Chapter 8 #2
One lord stepped closer and invited her to dance.
Vaasa swallowed the urge to run. Hands met her waist, and the music drawled in a slow embrace, and at first Vaasa kept her breath.
But the more she moved her feet, the quicker the music played, the further the ground seemed to slip from beneath her.
If she closed her eyes, she was right back in Reid’s arms, back in the Lower Garden with the steel drums and every pair of eyes on her and her foreman.
She closed her eyes and swore she could hear Reid’s voice, his rolling Icrurian. Dance with me like lovers do.
Vaasa’s heart twisted. How could she have ever thought this world of pandering would be enough?
That some ambassadorship would fulfill her?
Gut empty, magic just out of her reach, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to keep her dinner down.
She wanted her husband. She wanted Mireh.
She wanted community and the witches and the Lower Garden and the smell of salt in the air.
Vaasa forced herself to take in a breath.
She wouldn’t survive this if she didn’t get it together.
She could not break Amalie out of this prison, couldn’t return to Reid and the place she wanted so desperately to call home, if she couldn’t make it through one dinner.
She considered every person in the room; she had been raised to do this.
To predict every intention, every need, every action of those around her.
She settled her eyes on Lord Vlacik. He wielded far too much power in the space, seeming to maintain a gravity all his own.
People circled around him, rotating like stars, or moths to a flame.
Vaasa hovered by the wall. As she kept tabs on the lord, a man slithered to the space next to her.
His presence pulsed around her, and her body picked up on its own instinct—she fought the urge to tighten her jaw or slink away.
“Lord Karev,” she greeted without removing herself from the wall.
“Heiress,” he greeted her back, pulling his fingers through his dark tresses. “Not a fan of dancing?”
Vaasa schooled her expression, refusing to allow her face to give any of her thoughts away. “I’m not particularly good at it.”
“Strange.” He leaned back against the same wall as her, turning his dark head to peer down. “I vividly remember you dancing until the last song when we were younger.”
A map of their continent unrolled in Vaasa’s mind, and she located his territory upon it.
Just below Innisjour, and a key stretch of valleys that Reid would inevitably have to bring armies across.
To unsettle Lord Karev’s territory would make that task a whole lot easier; he had one of the largest mercenary armies in Asterya, and to unravel that strength would clear the path for the Icrurian Central Forces to reach the Loursevain Gap.
And he might well be the only person in the room capable of remitting Lord Vlacik.
“I didn’t realize you were paying attention,” she said, turning just slightly to face him. She looked up and down his tall frame like she couldn’t help herself, then down at her feet for a moment as if to hide her bashfulness.
Lord Karev’s mouth curled up at the edges. He turned to face her completely. “It would have been difficult not to notice you. The emperor’s only daughter.”
She met his intense gaze then, twisting her expression into one of pure delight.
“Perhaps I could change your mind,” he said. “About dancing.”
Vaasa sighed with a softness she had never once possessed. “Perhaps.”
He extended her a hand, and Vaasa took it. Uncalloused. Smooth. He didn’t touch rough things, so his hands should burn when he touched her. As the music hummed, Vaasa focused on the role she played. It was the only thing that kept her from falling apart.
Everyone watched them, none more so than Lord Vlacik, who stood on the edge of the room like he had no need to dance or socialize or impress. Vaasa fought the compulsion to shiver once more.
“He’s rather… assuming, isn’t he?” Lord Karev asked.
Vaasa snapped her attention to him. “He?”
Lord Karev smirked. He subtly gestured with his head to where Lord Vlacik looked on, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I hear his bed is already plenty warm. Surely you aren’t considering him as a candidate for your hand?”
Vaasa met the bold lord’s gaze. Sheep’s clothing, she reminded herself, though her father’s voice played in her ears. To make an ally, all you must give someone is a common enemy.
Dropping her voice to a thrilled whisper, she said, “That’s quite the rumor.”
“I don’t speak rumors, only truths,” he maintained. “Most of the nobles know about his frequent visits to The Lady Fortune.”
Vaasa lifted a brow. It was the single most upscale brothel in the city, though for most, it functioned as much more than a house of pleasure.
