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Chapter Thirty-Eight

I llian keeps pace with me to save face; he won’t yank me around with so many eyes.

But the moment I plow through those double doors, I tear myself from his grip, then round on him.

“When was it you sold your soul to the Fate of Morta? When did that come into play?” I feel like I’ve swallowed fire, like it’s burning a path down my throat.

Illian’s guards move behind us, watching me, readying to pounce.

Illian snatches the hand I pulled loose. “The Fate of Morta? Vasalie, that prophecy is a farce, and those priests are little more than fearmongers. Traitors to their people. And they were arrested as such.”

He has not, knowingly, sold his soul. Not that it isn’t rotted down to his core. But . . . if he didn’t make some connection or agreement with the Fate of Morta—

I shake my head, studying him again.

And then I see it, there in the hollows of those dark, deceiving eyes. “You arrested the prophets because you know the prophecy is about you. You didn’t want anyone to find out.”

Perhaps he wasn’t a knowing participant. But that doesn’t mean the prophecy isn’t true. None of this was ever about the Fate of Morta; it was about their plan. The prophecy was merely a warning of the destruction that would follow.

Voices echo, courtiers emptying from the Dome Hall. Quickly, Illian pulls me down the arc pass and into a narrow hall, then shoves up against me, my back flattening against the wall.

“I’ve had enough of your tongue. If it were up to your father, you never would have been here.

He thought to keep you in that wretched cell until our agreement was final.

But I not only needed a dancer, I needed my Jewel.

I knew that only you, with your Fates-given gifts and talent, could worm your way into certain areas of the Gathering I could not and charm those I needed you to charm.

Besides, if I had to earn the throne, I’d give you the opportunity to do the same.

“So I defied him and brought you here, and even that cost me. I had to prove to him that I could use your talents for the greater good. And he could have turned to Estienne had I not convinced him. He could have given you to him instead.”

What a fool Illian was to not see my father’s true intentions. That he would give me to Estienne was a mere threat to ensure Illian’s cooperation.

All of this was about my father gaining power over Miridran and Brisendale both.

He approached Illian when Illian was desperate and distraught by King Junien’s actions.

And Illian was fool enough to not only help seat my father on the Brisendali throne but cooperate in full—because as much as he wanted the kingdom to himself, he also came to want me. More and more, as time went on.

And that wanting kept him on my father’s leash.

I spit on him. “You are a coward. Little better than a dog begging at his feet. ” My chest heaves with my rage. “And you lied to me. Your offer—you were never going to set me free.”

Slowly, he wipes away the spray on his jaw. “I would have made you another offer when the Gathering was finished—one you couldn’t refuse. All of this . . . I would have made it worth your while,” he says—so like the question he posed to me that night.

Is it better to suffer for a reward guaranteed, or gamble with the risk of losing it altogether?

The reward, I realize, was the life he would have offered me after the suffering he put me through—at my father’s behest or not.

He curls his hand around the back of my neck, thumb resting on my pulse.

“But you’ve tested and tried me one too many times, Vastianna.

First, back at my palace; then, at my brother’s banquet.

And every task since, you have pushed against me, but I remain patient.

Have I not protected you all these years?

From the eyes of the court, from poverty, even from your father?

I took precautions to guard you during every task.

You have been watched, shielded, from all sides.

And should someone have caught you, I would have stepped in. ”

Just how many had he bribed? Paid off? All those times I felt like I was being watched . . .

The maid. The guards. The one from the docks. Who else? How many?

I open my mouth, but he prattles on. “Have I not given you everything you ever wanted? Riches, jewels, favor, did you not amass them under my wing?” He pauses, jaw working.

“Oh, the things I could have done to you, Vastianna; the things I should have done to you. Then, after everything, I discover you’ve been with my brother, giving away my secrets and Fates know what else. ”

“Then kill me,” I choke out. “The Gathering might not know me as your former Jewel, but in East Miridran, someone will eventually recognize me. This charade won’t last forever.”

“So what? I am the doting fiancé who let you pursue your passions at the Gathering, who then kept you guarded and safe.”

“Safe? You let them charge me, beat me, throw me away—”

“Again, your father’s terms,” he says. “As I said, he wanted you punished. But I also had to keep your tenancy in that cell a secret. I couldn’t have my future queen be tainted with the charge of murder, could I?”

No, he needed a way to bridle me, keep me compliant while all his plans came to fruition.

He had manipulated me, lied to me, broken me so thoroughly I had begged the Fate of Morta for death. I will not absolve him of it. I will not let him justify his choice.

My father’s words come back to taunt me once again. You’ll never be more than a man’s plaything.

How right he was. Emilia never escaped my father. What made me think I could?

The last of my strength crumbles, and I slide down the length of the wall until I hit the floor.

Two large hands come under my arms and haul me up. I sag against them.

“Cooperate, Vastianna. The night isn’t over yet,” Illian says. “And you still have much to lose.”

Anton finds my gaze when we return to Illian’s antechamber. He frowns, checking me over, and when he finds no damage, he seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

But no relief swells within me. Illian was right. I have more to lose, and he didn’t just mean Anton or my friends. I hug my arms around myself, eyeing the door set ajar, cracked to reveal the four-poster bed beyond.

Beside me, Illian waltzes in, his smile thin. “Glad to see you alert, little brother. I am eager to share my news.”

