Burning Glass (13 page)

I shrugged as panic choked me. “It’s not that simple.”

He gripped me by the shoulders. “There is strength in you, Sonya. I saw it when you came to your friend’s defense at the convent, when you refused your furs, when you hesitated to eat the emperor’s meat in a room full of gluttonous nobles. Valko’s passions are strong, but you can break through any hold he places on you.” Anton lifted his brows, bending closer as he tried to reassure me. “Romska boys must have tried to kiss you. What did you do then?”

My hands flew up in exasperation. “I kissed them back!”

Something dark passed over his features. A spark of jealousy? He blinked it away before I could test the pulse of his aura, before I could hold it inside me to see how it made me feel. “Listen to me,” he said, forcing himself into a tenuous state of calm that had no strength to soothe my nerves. “I believe in you. You can appear meek, but also draw a line as to what your relationship will be.”

I released a heavy breath. “You warned me of your brother. Do you have enough faith in him to respect me if I show restraint?”

“If I cannot have faith in him regarding that, then I’ve given up on him completely.”

He didn’t directly answer my question, but I could see he
wanted
to say yes, that he longed to find some portion of confidence in Valko. It didn’t matter what his reply would have been, however. It didn’t change the fact I had no choice but to yield to the emperor’s request.

“I will go,” I said numbly, though there was something Anton wasn’t telling me about the threat of this evening. I suspected it had to do with danger I’d find myself in if Valko were to form a strong attachment to me. I resolved to ensure that wouldn’t happen.

Anton sighed with resignation, his hands still on my shoulders. “Remember what I said. Meekness, yet firmness of character. Keep your visit brief and stay grounded. Think on something else—anything but him.”

With hollow eyes I stared at the prince and wished he could come with me. He’d distracted me from the throngs of people in the city square. He stood a chance of distracting me from his brother.

“When you leave his rooms,” he continued, “knock three times on my door so I know you are safe. I won’t come here and impose on you again.”

I nodded like a girl being sent to the gallows.

Anton angled to retrieve something from his pocket—an antiquated key. “Take this.” He set the key in my palm and folded my fingers around it. A fierce desire to protect him flooded through me. Or was it
his
yearning to protect me? I longed to take comfort in the sensation, but how could I when
Anton had been unable to prevent this private meeting with the emperor in the first place?

“These rooms once belonged to my great-aunts,” he went on. “The chambers are interconnected, a secret long forgotten. The room beside yours is a ballet practice room, no longer in use. If Valko persists after tonight, you may wish to evade him by simply being absent. In the future, he may not use me as his guarantee to bring you to him. He may come for you himself.”

I felt the weight of the key, the press of Anton’s hands wrapped around mine. At his touch, his fervor and anxiety heightened inside me. “I’ve never seen another door,” I replied.

“It’s behind your bed. I doubt even the servants know about it.”

Had Izolda?
I glanced back at the open entrance to my bedchamber.

“I must go now,” he said. “And you must hurry. Valko’s impatience will not work in your favor.” The prince squeezed my hand, then sucked in a sharp breath as he moved away to leave.

“Wait.” I stepped closer. Anton twisted to face me. I held the key to my breast. “You said to knock three times.”

“Yes.”

I shifted on my feet. “I do not know where your room is.”

A candle near him sputtered. Its light danced in his eyes. “Two doors down from you,” he answered quietly, “nearer the emperor’s rooms.”

I nodded, my fingertips tingling as they pressed into the
teeth of the key. All this while he’d been so close. It felt close, anyway, even though the space between our doors was large enough to fit at least a secret ballet room. Being a neighbor to Anton brought me a measure of comfort as my panic threatened to double me over.

“I’ll stay awake until you knock,” he said. “I’ll knock back three times so you know I’ve heard you.” He swallowed and lowered his gaze before meeting mine again. A rush of complicated feelings invaded me, entwining me with warmth and intensity. “May Feya protect you, Sonya.”

His words lingered about my ears, but never entered. What I heard instead was
forgive me
.

I
WALKED DOWN THE LONG CORRIDOR, MY NIGHT
SLIPPERS
sinking into the red carpet running the length of the hallway. My gaze lingered on Anton’s door as I passed by. I forced my legs onward without breaking the rhythm of my stride. The sooner I got this over with, the better.