She’d been there many times and knew the owner.
The Lady Fortune was known for the discretion of its staff, only made more secure by the requirement that all visitors don both a mask and costume while in the common areas.
And those areas were popular: Some came for the company alone, never sneaking away to private rooms or terraces.
Others employed those rooms for a variety of things; sometimes it was their own desires, other times it was a more formal, if not more legal, sort of business.
To meet there had once been a game between her and Roman.
She distinctly remembered sneaking out with him and his friends—she’d loved the thrill of blending in with every other debauched soul in Mekes.
Vaasa asked, “If the reputation of that establishment is true, then no one could know for certain, correct?”
Lord Karev grinned like the devil. “Men like him are easy to spot. Their pompousness gives them away.”
Vaasa let out a small chuckle, making it seem like she couldn’t help herself.
It took only one song for Lord Karev to ask for another.
He struck her as the sort of man who got his thrill in the chase, and he likely believed the luxuries of his life hadn’t come easily, even if they had.
So she flashed him the same mindless, dazzling grin he’d given her at the start, politely declined, and set her eyes on another eligible bachelor.
Competition only made men work harder.
The next lord, while relatively young, was already in control of his territory, his father having died sometime under Dominik’s reign.
The man was kind and easy to speak to, and a good enough dancer.
It was the same pattern for the next hour, the entire room watching each man who touched her, while she felt like a fish being circled by sharks.
Especially when Lord Vlacik approached and extended his hand.
If she’d had access to a blade, it would have taken a monumental show of restraint not to reach for it.
As she accepted the gesture, she fought her own nerves, which might make her shake if she didn’t keep them in check.
But it all came rushing back against her will—the cut of her skin, the agony of her magic overused. The cool sting of that iron collar.
Lord Vlacik pulled her into a dance, their bodies too close and the song too slow.
He looked down his nose at her. Pompous had been a keen word choice from Lord Karev; Lord Vlacik held himself with the sort of confidence only generational power could muster.
And everywhere his hands rested upon her felt like ice.
Images of him looming above her in the prison, of him dragging a blade down her arm and her writhing in pain on the table as Ozik used her own magic to heal her, played mercilessly behind her eyes.
Lord Vlacik spun Vaasa, forcing her out of her own mind and bringing her right back to where she stood. They moved around each other as if they were on a battlefield, the very air around them shifting with tension.
“Tell me,” Lord Vlacik said as they turned, “how long have you known the little witch?”
Vaasa swallowed. He was speaking about Amalie. “Talking is not a requirement of dancing,” she said.
“And here I thought you would want to know how she is faring,” he said.
Vaasa met his gaze, eyes narrowing.
He grinned wickedly, knowing he had her. All teeth. His voice dripped venom. “She is alive. Ozik won’t let me play anymore, though. Pity, considering he isn’t the emperor of Asterya—I’m confused why he’s giving me orders at all.”
Lord Vlacik was well aware of why Ozik had control; he had watched the man use Vaasa’s power for weeks in that prison. Undoubtedly, the lord knew more of magic than anyone else in their proximity.
His hands tightened on her waist. “I’m sure Ozik has told you about my proposal. Wouldn’t all of this just be easier if I were the emperor? I’d take you to see your little friend as often as you like, and no one would know the truth of what you are.”
Vaasa’s breathing quickened. He couldn’t tell the world of her magic without facing the wrath of Ozik.
In fact, it seemed Ozik was the only thing keeping Lord Vlacik at bay.
This poor excuse for blackmail was simply that: a failure.
But he was a man with far too much access, far too much information.
Dominik had spent so much time worrying about Vaasa while a threat like this had been sitting right beneath his nose.
Their father would have had a man like Lord Vlacik killed.
She couldn’t help herself from hissing, “I will die before I marry you.”
He scoffed at her words, loud enough for people to hear, loud enough to draw attention. His breath coasted over her ear as he whispered, “I don’t need an Icrurian brute’s whore to get what I want.”
Something fisted in Vaasa’s stomach, insult or rage or some terrible combination of them both.
Loud enough for everyone around them to hear, Lord Vlacik said, “Whose son do you intend to squish beneath your feet, then?”