Page 80 of A Dance Macabre

I flash her a distrustful look, eyes narrowing as I try to decipher the meaning behind her words. I know she’s been Wolfgang’s right hand for years now, but she’s not related to any of the six families and therefore wasn’t in attendance on the day of the Lottery.

Then why does it sound like she knows what truly happened on that day?

“Enough,” I spit. “Tell me why you’re here or get out.”

“Fine then.” Her face flattens into something a lot more menacing, her dark eyes souring in distaste. She crosses her legs, her hands folding over her knee. “What if I could help you become the sole ruler of Pravitia?”

43

MERCY

Dizzy’s words hang between us like rotting entrails dripping rancid blood onto the rug beneath our feet. It takes me a few racing heartbeats to realize the weight behind her words.

“Vile tactless snail,” I snap. “I could crush you with just the tip of my heel. What makes you think I need your help?”

She lets the silence linger as if trying to intimidate me. I should kill her just for the audacity alone. Her smile grows into a demonic slit. “I could kill him for you.”

She doesn’t need to say his name for me to know who she’s referring to.

Wolfgang.

My heartbeat triples in rate as indignant shock washes over me like a harsh, cold wave.

“Do you have a death wish, Dizzy?” I grit through my teeth, the muscles in my jaw tensing painfully. “How dare you mock the gods like this?”

She cocks her head, her long bob falling off her shoulder. “Like what? For saying the one thing out loud that you’ve wished all along? I know what you did at the Lottery, Mercy.” Sheleans forward, elbows on her knees. “I don’t thinkco-rulingwas exactly what you had in mind, was it?”

I narrow my eyes, cold sweat prickling my forehead. “How would you know that?”

She scoffs, resting her back against the settee and crossing her arms. “People talk.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Not everyone is as tied to traditions as you lot.”

My stomach is in knots, anger like rusty nails digging into flesh. “I should eviscerate you for justthinkingabout killing one of us.”

Her laugh is cold. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of a Vainglory.” She pins me with a hard stare. “Trust me, he would betray you in a heartbeat if given the chance.”

“He wouldn’t,” I retort. But my words evoke a doubt in my own heart. Like acid, they chew through my walls much faster than I would ever expect. I’m stunned by how fast she’s able to slither doubt into my head.

“Did you forget I’ve worked under him for nearly half of my life?” Her red-stained lips curl into another sneer. “Wolfgang will never be capable of loving anyone but himself. So self-absorbed he didn’t even realize the threat was right under his nose all along.”

“So it was you then,” I state, taking a step forward as I pull my dress up my thigh to reveal my dagger. “You were behind all of it.”

“Yes,” she answers simply; her haughty attitude is begging me to kill her. Yet something keeps me from doing it.

She’s planted a seed, and I am now frozen in place, watching the seed grow and grow and grow. Reckless. Damaging. Like invasive vines creeping into every crack of my rationality.

“Would a secret placate you?” she asks, staring me down, elbows back on her knees. “I admit it. Our initial plan was to kill you all — make way for a new era. But we’ve come to oursenses. You six are much too powerful. So we’ve changed course, decided on the next best thing.”

I let the silence thicken, smoothing my tongue over my teeth as I study her. She’s a demented weasel if she thinks I believe a word she says. “And killingoneof us is your solution? You must think I’m just as self-absorbed as your boss.”

Her arrogance is unwavering. “Would you prefer taking your chances with Wolfgang?” Her laugh is villainous and my fingers tighten over the dagger still sheathed to my thigh. “Is your life worth the gamble?”

I press my lips into a thin line, my glare turning vicious. “Silly girl. I’m not afraid of death,” I snarl.

She holds my stare, quirking an eyebrow. “What about a betrayal, then?”

Betrayal.

The word is like the sharpest of blades, flaying my chest to shreds, cracking my ribs open one by one until the only thing left is my heart, unprotected, bloody, and weak.

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