Page 59 of A Dance of Lies

Burn marks.

I peer more closely at her face. The scars are less visible there, what with the smattering of freckles. Then there’s her eyes, a matching amber, and so very familiar—

My heart stops in my chest.

“Marian. You’re Marian.”

It’s her turn to look confused, but it confirms my suspicion. Brigitte’s face is one I’ll never forget, and the story she told me more so.

The story that ignited something in me. That pulled me to my feet when I needed it most, when I was ready—so ready—to stop trying.

Marian’s story.

I shake my head. “You look just like her,” I say. “Your mother.”

She licks her lips. “You . . . know her?”

“I met her in West Miridran. During a . . . visit,” I say.

The moment I say it, her eyes widen, sparkling with tears. She takes my hands. “When did you see her? How did she look?”

“She looked well,” I tell her. “Truly.” I wish I could tell her the whole of it, what it meant to me, and I vow to do just that once I’m free.

At least she relaxes. “She’s the reason I’m here, the reason Laurent helped me. I live in East Miridran, but she’s stuck in the west. King Illian won’t release her from his service.”

But Brigitte didn’t seem trapped—at least, it appeared that way, until her words come back to me:I’d be with her now if it weren’t for . . .Then she’d trailed off.

How could I have forgotten? I’d been too consumed in my own pain to notice hers.

But then I recall what else Brigitte had told me.

“He won’t release her,” I say, “because you refused to work for him.”

Marian’s eyes fall, and she tucks an errant curl behind her ear. “I should never have left her in the first place. And she does such a good job; she’s made herself indispensable to him.”

“It doesn’t sound like your fault,” I say, wishing I had something more to offer her. “If anything, it’s his.”

“I was hoping he’d bring her here to the Gathering, and then I could try to sneak her out.” She pauses, taking a breath. “I can’t have my name on the staff roster, not when Illian might recognize it. Laurent helped me forge documentation for that reason alone. I know it’s wrong, but I refuse to abandon hope that he might one day bring her.”

Brigitte, trapped. All that time, I’d assumed I was the prisoner, not her.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. I want to pull her close. To help, somehow. But being close to me could cause Marian more harm. Illian is the shadow that hovers behind me, my chains wrapped around his long, elegant fingers like the reins of a mare.

I settle for “She was good to me. I hope you find your way back together soon.”

Marian smiles warmly, then tugs a bottle from its spot. She reaches inside the now-empty crevice and yanks something I can’t see.

The rack shifts, opening like a door to reveal a deep, yawning pit of black.

Wind, cold as a crypt, brushes my shoulders. I wrap my arms around myself.

“The tunnels,” Marian says. “Please keep these a secret. One ofthe reasons Laurent put me in charge of the cellars was to make sure they remained that way—though I know if Laurent told you, he did so for a reason. They will be empty, but be careful. Only use them when you must.”

I swipe away a spiral of dust as I slip through the tunnels. Here, they’re nothing but a wide expanse of dark, unpolished stone. The air is stale, dry, catching in my throat, though a cool breeze whistles through cracks and crevices every so often. Where it comes from, I cannot see. Only faint wisps of light from underneath the doors break up the syrupy dark; Marian advised me to leave the lantern behind. She also told me to head straight, which will take me outside, and to avoid the tunnels that branch off. She trusts me, like Laurent.

She shouldn’t. I veer left.

Laurent’s suspicions, the things he heard—I have to know if Illian is funding a Brisendali war. It would change everything. The Beast of the North’s strength is matched by no one and nothing—not by steel, not by men, not even by the entirety of the other northern kingdoms. No one would survive them, should they decide to put their weapons to use. And when they win—because theywillwin—nothing would be out of my father’s reach. His appetite for blood will drive him to push through more borders until none remain.