Page 36 of A Dance of Lies

He heaves a sigh. “I know, because otherwise, Iwilllet you go.”

Chapter Ten

My fingers twitch as I hold Illian’s next letter. It was waiting for me when I returned to my room after a grueling practice and a hot soak in the bathing chambers. I’d worn myself out in an attempt to calm my nerves after seeing the man I once called father.

He’s here.

Here.

But I need only avoid him. Keep my head down, my face coated in cosmetics. Nothing has changed.Breathe.

Even so, it had taken hours for me to wind down. But now my mind thrusts back into action, swimming with dread. Illian’s letter seems to pulse in my hands.

My gaze dips to his writing. I know it by the haunting tilt of his strokes—long and sweeping with the promise of blood. It contains no instructions, only a name, and a threat.

Lord Bayard.

Refuse, and your time here is at an end.

I lick my lips and lift the vial that accompanied the letter. The substance inside is clear. It isn’t sassen root, where a milky sheen turns the liquid pearlescent. When I sniff, I smell nothing. It mustbe bellamira. It’s similar to nightshade, except that it has no taste or smell. The giveaway. And it only grows in the north, in my home-land.

It’s lethal.

The vial itself is tear-shaped, about the size of my thumb, and because of its design, the moment I tip it, it will release the entirety of its contents at once.

He told me I would spy for him. Ascertain information.

Notpoisonsomeone.

My breakfast inches up my throat.

Lord Bayard.The name isn’t familiar. One of King Anton’s men, I assume, but a death at the Gathering would disrupt the whole event. Surely Illian wouldn’t want to send the Crowns into an uproar so early.

A soft rap vibrates my door. Startled, I cram the vial underneath my pillow along with the note before opening the door. Laurent grins at me, presenting a large package festooned in ribbons. A dress box. “Hello, my sweet.”

I offer him a meager smile and step aside, allowing him entrance. “What’s this? I already have a costume for tonight.” I’d planned on performing theIlliuna,like I did for Copelan that first day. Safe. Easy.

Unlike what I’m now expected to do.

“I haven’t the faintest.” Laurent shoves the box into my trembling hands, then glides into my room, nose wrinkling at my mess.

I bite my cheek before unwinding the strands of ribbons, then slide off the lid. Inside is a heap of silk, and when I pull it out, it ripples down in a wave of emerald and aquamarine, like liquid sea glass. “Who sent this?”

“Ah, yes. The card.” He hands me a small, embossed sheet of parchment, its edges rimmed in silver. I expect to see Illian’s handwriting again, except the script is elegant, flourished, a ridiculous amount of embellishments accenting each letter.

Dearest Vasalie,

Please do me the honor of gracing us with this gown along with your much anticipated presence.

I shouldn’t be surprised to see King Anton’s name penned extravagantly along the bottom.

“How, exactly, am I supposed to perform in this?” I ask. The gown is long and delicate, like a layer of seawater already slipping from my hands. “Millen would ruin it!” Not to mention, I’d trip on the length . . .

Laurent shrugs. “That would be his problem, sweet. But you can’t very well turn him down. Let’s see it on you.”

He’s right; I don’t have a choice. Shoving thoughts of the poison away for the time being, I dip behind a divider and shrug from my robe as Laurent calls, “Consider yourself lucky. And he’s not bad on the eyes, too.”

“He’s aware,” I mumble.