{"product_id":"a-dance-of-lies-isbn-9780593973219","title":"A Dance of Lies","description":"\u003cb\u003eA debut fantasy romance filled with hope after heartbreak, secrets, and betrayal, as a dancer-turned-spy must decide how far she will go to secure her freedom\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Beautifully written, with immersive worldbuilding, a gripping plot, and heart-pounding danger around every turn.”—Kerri Maniscalco, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThrone of Secrets\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMy protector is gone, revealed to be a monster. But I remind myself that I am not a damsel. I’m no princess bound within a tower.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e I am a shadow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVasalie Moran was once a dancer in King Illian’s court, until he framed her for murder. Barely surviving her two years in the dungeons, she’s suddenly called to face her king. He offers her a deal: become his spy at the six-week royal Gathering and he’ll grant her freedom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs Illian’s orders grow bloody and dangerous, forcing her to harm and betray those around her, Vasalie discovers that the monster she serves may be aligned with a bigger monster—one far closer to home. With her world threatened, Vasalie enlists the help of Illian’s brother and greatest adversary, the infamous King of the East.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the rivalry between brothers escalates, with Vasalie caught in the middle, the horrifying truth of her past comes to light. If she wants to survive, she must decide who to trust, who to fight for, and how much of her soul she’s willing to damn in the process.“Beautifully written, with immersive worldbuilding, a gripping plot, and heart-pounding danger around every turn.”\u003cb\u003e—Kerri Maniscalco, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThrone of Secrets\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A breathtaking debut! \u003ci\u003eA Dance of Lies\u003c\/i\u003e is beautifully written and filled with intrigue, with an incredible protagonist who is both vulnerable and resilient. It’s romantic, heartrending, and riveting—prepare to be swept away by this captivating fantasy.”\u003cb\u003e—Sue Lynn Tan, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eDaughter of the Moon Goddess\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A stunningly elegant story of grit, passion, and determination that will sweep you up with its magic, keep you on your toes with twists, and leave you breathless for more . . . A glittering fantasy debut you don’t want to miss!”\u003cb\u003e—Kalyn Josephson, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThis Dark Descent\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Arena’s \u003ci\u003eA Dance of Lies \u003c\/i\u003eis a mesmerizing debut of intricate plotlines, sizzling romance, and treacherous alliances, deftly choreographed with rich, evocative language into a tale as hauntingly exquisite as one of Vasalie’s dances. A breathtaking new favorite!”\u003cb\u003e—Lyra Selene, #1 \u003ci\u003eSunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eA Feather So Black\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As beautiful and sharp as the edge of shattered glass, this twisting tale of intrigue, romance, and resilience grabs you by the throat and refuses to let go.”\u003cb\u003e—K. M. Enright, author of \u003ci\u003eMistress of Lies\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eBrittney Arena\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eSunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eA Dance of Lies\u003c\/i\u003e. With a background in both brand and visual design, she has always found solace in art. However, after a challenging health journey, she turned to writing, and what began as a coping mechanism evolved into a journey of exploration, allowing her to traverse new worlds from wherever she might be. When she’s not penning tales, Arena spends her time binging K-dramas, playing with her camera, and waging war against ungodly amounts of pet hair. She currently resides in North Carolina with her husband and two pups, and she is always ready for the next adventure, whether it be on the page or in real life.\u003cb\u003eChapter One\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVoices speak to me in the endless dark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSometimes, it’s my own voice. An incessant humming.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen it warps. Fragments.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecomes ten, twenty. A choir. People I used to know, calling my name. Vasalie. Vah-­sah-­leee. They sing to me. They recount my failures. They tell me all is hopeless, that I am lost to this prison.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnly today, they are silenced by a long, winding screech.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlades of torchlight cut into my cell, falling across my skin in stripes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shift from the onslaught of light, but clamps of steel dig into the raw skin of my wrists, fettering me in place. I narrow my gaze toward the window inset into the cell door. It never opens—­never ever—­save the rare occasions when the warden opts to ensure I’m still breathing. Which he did yesterday.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI think.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill, I await the passing of a profile. The closing squeal of those shutters.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor the dark to swarm in once more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy eyes have long since adjusted to it, after all. There is only ever the soft, taunting flicker from underneath the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eToo exposed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFar too bright.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI turn my gaze from the legs poking out from beneath my scratchy linen shift, unable to look at them for long. I count the rats instead. So many of them, huddling in the corners, gnawing on whatever they can find. Their razor-­edged teeth are as familiar to me as the dirt and grime that coats my skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am little more than a husk. A corpse. A set of bones, waiting to be buried.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m not sure my heart beats anymore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m not sure I want it to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill, the window does not shut.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen the groan of metal shakes the very foundation of this place—­the outer door to the prison. Footfalls echo, echo, echo, a thundering pulse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI lift my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMoments later, silhouettes crowd around my window, blotting out the light. The sound of keys rustle from just outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Morta’s teeth. That smell,” someone says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If you take her out, I’ll polish your armor for a week.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA weak pulse flutters within my chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A week? You can’t be serious. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-­foot lance.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHave they come to carry out my execution? Metal bites into my forearms as I lean forward. I would beg for it, for that sweet moment of release. For a chance to stand on my own two legs and fill my lungs with the warm western breeze, if only for a moment before a blade strikes me down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I can’t believe King Illian wants to see her like this. Can’t imagine any amount of scrubbing would do any good.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKing Illian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike the swing of an axe, his face cleaves into my mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sharp, marble cut of his jaw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sleek sheen of dark curls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe endless black of his eyes, and the way they always glittered when they beheld me, save for that last time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat last time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIllian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis name is like the stab of a nail, straight into the cavity of my chest. I pull in a breath, feeling the ghost of a puncture in my lungs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePart of me has begun to wonder if he was a dream. A wonderful one, then a terrible one. A phantom I cannot shake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s sent for me. Why?