The Valley of Lies (Lightkeepers #1)

Chapter FORTY-NINE: Zan

"I don't know what you're talking about," Liss said through gritted teeth. 

Domira dropped one of her shiny charms back onto her décolletage of baubles, sighing. "He still loves you, even though you betrayed him. Men are such saps."

Zan's hand was hot. If Liss kept it up, she'd be glowing soon. But there wasn't much he could do about it without breaking his promise to let her fully feel her emotions. Their plan hinged on him climbing up to the chandelier, and right now there was too much attention on them.

A tug came at his other hand, drawing his gaze down. Foswida stared up at him, a fiendish glint in her round, twinkly eyes.

"Darkbane elves are too arrogant. I like your curly hair. Dance with me."

Right now? Was she serious?

Domira sashayed toward the steps leading down from the stage, her violet focus pinned on them. "My little sister has the right idea. We can't let the audience grow restless while the night's still young." She stopped before the stair rail, caressing the newel post with gross fascination. "Alright, everyone, it's time. Dance for me!"

Revelers of all ilk broke from the cracked stone walls, lurching and gliding and tiptoeing onto the dance floor, like puppets with invisible strings. The more grotesque their appearance, the more they gyrated with excitement. Only during Revelries were Domira's posse of fae underlings permitted to mingle with Nightfair's elite and the handpicked others who'd made it into the ballroom.

Of course, Zan had used his own methods to gain entry. It hadn't been easy to persuade the imp guarding the rear garden pathway to let him pass, and nearly impossible to avoid the Blackwater guard stationed at the ballroom's proper backdoor. But Zan knew the Coven's secrets better than most; he'd used the tumbledown, forgotten backstairs passage to the ballroom before. It was a tight fit for an elf—or an ugly human—but he'd made it work. 

If Domira realized he hadn't been invited to the dance, if she suspected him of subterfuge, she hadn't made a fuss over it yet.

"Ms. Greenlight, if you please?" At the witch's glib invitation, Dev sheathed his blade and offered Liss his hand, as if he hadn't just tried to murder her.

Was she really engaged to this guy?! Dev was lucky Zan didn't Change and rip him to shreds, right then and there, even if the Darkbane elf wasn't in his right mind.

Musicians on the shadow-infested mezzanine above the stage broke into a wheezy, mid-tempo waltz. Foswida clamped onto Zan's wrist, tugging him away from Liss before he could protest. She dragged him around the dance floor in widening spirals that made it impossible to keep his eyes on anything for long.

Dammit all! Even his bones itched. But he had to wait. Liss wasn't the only one counting on him to keep his head. Ayer would arrive soon. Probably with Edril, that son of a—

"You also remind me of someone." Also—? "Like your fiancé. I like you better, though. Where did you learn to dance?"

Zan grunted, refusing to engage in conversation. He had no interest in small talk, and he was confident the nosy little urchin had never seen his actual face—or anything close to it—before tonight. She was just baiting him.

"If my sister's pet is right, your fiancé is an elf. She's been deceiving you. Unless you already knew...?"

Zan stared over her halo of ringlets, searching the spinning dancers for ribbons of shining blond hair. But each time he spotted Liss, another pair stepped into the way before their gazes met. Foswida squeezed his waist, pressing closer to him with sadistic delight. It was tempting to toss her to the floor, but his and Liss' plan was more important than his dignity.