Page 92 of Dance with Death

It’s Anya.

So thin that I hardly recognize her.

Ezra lurches forward, brushing past me as he spots her, and I reach out to snatch his elbow, yanking hard to pull him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He looks at me with annoyance and nods his head toward Vigo and Anya descending the steps.

“Stand behind me,” I snap at him. “Do you think you can just leave my side and stroll over to a Head of House? Mind your place,mal’chik.”

He settles into his place behind me, though his presence is anything but stable. His agitation is palpable, and though I normally enjoy putting him on edge, I feel my own instability at the sight of her. I can’t focus on controlling him when I’m so bothered trying to control my own volatile reaction.

I manage to smile and nod in polite conversation with Murphy and Delia. I try to behave as though I’m paying attention, but the frailty of the girl I once considered strong enough to be mine continues to steal my attention.

What has he done to her?

“Bloody hell, what has he done to her?” Delia echoes my inner thought.

I follow her eyes to see that she’s looking at Anya and Vigo, as well.

“Wanker,” Murphy adds. “It’s one thing to deny a meal or two when breaking-in your slave, but she looks as if her grave’s already been dug.”

I breathe in deeply through my nose, anger rising at the confirmation of my colleagues that my former talent slave, my beneficiary since her childhood, has been vastly mistreated. I storm forward, no thought to my steps, just a boiling, festering need within my chest to demand answers as to whymyslave has been so poorly lacking.

As I push through the throng to meet them at the bottom of the staircase, I hear the rushed clicking of Delia’s shoes as she rushes past me. Her hand touches the crease of my arm as she moves in front of me and I have half a mind to whip the back of my palm against her face for her interference.

But then Ezra passes me on the opposite side in a flurry and my attention must go to him. I grab him by the elbow and fling him back behind me as I step forward.

Delia has already closed in on Vigo, stepping swiftly and forcefully into his space as Anya curls in around her center, shrinking away from him, fromus.

“I thought we had an understanding of the provisions in your contract with Nikolai.” Delia’s nostrils flare with indignation, her lips pull tight over her teeth as she speaks. “We spent an entirenightat the last quarterly meeting going through it together.”

She’s as black-and-white about following the rules as any of us—perhaps more so.

Vigo’s eyes graze across her regal form with a flicker of interest. “Perhaps you should spend another night going through it with me, Cordelia.”

Delia taps his wrist. “Not here, Vigo.” She turns away from the rest of us, taking a few steps and he follows her like a dog—she’s the only woman Vigo has ever let lead him. I would say their pairing is unusual, but many pairings within the four families are on the side of unexpected.

I turn back to Anya, hovering there in a shapeless, blue, silk gown. It hangs from her body rather than clings to her curves, and I can’t help but mourn the loss of those womanly imperfections.

In fact, I had hoped I’d see something more there at her waistline…

I reach for her, grabbing her right wrist at the exact moment Ezra grabs her left and she’s suddenly a frozen deer in the forest having come face to face with two predators. I’m the only true predator here, so I take her by force.

She nearly falls into my arms from how weak she’s become. I wrap my arms around her waist and brush the hair across her forehead, studying with narrowed eyes as she sways in my hold, her back arching so she can look up at me with fierce, cold eyes. The blue is particularly glacial tonight, brought out by the matching color of her dress.

“What has he done to you,rabynya?”

She may not have the energy to stand, but she somehow finds enough to retort, “Rabynya?No. Not,rabynya. Sono una bambola rotta.” She gazes up at me with a disquieting sneer. “I am a broken doll now.”

There are a million things I could say to that unnecessarily sarcastic comment, but not a single one of them finds its way past my lips. Looking down at her now—compared to all the ways I’ve looked down upon her before—I feel…guilt.

I should’ve known better than to think that Vigo would uphold his end of the contract. I’d carefully crafted the contract of sale to provide clauses that should have ensured Anya’s well-being while she remained alive, though of course, the length of that time was his to choose.

I thought having it on paper would be enough.

Clearly, it’s not.

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