Page 16 of Witchshadow

All she said, however, was: “I would prefer to remain here, my Emperor.”

Henrick sighed and shifted his weight. Like the crown, his throne was too tight. “Leopold asks you every night.” He flicked a hand to the floor of dancers below them, where Leopold’s strawberry curls glistened and swirled. “The court notices. The court talks. They wonder why you refuse.”

Safi’s heel tapped beneath her gown. “Please do not make me.”

“Oh, but I will.” A smug smile stretched Henrick’s lips. He toyed with his belt, a blatant warning. “Tonight when he offers, you will accept. No more discussion.”

Safi’s heel stilled. Her ire flamed higher. “Of course, my Emperor.” She flashed a dazzling smile. “I look forward to it.”

Leopold must have sensed that his moment had come because he glanced Safi’s way midspin. And for once, she did not look away. Instead she arched her eyebrows.

He smiled—a beautiful smile because everything Leopold did was beautiful. Then his spin carried him away.

Moments later, the current dance ended and Leopold materialized before the dais. Dressed in silver velvet, he looked lithe and graceful while also looking more virile and masculine than any other man upon the floor. Safi hoped his Aetherwitched tailor was well paid.

“My Empress.” He bowed low, as he had every night. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

He knew she would say yes tonight. Safi could see it in the way his sea-green eyes gleamed. The way his tongue ran over his top teeth in anticipation.

She wished she could knock those teeth out.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Let us dance.” And with those words, she stood. At once, the court took notice. The voices softened, and all eyes slanted her way.

Curse Henrick for making her do this. Curse Leopold for persistently asking—and curse Leopold for every lie, every trick that had landed her here, imprisoned and separated from her Threadsister.

Leopold offered Safi his hand when she reached the end of the dais, but she glided past him, head high, and claimed a spot on the floor, front and center where her husband could watch. She even flung Henrick a little smirk while she waited.Shecontrolled this space; Leopold had to come to her.

He did come to her, right as the strings began thrumming from the shadows, and he offered Safi a curt bow when the dance began. It was not a difficult dance—there were more complex arrangements popular in Cartorra—and Leopold was comfortable with the steps. He moved gracefully because there was no other way he could move. A series of steps and twirls, hops and spins led them in a wide circle around the room. On their second turn past Henrick, hulking upon his throne, Leopold asked, “Why tonight?”

“Because your uncle commanded me.”

“I see.” A pause while Leopold and Safi briefly parted, briefly looped. Then: “I heard what happened this morning.”

Of course he had. Leopold’s spies had spies. Like Henrick, he had fooled her into believing he was nothing more than a fop. A well-dressed, well-spoken fop, but a fop all the same. In reality, he was even better at cultivation and performance than his uncle was.

“I will kill you,” Safi replied, offering one of her daintiest smiles. “Once I kill Henrick I will kill you.”

“Well, as long as you do it in that order,” Leopold replied smoothly, “I shall not interfere.” Again he paused as they separated. “Any other order,” Leopold resumed once they were together again, “and I will not be able to free you.”

“Lies,” Safi said, and she waited for her magic to confirm. But nothing came back because there was nothing to come back and there never would be for all the rest of her days. Nonetheless, she had absolute certainty as she added, “Everything you say is a lie, Polly.”

“Noteverything.” His eyebrows rose. “For example, in your left pocket I have dropped a device you made. A lens that can tell truth from lie.”

Safi stumbled a beat; Leopold caught her. Glided her into a flourishing spin.

“How do you know about that?”

“Careful,” Leopold murmured. “You look upset.”

I am upset,she wanted to snarl. Instead, she laughed. The most twinkling, delighted laugh she could conjure.

“Mathew sent it to me,” Leopold replied, as if this somehow explained everything. “And I would have given it to you weeks ago, had you only agreed to dance.”

“Lies,” she repeated, though this time she was not so sure. “You betrayed me. You betrayed Iseult.”

“Check your pocket” was all he said in reply, and moments later, Leopold’s footsteps—and Safi’s too—slowed in time to the music. As he drew her in for a final parting twist he whispered, “I am on your side, Safiya, and always have been.”

The strings and winds softened to silence. Leopold released Safi directly before the throne. Henrick inclined his head at his nephew, and Leopold bowed in return. Before Safi could hurry back to her own throne, though, or even pat her pocket to see if the Truth-lens had indeed been dropped there, a command sliced through her.