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI remember . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat do I remember?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat I was to live out my days in isolation, half mad, until I finally succumbed to the horrors of this fates-­forsaken place. But . . . perhaps they need the cell? Perhaps I am too expensive a prisoner?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo. If the king wants me, it isn’t to spare a cell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The hair will smell the worst. Throw this over her head,” one of them says. “At least until she’s back within the palace walls.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cell door jerks open, smearing a fan of dirt across the flagstones. Armored boots come into view between my snarled, honey-­brown strands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne guard blocks the doorway as if I could run, while the other reaches for my arm with a gauntleted hand. A click, and my shackles separate from the main chain. A frisson of fear sets my limbs to trembling. I press my back against the jagged wall, but he wrenches me up with merciless intent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSudden dizziness tilts my equilibrium. But I’m held upright, a sack shoved over my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDaggers of pain embed themselves into my joints. My knees give way as I’m forced forward. My palms meet stone, my brittle bones quivering as though they might fracture. A cry hisses from between my teeth, my voice scraped raw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Let’s go,” says one of the men, hauling me up again. With a sigh, he gives me a moment to stabilize, to figure out how to balance once more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome weeks ago, or perhaps months—­time has lost all meaning now—­the warden reset my shackles. Until then, I was able to move around. A comfort I took for granted. I could stretch, lie down on the plank I used for a bed. I could feel around my cell, keep myself somewhat tethered to reality. Then came the warden, grumbling about the constant, annoying clank of my chains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe tightened them after that. Removed several links, so that I could barely shift at all. Gone was the ability to stand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCool air stipples my skin as we slowly, painfully traverse the prison halls. Alarm ripples through me at the severity of the pain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s as if my weathered body can no longer hold what little weight I have left.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy muscles have atrophied. My strength is nonexistent. Eventually, my legs go numb save for a relentless, itching tingle, the pain like the stab of a thousand pins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ve lost the body I’d earned, crafted through years of dancing, and now I struggle to remain upright. It is by the guards’ strength alone that I make it up the stairs, both men heaving me upward from beneath my armpits.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgain, that grind and screech of metal, this time much closer. Then light washes over me like a warm breeze; even the sack over my head glows orange.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWarmth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sudden, unexpected tear tracks a line down to my chin. For so long, I’ve felt nothing but a gaping, cold hollow, both outside and in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I realize I cannot go back. Not ever. Whatever the king wants from me, I will not return to that cell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCommotion whistles past as I’m dragged through cobbled squares. Every step is a negotiation, pleading with my body to obey. Even so, dizziness sends me toppling more than once. The guards wait with impatient huffs, not wanting to touch me more than necessary. All the while, sounds crowd my ears in a disorienting rush. The trot of horses, the clatter of carriage wheels. I collect gossip, an endless trail of whispers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFates above, who is that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMore like, what is it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut it takes all my focus just to keep my feet moving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m hefted up yet another set of steps. And though I can’t sense where I’m being led, recognition comes as my feet slip against cool marble, the ambience changing once more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA frigid, echoing space. I have reached the palace after all, it seems. A few long corridors later and the sack is finally ripped from my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI blink, my eyes struggling to adjust to the light, even dim as it is. Familiar smooth beige stones make up the walls, floors, and vaulted ceilings. Sconces are set at intervals, light spangling across a pool for bathing on the far end. Rich incense laced with myrrh clouds my lungs, so different from the ever-­present miasma of urine and sweat in the prison.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI clutch my abdomen, swaying with a wave of nausea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA trio of women enter, encircling me as the guards step back, and all at once I’m being stripped, my shackles removed, and led into the pool—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRags and sponges scrub soap across every inch of my bared flesh. Water is dumped over my head, over and over and over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI feel as if I’m drowning. Or jerking awake from a long, terrible dream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFlint razors and stones graze up and down my legs and under my arms, leaving my flesh smooth but red. When I’m led from the bath, perfumed oils are rubbed into my skin. Combs attack my hair, ripping their way through the tangles. And all I can think now is—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe king.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe king.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe king.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI have been here before, in this very chamber.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI have worn these perfumes before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI have been prepared before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore the day my life was upended. Fragmented as my memories may be, that night is the one recollection time has not stretched thin. Here and now, it comes into even sharper relief—­the jab of fingers into the tender flesh of my upper arms as I was dragged sleepily from my room in the dead of night; the way the king watched me from the shadows, even as his diadem betrayed him, snagging a glimmer of torchlight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe way he took his time stepping forward, even as I was thrown before him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe prod of rough hands as his men searched for weapons—­as if I could hide one in my whisper-­thin negligée.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy arms bound tightly in ropes like they were chaining some untamed beast.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA body I hadn’t even known was there, pulled from my room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe shouts. The accusations. The interrogations—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe slam of the guard’s fists when I tried to run.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA small cry slips through my teeth as the memory crowds in—­a horror I’ve yet to understand no matter how many times I turn it over in my mind. He knew I couldn’t have murdered his adviser. I had been in his company the very hour the man supposedly died.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe knew I was innocent, yet he did nothing.#1 Sunday Times bestseller","brand":"Del Rey","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48232879882469,"sku":"NP9780593973219","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593973219.jpg?v=1767720397","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/a-dance-of-lies-isbn-9780593973219","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}