Page 155 of A Dance of Lies

Time. I just need to buy us time.

“I will beg you with all that I have,” I say, cupping Illian’s face. His eyes flutter shut, chest rising and falling. The scent of clove and leather pervades my senses.

Say yes. Focus on me.

Opening his eyes, Illian nods at Aemon, who pulls a key from his pocket. He then slides it into the metal block attached to Anton’s chains.

Anton falls, his knees hitting the carpet. He gives me a look, then examines his wrists, still bound in manacles, before Aemon releases those, too. I shoot my gaze toward Illian, my disbelief clear.

He pinches my bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “I do love anything that comes from these lush, rosy lips—even if they’re lies.”

Casually, he paces to the bar and pours himself a drink. “I did make a promise to set you free,” he says, angling his chin toward Anton. He empties his glass in few quick gulps, then clanks it down. “It’s one I intend to keep.”

When he turns, he offers me a careless grin.

Too late, I see the intent in his eyes.

In one swift motion, Illian yanks the halberd from Aemon’s hands and smashes the lever holding the pin on the crank. The chain holding the chandelier in place whips free, unspooling in a blink—

—and the chandelier drops onto Anton like a thousand spears, impaling him onto the carpet below.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ascream tears from my lips, so loud and agonized that my vision flashes white.

I throw myself down next to Anton. He is pinned on his back, legs protruding at odd angles, shards staking his ribs, the soft flesh of his stomach. A large one pierces his right arm. Blood wells, running in rivulets into the carpet, soaking its weft. It’s everywhere.Everywhere.

Anton sputters, struggling to breathe. If I canjustlift one side of the chandelier—but if I do, he will bleed out. “Anton,” I hear myself sob. I feel so far from my body. This is a nightmare, sent from the Fate of Morta—worse than any time in any cell, worse than broken bones and stolen time.

“It’s all right,” he manages, his green eyes capturing mine. But I can’t accept this, can’t—

“Vas,” he wheezes, eyes widening. “Vas—”

A hand grabs my hair, ripping me away. I crash into a wall, and then Illian looms over me, his arms caging me in like the bars of a cell. “Neverwill another man’s name be on your lips,” he growls.

Angry heat surges through my veins, and something inside me snaps.

Shatters.

Chars.

I am a wildfire, and I intend to burn.

He tears at my bodice, but he doesn’t see my hands. I find the small sack attached to my side. He did always love my millen; he’d been anticipating a private performance when he built this gown.

I open it and fling millen into his face. It blinds him in an ash-gray cloud. As he cries out, I yank off a ribbon holding the sash around my waist, throw it around his neck,squeeze—

In a blink, the guards are upon me, Aemon included. They tear my hands away as Illian sputters and chokes, angry, red swathes patching his face. His gaze slices toward mine, aflame with fury.

Then his features warp into something unrecognizable.

And I know, then, that I will not survive this night.

Sana jerks me back, throwing my wrists into shackles. To my surprise, her hands are trembling as much as mine. She, too, had seen what he did. She has been witness to all of this.

“Sana, please,” I breathe, knowing it’s useless, but I have to try. And then she does something I don’t expect. Her eyes latch on to mine, deliberately, as she leaves the manacles unlocked.

“You will spend every day back in that decrepit cell,” Illian hurls my way. “And every day, Aemon will visit you with his sword and his fists. And he will keep visiting until you are so thoroughly broken you no longer remember who you are or where you came from. Then, and only then, will I come for you!”