of us can reach. Then I eye the rope holding the chandelier in place. It runs along the ceiling, down the wall, then winds around an ornate wheel—or crank, rather. “That crank. What’s it for?”

“That allows us to light the thing. See that pin? It locks in place to prevent the chandelier from moving. The lever lifts the pin, allowing the chandelier to then be lowered by the crank. But even I can barely manage the crank despite the gear mechanism we built.”

“But if I could break it somehow, maybe smash the lever?”

“That ah . . . would bring the whole thing down.”

“I could find help for the crank, then,” I try. “Where are your men? Basile? And Laurent, Gustav—”

“All enjoying a nice view of the ocean,” he says, and I breathe a sigh until he adds, “through prison bars. We were ambushed by the general and his men in the dead of night. I believe they are being held in the Brisendali quarters.”

Right. And aside from his personal guard, Miridran’s army is one unit. They wouldn’t have reported to Anton alone. If Illian gave them charge of something, they would have no choice but to obey, even before his so-called arrest.

It’s my turn to curse. “It’s my fault. I was caught in the tunnels—”

“Semantics, as of now.”

Heaving a breath, I take stock of the room, searching for anything I might use to release the lock on his shackles. The desk is now empty, though I open every drawer, and the mantel on the hearth is swept free of decoration. There’s a small bar built into the side wall, stacked with bottles but little else, then the double doors leading to Illian’s room—which to my great displeasure are locked.

I spin about but find nothing else save for an open balcony, the balmy breeze wafting inside through softly billowing curtains. Nothing aside from the gaudy chandelier and the disgraced king chained to it, like a pig ready for roasting.

“Gustav is going to get an earful,” Anton murmurs, giving his chains a pull. “He helped me design this blasted chandelier, though it was sadly my idea to dangle it in my brother’s room like a trophy.”

I drag a stool in front of Anton and climb atop it, reaching for his manacled hands. If I can free those bonds . . .

“I know you mean well, Minnow, but you are interrupting my perfectly planned . . .plans.Really, you need to—”

“I’m not leaving.”

I set down my dagger and tug at the pins holding my crown in place. If I could use one of them to pick the locks . . .

“Vasalie,” Anton says again. “As much as I appreciate the view—and truly, I do—I wonder if perhaps you might want to reconsider your rescue attire, being that it’s little more than a negligee . . .”

“A negligee not unlike the slip of a thing you had me wear in Philam,” I point out.

“Hardly counts when I didn’t get to examine it properly. Speaking of, how was the gown?”

The performance, then King Illian’s announcement . . . Anton doesn’t know. I consider where to begin, how to convey the enormity of it, but his eyes widen at the sound of steps. “Vasalie, there’s a pendant around my neck. Take it off, quickly. Look for the nearest source of light—”

The door flies open, rattling on its hinges.

I startle, the pin slipping from my grasp as guards spill into the room—far more than I can count. I’m wrenched away from Anton. He yells my name, pulling against his fetters, but it’s no use—

A guard lurches forward, plants a fist into Anton’s side.

Another, another.

“He is aCrown,” I rasp, thrashing against the hands now clamped on my arms. “You will regret the day you laid a hand on him!”

“Is that so?”