Page 58 of A Dance of Lies

I often find myself wanting to learn their names, to interact—and the same with the other performers—but my proximity to any-one puts them at risk.

When finally Copelan notices me, he tells them to continue without him. “We’ll rehearse again this evening.” With that, he guides me into a nearby empty room, a soft wind whistling past the open window.

“Our signature performance,” I say, lacing my fingers together. I missed three days of practice, thanks to the poison. “We need to practice.”

But he merely turns away, swiping a hand through his hair.

I brace myself. I thought we had made peace. The other night . . . was it only a tonic-induced dream?

Abruptly, he spins on his heel. “I’ve had constant requests for your presence,” he says. “Constant, Vasalie. They beg me for the girl who sparked the first night withmagic.”

Magic. Or dust, rather. Mere millen. So simple a thing. I open my mouth, but he whips up a hand, pacing now. “I reassigned others to your post during your recovery, during which my performers were asked—no, harassed—about our upcoming performance. They want to know what big spectacle we have planned. You set a precedent that night, and they crave more. The artistry, the atmosphere, and Fates help me, thecontroversy.They ate it up.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this would—”

He silences me with a wave. “Last year, I kept it safe. They were bored. Apparently, it’s a wonder I’ve been invited back. I’ve been considering what you said about risks. And as bruised as my ego might be, you were right.”

“I . . . don’t understand.”

He faces me then, bouncing on his heels, a gleam in his eye I haven’t yet seen. “Let’s give it to them. Let’s make this a Gathering to remember.”

I blink back my surprise. A part of me stirs with anticipation, but I can’t forget Laurent’s warnings. Illian’s plans, whatever they might be. And then my father . . .

The last thing I need to do is draw more attention to myself.

“I don’t know, Copelan. I think you were right. The wrong spark could start a fire—one we might not be able to douse.”

He surprises me further, collecting my hands in his own. “I’m telling you that I was wrong, Vas. I judged you too quickly.” He rubs his thumbs across my knuckles, and it’s hard not to get caught up in his excitement. It’s a new side to him. “It’s too late for the signature dance in two days, considering the time we’ve lost; but for the one after . . . let’s do something bold.”

Dread coils within me. “How bold, exactly?”

He tugs me toward him. “Trust me, Vas, you will love it. What do you say?”

The tightness in my chest has an iron grip; any tighter, and my lungs could collapse from the pressure. But Copelan looks like a little boy who’s just been handed a flint and tinder.

And I still need this position. This, whateverthisis . . . it’s miles better than his anger.

So I don’t let him see the fear weighing me down. I shove it behind me and force down a breath, letting a smile tease the edge of my lips. “Who are you, and what have you done with Copelan?”

“He just woke up,” he says, and swings me into the air.

Chapter Sixteen

Iwait until dark before seeking the tunnels, but the kitchens aren’t empty upon my arrival. The staff lingers around a table, planning meals, sampling sauces, all in preparation for the next day. At least they’re too preoccupied to notice me as I squeeze behind shelves stacked with crates of fresh produce.

I find a door behind another set of shelves at the end of the storage alcove. But the moment I wrap my fingers around the handle, a tap on my shoulder startles the breath from me. I snap around, only to find a kitchen girl offering me a sheepish smile. A hair net covers her apricot hair, her apron smeared with flour as pale as her skin.

“Vasalie?” she asks. I blink, then nod. She motions me to follow. “Over here.”

I tread after her before I can think better of it, and she leads me down another narrow space too small to be called a hallway, then pauses before another door. “You almost went into the pantry,” she whispers. “Cellar is this way.”

I open my mouth, but she notes my confusion and clarifies, “Laurent asked me to make sure you find your way. Especially since they’ve put me in charge of the cellars for the Gathering.” Shereaches for the handle but slides it upward before swinging it open. “This way it won’t creak and alert the others.”

She guides us inside, lighting a small lantern beside the door. The space is dark and ovoid, large casks wedged together on one side, the other stocked with bottles. The moment the door shuts after us, I swing to face her. “I thought . . . I thought no one knew . . .”

She holds up a hand. “He told me only that he’s helping you the way he once helped me. Your secret is safe.”

He did tell me that he once forged paperwork for a friend. But then I notice her hand. The tattered skin, the way it branches up her arm and neck—