Page 129 of A Game of Veils

Her faint voice peters out. I snatch at the shreds of her dress, searching for some way to stem the bleeding.

It’s too late. In the space of a few heartbeats, her eyes glaze over completely. The last bit of life drifts out of her slumped body, leaving her vacant against my clinging hands.

Marclinus’s raucous laughter carries from the high platform. “Now that’s a show! Where’s our music? They’re not done yet.”

As Lorenzo resumes his faltered playing, I stare down at my savaged friend through a blurring of tears. Pulling myself upright takes an effort as if a mountain rests on my back.

Emperor Tarquin’s cool voice breaks through the tumult of the crowd. “Princess Aurelia, are you so distressed over your maid?”

Because that’s all Rochelle was supposed to be to me. Because if I lied about my reasons for saving her life before, then I’m a traitor.

In that moment, I’m not sure I really care what the emperor thinks of me. All that holds me upright is Rochelle’s final words spinning in my head.

You have to win.

She gave her life so I could keep going. What kind of awful tribute would it be if I threw her sacrifice in her face?

I can’t let her down. I can’t let her die in vain.

I will back my tears and draw my posture straighter. The best answer I can summon seems to float up from somewhere deep and distant inside of me. “Not at all, Your Imperial Majesty. It’s only a little overwhelming to see such a savage death happen right in front of me. I look forward to continuing this dance.”

My response must not sound as hollow as it feels. Tarquin nods.

Fausta spins toward the high platform, but her gaze locks onto Marclinus rather than his father. Her words come out shrill. “The princess should have died! The beast was going to kill her. She lost. Call the guard.”

When my head jerks toward my supposed betrothed, his eyes have narrowed. I don’t know if he’d have accepted Fausta’s appeal if she’d framed it in more cajoling terms, but the imperial heir mustn’t like her tone.

“I’m the one who gives the orders,” he says with chilly nonchalance. “We can’t prove that Princess Aurelia would have succumbed to the beast’s attack. She might have dodged or fended it off. She stays in… as long as she keeps dancing.”

The other ladies who’ve stalled around me shudder back into motion. Every particle of my being wants to bow over Rochelle and weep and pray that her soul is at peace in the embrace of her chosen godlen.

But the emperor and his heir expect me to dance. If I don’t, it’ll be my corpse lying right next to hers.

You have to win.

As I curve my arms around my body, my chest feels utterly vacant. My legs sway under me out of time with the music, pulsing with agony.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep going anyway, but I have to try. Otherwise, he wins.

This man I’m not sure I could hate more. This man I’m going through all this torture just to marry.

I shift my feet with the tune. Swing my arms around my hips. Let my head droop and toss it back.

I stay next to Rochelle’s slack body, her cloud of blond curls always at the edge of my vision. Showing my allegiance in the only way I have left.

One step after another. Stay in motion. Keep following the melody.

The song quavers into another. The tempo winds around me, dizzyingly.

Rochelle’s wisp of a voice echoes on within my skull.

You have to win. You have to win. You have to?—

A yelp yanks my gaze across the platform.

Before my hazed vision, Giralda stumbles backward. The panther is stalking past her, and she’s reeled out of the way instinctively.

Unfortunately, she’d already drawn close to the edge of the platform. Her scrambling, unsteady feet send her careening right over the rim.

---