Page 101 of While the Dark Remains

I gulp air.

His eyes glint as he turns me under his arm. “How close is Kallias to the heart of the mountain?”

We both cease the pretense of the dance in the same moment, sizing each other up in the eerie glow of the northern lights. I want to lie to him, but I haven’t forgotten the probing pain of his magic. “Close,” I say. “He will reach it before the end of Gods’ Fall.”

He smirks at me. “Why are the Skaandans here?”

“To overthrow Kallias and seize Tenebris for themselves.” I speak quietly, for fear of being overheard.

“And you have signed your name to this mad plot?”

“I mean to kill him.”

He frowns, perhaps disapproving of my murderous Skaandan impulses. “Take care, Princess. The Iljaria—”

“Would you care to dance with me, Your Highness?” comes a quiet voice just behind me.

It’s Ballast, his ribbon and eye patch scarlet, bright as blood against his dark-and-light hair. “If you are not otherwise engaged,” he says.

The Prism Master is a cool pillar of rage. He regards Ballast as if he were a worm, easily squashed underfoot. He stalks away without another word.

I meet Ballast’s eye, trying not to look at the bruise on his face, which has deepened in color since dinner. “You looked agitated,” he says. “I thought I’d come and rescue you.”

My blood boils. “I don’tneedto berescued, Ballast!”

His brows draw together. “We all need to be rescued sometimes. Even you, I think.” He holds out one hand. “But will you? Dance with me?”

Despite Kallias’s threat, I take his hand, let him lead me back onto the dance floor. He’s clumsy, with just his one eye. Sweat beads on his brow. For a few moments he doesn’t speak, concentrating on the dance steps.

He smells of herbs and our dinner wine, and his hands are warm about my waist. Despite everything, I want to melt into him. My heart feels easier with him near.

“I frightened you before,” he says then, quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that I am like him.”

“I know you’re not,” I whisper.

“I don’t know how to keep you safe.” His voice breaks. He lifts one hand to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “I want to keep you safe.”

Tears blur my vision, and I tell him my wretched truth: “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be loyal to.”

He smooths his thumb across my cheek. “Be loyal to me. We’ll pool our cards together. We’ll win this game of War.”

“But the Ghost God card is yet to be played,” I remind him. “We could still lose everything.”

His eye is bright. “I’m willing to take that risk. Are you?”

A hand on my shoulder pulls me away from Ballast, and I turn to find Vil there, his face creased with anger.

“Leave her alone,” Vil says to Ballast, low and cold.

Ballast offers Vil a dangerous smile. “I don’t answer to you.” He flicks his glance back to me. “Astridur,” he says. Then he slips away without another word.

I wheel on Vil. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you thinkyou’redoing?” he retorts. “Why do you let him touch you?”

I shove Vil away from me and leave the great hall, rage writhing in my very bones.

He comes after me, hard on my heels in the corridor until finally I turn to face him.

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