Leopold offered Safi his hand when she reached the end of the dais, but she glided past him, head high, and claimed a spot on the floor, front and center where her husband could watch. She even flung Henrick a little smirk while she waited. She controlled this space; Leopold had to come to her.

He did come to her, right as the strings began thrumming from the shadows, and he offered Safi a curt bow when the dance began. It was not a difficult dance—there were more complex arrangements popular in Cartorra—and Leopold was comfortable with the steps. He moved gracefully because there was no other way he could move. A series of steps and twirls, hops and spins led them in a wide circle around the room. On their second turn past Henrick, hulking upon his throne, Leopold asked, “Why tonight?”

“Because your uncle commanded me.”

“I see.” A pause while Leopold and Safi briefly parted, briefly looped. Then: “I heard what happened this morning.”

Of course he had. Leopold’s spies had spies. Like Henrick, he had fooled her into believing he was nothing more than a fop. A well-dressed, well-spoken fop, but a fop all the same. In reality, he was even better at cultivation and performance than his uncle was.

“I will kill you,” Safi replied, offering one of her daintiest smiles. “Once I kill Henrick I will kill you.”

“Well, as long as you do it in that order,” Leopold replied smoothly, “I shall not interfere.” Again he paused as they separated. “Any other order,” Leopold resumed once they were together again, “and I will not be able to free you.”

“Lies,” Safi said, and she waited for her magic to confirm. But nothing came back because there was nothing to come back and there never would be for all the rest of her days. Nonetheless, she had absolute certainty as she added, “Everything you say is a lie, Polly.”

“Not everything.” His eyebrows rose. “For example, in your left pocket I have dropped a device you made. A lens that can tell truth from lie.”

Safi stumbled a beat; Leopold caught her. Glided her into a flourishing spin.

“How do you know about that?”

“Careful,” Leopold murmured. “You look upset.”

I am upset, she wanted to snarl. Instead, she laughed. The most twinkling, delighted laugh she could conjure.

“Mathew sent it to me,” Leopold replied, as if this somehow explained everything. “And I would have given it to you weeks ago, had you only agreed to dance.”

“Lies,” she repeated, though this time she was not so sure. “You betrayed me. You betrayed Iseult.”

“Check your pocket” was all he said in reply, and moments later, Leopold’s footsteps—and Safi’s too—slowed in time to the music. As he drew her in for a final parting twist he whispered, “I am on your side, Safiya, and always have been.”