Page 85 of A Dance of Lies

“Miss Moran, is it?” Illian steps toward me, black curls shining like the leather of his boots. “You look ill, my dear. Do you have something you want to tell us?”

Harden your heart,I tell myself. I wish I could rip it from my chest.

He has no room for patience. “Miss Moran?” he urges.

Don’t force me to leave you in the dark once more.

I feel the calluses on my skin, the iron around my wrists. I hear the crack of Emilia’s bones over dust and stone. I remember how it felt to run after that, what it was like to leave her all alone.

My feet step forward, as if on their own accord.

“Vasalie?” I hear Laurent say.

My eyes burn. The floor feels like sand, sinking beneath me. King Illian presses, “Miss Moran, you have nothing to fear. Please speak whatever is on your mind.” Two of his guards move pointedly behind him.

I see it for the warning it is. I try anything, and they will arrest me. Illian will send for Lord Sarden’s body, and my life will be over, my hope for justice gone.

Harden.

Stone.

I let my heart drop low, lower, until it falls through the glass floor to sink into the watery depths below.

“I have come to know the Head of Staff,” I hear myself say. A hot tear glides down my cheek. I feel it track a line from my jaw to my neck, pooling on my clavicle. “I’ve come to know how k-kind he is. How generous—” Illian clears his throat. I drag my eyes away from Laurent, unable to watch him when I say my next words. “But the goodness in his heart lends itself to danger. He—” I cough, the words thick in my throat. My cheeks are soaked now. “To help a friend . . .” I omit Marian’s name; it wasn’t a part of the deal besides . . . “Laurent confessed to me that he once forged documents. There are indeed staff members here without references.”

I try not to look at Laurent.

I try, and fail. When my eyes slip his way, I find him watching me with aching betrayal that threatens to steal the last of my strength.

“Staff without references?” King Rurik yells.

“If the Head of Staff allowed unregistered workers into this palace, any one of them could be guilty, including this so-called cellar maiden. In fact, they could both be conspirators!” the general shouts with a zeal I remember. Like when he roared my name, the echo following me through the garden and out the front gates, where I’d taken refuge in a ditch canopied by vines until I could escape under the cover of night, Emilia’s ring in my palm.

“Anton, youmustdo something!” King Rurik demands. It almost looks like his glass eye could pop out of his skull. “Is he not a subject of yours? Will you treat our safety so callously?”

“He should be in irons!” says someone else—the Sovereign Ruler of Serai, I think. My head spins. The air grows thin.

“What an embarrassment, Anton,” I hear King Estienne mutter. “I expected more of you, truly.”

“This is your territory, brother,” Illian says. “We defer to your punishment, but do not be so foolish as to do nothing.”

Anton steps forward, assessing the room in a cold sweep. Then something like pained resignation weighs in his eyes, and he signals for his guards. “I am sorry, Laurent Achea,” he says. “In light of these accusations, you are henceforth stripped of your position and will be escorted from the isle. Until we uncover the truth, you will be held by my guard in the dungeons of Philam. As will this cellar maiden,” he says. “She will likewise be held and subject to thorough interrogations, along with anyone else on staff that evening.”

I cover my mouth, holding back sobs.

“If any of you are found guilty of these charges,” Anton continues, “if you’re found to have conspired against my court or anyone at this Gathering, the punishment for such crimes will be your life.”

And if I know Illian, he’ll make it so. I wouldn’t put it past him to force a confession. To somehow frame both of them for conspiring with Razam.

“Meanwhile,” Anton says, “we will confirm documentation for every staff member here, starting now.”

Don’t worry about Annais,Illian had told me.I have plans for her.

Plans.

My eyes track Laurent’s once more. I expect him to plead for mercy, or at least expose me in return. He could tell the court about Annais. He could tell them what I did, and heshould.

Instead, he looks tired. Face wan, eyes heavy and sad. Illian was correct when he said that Laurent is too loyal, too kind. So he does nothing, not even as guards shackle his hands.