“Don’t tell me you have something interesting to say for once.”

Illian doesn’t take the bait; instead, he brandishes my wrist, displaying the blood-red diamond glittering from my finger.

“Divine, isn’t it? Just like my bride-to-be.

” He runs a cold knuckle along my cheek.

And as subtle as it might be, he doesn’t miss the twitch of Anton’s lips.

“So you do have more than a passing interest in her.”

“I have an interest in not imprisoning women and being a complete maggot every second of every day,” Anton shoots back.

I give him an exasperated look, as if to say, Do you have a death wish?

“Oh, I think it’s more than that.” Illian circles behind me, grazing his lips along the crescent of my neck, and when Anton’s jaw tightens, I feel Illian smile against the curve of my shoulder. I jerk away, but I don’t get far. He uses a ribbon on my gown to pull me back.

“You said you’d set him free if I played my part. And I did,” I hiss. “If you wish me to have even a shred of respect for you when this is all over, you will let him go.”

If my words affect him, he doesn’t show it, letting his fingers skim my ribs. Anton follows them with his gaze, jaw working, until Illian pauses at the jeweled button on my skirt. “See, that’s just it, my Jewel. Your role is not yet over.”

He yanks it off.

Fabric comes loose, the skirt fluttering down my legs. Anton thrusts forward, but the chandelier rattles, forcing him to stop lest it fall.

“What was it I told you all those months ago?” Illian trudges on, his fingers edging toward my throat, and it takes everything in me not to lose control of my bladder.

“Ah, yes. I told you your last evening would be spent with me. You still owe me a performance, Vastianna, and you just said you wish me to keep to my word.”

With that, he tugs a ribbon on my back, and another layer of silk sinks to the floor.

Cold air grazes my shoulders, my collarbone. I’m left in nothing but a minuscule bustier and a wide sash hugging my hips like a skirt shorn high on my thighs.

“Turns out,” he says to Anton, “you’re not the only one who can construct a gown.”

“Piss-poor job if it’s falling apart.”

Illian’s laugh is caustic. “You always had that souls-awful sense of humor.”

“It must vex you,” Anton says, “that she would never have chosen you of her own free will.”

Illian merely shrugs. “I have her, all the same.”

“You do realize you can pay someone to fist the grapes. Less hassle, more willingness.”

“Hatred does not last forever. In time, she will learn that I can please her as well as any.”

“What, you think your extra limb is the size of a gourd or something? You can’t overcompensate your way into her favor when you’re the very definition of a rectum. ”

“Jealousy suits you well, Anton.”

This is what Illian wanted all along. It wasn’t just me he was after.

He wanted power, yes, but that wasn’t enough.

He tried to have Anton assassinated time and again, and so it never would have been enough for him to win.

No, he wanted to flaunt his prize in front of the brother he loathes.

It might be the only reason Anton is still alive.

Illian doesn’t intend to let him go. He brought him here so that he might watch this, and then he will no doubt finish what he failed to do before.

He might even make me do it.

I grab Illian’s sleeve. “Please—I will dance for you, if that’s what you want. And anything else.”

Because two can play at Anton’s game. Two can race to seize Illian’s attention and deter him from the other.

“Vas, you are not his possession—”

“I want to,” I cut in. Because he’s right. I am not Illian’s possession, nor his plaything.

I am a performer.

So I turn to Illian and place my palms softly against his chest. “We can find a way to be happy,” I tell him, “so let us strike an arrangement. Make a bargain with me, Illian. If I promise to give you my nights, will you give me my days? As your wife?” The words are so sour they curl my tongue, but I cage it between my teeth.

“I am not letting you out of my sight.”

“I’m not asking for that. I wish only for the freedom to dance during the days.

To have people to spend time with.” I think of Laurent.

Marian. Brigitte. If I can get him to release them, I can find a way to get them far away.

“Let me choose companions. Show me the mercy you once did, and every night, when the stars light the sky, I will come to you happily.”

Illian pulls me in by the waist, his cold fingers digging into my hips. “And I suppose you also want my brother to go free.”

“You were my savior, once,” I say, carefully plucking the same strings he had earlier, when he’d tried to sway me. “You said as much, and you were right. You were my protector. You were my everything. ”

The words are true. I had idolized him, respected him, and I let that sincerity show in my gaze. “Be that once more,” I whisper. “Let me look upon you with gratitude and admiration as I once did. Keep your word. Let him go and have me instead. Willingly, and forever.”

“Release him, and have your gratitude?” he asks, tilting his head. The feline smile he gives me unsettles me to my core. “Will you beg me for it?”

I glance at Anton—at those defiant, emerald eyes, the fierce, unwavering set of his jaw—and all over again, I return to the Sky Garden, curtained under the branches of a flowering willow, where Anton is telling me that Copelan doesn’t deserve me.

I recall that plush red and violet room, his heat on top of me, and instead of pulling away after the danger was gone, he instead set a tender kiss upon my lips.

Then I am in the rowboat, breathing in gulps of sea mist when he is calling me strong, and after, in his quarters, his heartbeat the only thing tethering me to reality, his voice in my ear telling me I am art.

The fire that sparked between us in his chamber, forbidden as it was, before Basile interrupted us.

And now, now he’s pleading with me, protesting what I might do, no matter what it would cost him.

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.