The next morning, Lyria awoke from another strange dream. In it, she had been dancing the lazevolta, just as she had at the banquet, except she had been dancing with the King. They had spun and twirled through a crowd of wolves, but Lyria could not see any faces. She tried, and tried, but they all remained a blur.
As the dance grew faster and faster, the King drew Lyria closer and closer until she felt he might almost crush her to his chest, and they both went hot and red in the face. Still, neither broke stride until the dance came to its sudden, crashing crescendo, when the King dipped Lyria backward, dramatically.
But then, he released her, and she fell. Once again, as in her last dream, the floor opened beneath her and she plunged into darkness.
She fell, and fell, and fell, sure s
