Page 149 of A Dance of Lies

He has known the entire time. For half a breath, his eyes soften almost imperceptibly, the way they did when I was little, when I would crawl into his arms after he returned from his post.

And like the fool that I am—the daughter who once loved and admired him even as she watched him grow cold—

Ibeghim to see the cage I’m in. I will him to drop his cruelty, the demon who wears his skin, and draw his sword on Illian.Help me, Father.

Help me.

Devilry seeps into his gaze then, and as he turns it to Illian, something cool and slimy hooks around my ribs.

“My daughter, Vastianna Stova,” he says, gesturing toward me. “Please, won’t you rise?”

The sound of my name on his lips shakes me.

My legs feel like splintered glass, but I force myself to stand. A sheen of sweat gives a sickly pallor to my skin. Aside from Copelan,I doubt anyone recognizes me—not after the way Sana prepared me. No kohl, no liner, no face paint or millen to hide behind. I look younger, more innocent.

My father smiles, then, and I know that whatever he plans to say next will break me.

“Twelve years ago,” he declares, “I sent my beloved daughter to West Miridran in a show of good faith, as a part of a courtship agreement designed by King Rurik and myself, and His Majesty, King Illian.”

My lungs feel as if they’ve collapsed, as if they refuse to take another breath.

Twelve years ago, when I turned thirteen.

When he announced I was to be sent away, wed to a man overseas who I did not know.

“It was meant to forge a deeper bond between our two countries. Their courtship would not only solidify trade agreements to usher in wealth and prosperity, but ensure a lasting, healthy relationship between both our lands.”

My ears begin to ring.

“And while we bear the weight of the happenings of the past few days, it is my heart’s greatest joy to finally announce the engagement between my daughter and my dear friend, Illian Orvere, thus bringing to completion the agreement made long ago.”

It was Illian.

Illian, who I would have been sent to on my thirteenth birthday.

Illian, who Emilia tried to protect me from.

I was no toy. I was a product. A commodity, primed and plucked to sell.

Again, I remember the argument I overheard between Emilia and my father. Had she seen Illian at the Gathering she performed at? Is that where they made their plans?

My hands lose feeling. My sight blurs. Emilia knew. It’s why she fought so hard to stop it. Shediedfor it, died trying to hide meaway, died trying to help me escape. My ears roar with the rush of understanding, a tidal wave thrashing against my skull.

The clattering of applause nearly topples me.

It isn’t until I feel a palm against my shoulder that I return to myself.

My father. His gaze is as dead as the Brisendali alstrea blooms after a frost. Having come to stand behind me, he turns my shoulders so that I’m facing Illian, and his next words wrap around my throat, squeezing my breath until I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.

“Illian Orvere, I gladly give you my daughter, my greatest pride. She is yours in every way.”

I feel the tender press of my father’s lips, damp against my forehead.

“I hope Emilia is watching,” he whispers into my ear. “I hope she sees how badly she failed.”

Hot tears stab my eyes, but the rest of me is frozen, numb with terror.

How badly she failed.