Page 46 of A Dance of Lies

“I don’t plan on being alone with you often.”

“Don’t worry; the intimidation will wear off.”

I scowl. But he doesn’t notice, an all-too-pleased grin on his perfect face. His appeal, I realize. How easy it must be for him to wrap his charm around someone like a sash and lure them into his Glory Court with ease.

At least he doesn’t press me further. Even so, my insides tug and pull as we return to the lounge. Lights bounce across the room as the glass show continues, images scrawling about before dispersing into a smear. I don’t pay attention to them, not this time. Instead, my gaze catches on Gustav, even from across the room. He lounges with Queen Sadira’s sons, gesticulating, laughing. The king—Anton,rather—abandons me, slinking onto a divan next to them.

They drink, they laugh.

I watch.

I thought I could do it. I thought I could be as ruthless as King Illian was toward me. I thought I’d do whatever it took to survive, no matter the cost.

Gustav notices me and rises, inviting me to join them. I tell him I’d rather stand. Night-crisp air washes over me, my stomach roiling.

“Actually, I could use a few minutes to stretch my legs,” he says, too kind to leave me alone.

I had counted on it.

“I hope if anything, you’re enjoying the rosé,” he says, bumping his glass against my poisoned one—a gesture that nearly makes me choke.

Hastily, I force a change of topic. “Are His Majesty and the queen . . .”

“Morta’s teeth, no,” he answers, barking a laugh. “The queen has no interest in men. Never has, never will. She’d sooner kiss Ishu.”

I frown. “But her sons . . .”

“Adopted. Every last one,” he says. “But all equal heirs.”

“As in . . . they will split the kingdom when she passes?”

“The late King Junien took her advice rather literally. Her sons will rule as a joint council of sorts, along with whomever they marry.”

“But they won’t fight over the throne?” I ask. While I had heard something like this before—her sons are common knowledge at court—I suppose I hadn’t fully grasped the concept. And most court gossip is nothing if not critical of Queen Sadira in every regard.

He shakes his head. “In Razam, power is not what one seeks for oneself; rather, it’s found in numbers, like the chain of a necklace. The crown is merely a pendant. Decoration. What truly matters is what they do together as one.” He pauses. “It’s the reason Anton’s father split Miridran among his sons, you see. He and the queen were once friends. He learned a great deal from her, and her mother before her—and Razami traditions and tales. And when he grew sick with scrofula, he was inspired by her methods of distributingpower and came up with a solution to alleviate his mounting fears. It’s why he issued the decree he hoped would strengthen Miridran by granting all his sons power rather than forcing the burden all onto one.”

I think of Illian, of Anton, and the brother I have yet to see. “Too bad our kings have no love for each other,” I say. Whatever the former Miridranian king’s intention, it failed. And even if he hadn’t split the kingdom in that way, I can’t imagine they would work together in any sense.

“Indeed,” Gustav responds softly. Sorrowful, even. “But it isn’t for lack of trying.”

I don’t know what to believe any longer.

We fall into an easy silence. Ishu has been let loose and pads between the guests. She brushes past me once, her leathery snout nudging into my hip. I worry she’ll sense the danger I possess, but then a nearby courtier dangles a small wedge of cheese, luring her away. A moment later, she settles in a heap next to Anton, her massive head in his lap.

Get to know your opponents. You may find you like them better than you do your allies.

Gustav tells me about his home, his wife, the way he met her on a trip to Serai. How he refused to leave without her, promising his life’s earnings to her family in exchange for her hand. He talks about his daughter, her bouncy black curls. How her favorite food is leka fruit, and when she cooks with it, it stinks up the whole house. He asks me questions, too, but doesn’t press when I offer vague answers. The music plays, darkly sweet, befitting my rising dread.

“Have you traveled much, Vasalie?”

“Not much beyond here and West Miridran.”

It comes out before I realize what I’ve just said, the backstory I just fuddled. I jump to add, “And Central, of course—”

“Ah, the west,” Gustav says, oblivious. “A friend of mine lives there. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He was best known for fundingthe Academy of Arts in Galan. Eduard Sarden and his wife, Anita—”

My chest seizes, my breath sputtering out. Gustav does not notice. “He’s been traveling on Crown business for a few years now, I’ve heard, but I was hoping he’d have made it back in time for the Gathering. I was so looking forward to seeing him,” he’s saying. But my hearing fogs.