Valko’s gilded door loomed in front of me with a relief carving of a seven-pointed sun. The supreme god, Zorog, stood in the beams of light, wearing a great crown and holding another in his outstretched arms. Seven painted rubies adorned the second crown, meant for the emperor chosen by the gods to rule Riaznin through his noble bloodline. Valko wore such a crown.

I drew in a steadying breath. He was just a man—no, just a boy—with mortal feelings. Feelings that didn’t need to ensnare me.

I rapped on the door, then clutched the panels of my robe together. I couldn’t come to him wearing just my
nightdress—that would only seem an invitation—but Lenka kept my gowns in some unknown wardrobe elsewhere in the palace. The lone article of clothing she left in my room to tempt me with was my Auraseer robe. Before I’d draped it around me, I ripped out the fur lining, despite the death it marred me with and the silent screams of empathy I felt for the beasts. It was a price I’d pay again for the added layer of protection the robe gave me against the emperor.

“Enter,” Valko called from within.

I turned the latch with trembling hands and slipped inside.

My lips parted in awe. The luxury of the great hall was nothing compared to the emperor’s private chambers. His three rooms were open to each other, separated only by overhead domes and tiled columns supporting them beneath.

The room to the right held a golden bath set into the floor. The water was deep enough to stand in and so wide the emperor could float on his back. Exotic plants surrounded the bath, giving the illusion of a natural pool.

A massive four-poster bed dominated the room to the left. Sheer, veil-like curtains hung from the silk canopy, so light and fine they billowed when I shut the door.

In the middle room of Valko’s chambers and recessed two steps was an informal receiving area. A low circular table, lacquered in ebony, centered the space. Around it were an assortment of jewel-toned pillows in all shapes and sizes. There had to be more than fifty of them—some large for sitting on, others for leaning against, and some so small and
ornate they could serve no practical purpose at all.

The seating furnishings surprised me. I’d expected Valko’s rooms to have fine Riaznian couches and divans. But for an emperor to lower himself to the floor in the tradition of the desert Abdarans loosened a knot of my anxiety. If I could forgive the lavishness of the largest pillow he sat upon, crimson velvet with golden tassels, I could almost imagine he was Tosya, lounging around a campfire, prodding me to tell him which Romska girls’ hearts had beaten faster after he sang them a new song. At the very least, Valko’s smile seemed as genuine as my friend’s.

The emperor’s head was bare of its crown, his hair soft and loose about his face. He wore a long, embellished robe, slackly bound together with a black sash. The ties were open on his nightshirt. The neckline parted in a V revealing a hint of his broad chest muscles beneath. A flux of heat stole through me, and I forced my gaze to his eyes.

“Do you let everyone inside your rooms so easily?” I asked, then after an awkward beat, added, “Your Imperial Majesty.” It was the first time I’d ever initiated conversation with him. I hoped I didn’t sound disrespectful. I was only trying to grasp control of the evening before it had a chance to turn awry. Valko might have been smiling warmly at me, but his aura had me on edge. Beneath the surface of his emotions, he seemed concerned about something. My throat ran dry with it.

He grinned like I’d challenged him. I realized too late I’d forgotten to curtsy. “No one comes here without my sanction,” he replied with assurance. “Besides, I have nothing to fear. I
have
you
.” He rose to his feet and approached me.

I knew we would be alone, but I’d never imagined how different it would feel. In the daytime, during our busy routine, we were always in the company of at least one other person.

I retreated and pressed my back to the door. “Don’t you have any guards to attend you?” I kept my voice light and hoped he wouldn’t see the fear so evident in my body language. “I may be able to warn you of danger, but I’ve never wielded a saber or fired a musket.”

Reaching the entryway, he crossed to where I hovered.

I held my breath and tucked my hands behind me.

“Relax, Sonya.” His smile reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. “A retinue of Imperial Guard keeps barracks in the rooms beside mine. If there were any commotion, they would come. At least they would at any other time. I’ve dismissed them tonight,” he whispered conspiratorially. “My walls are thin so they may serve me better, but I wish to have a private conversation with you.”

“Very well.” I swallowed.

He tilted his head. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Anton’s words came to mind—
meekness, yet firmness of character.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I was taught never to find myself alone with a man behind closed doors, especially after midnight.” Never mind I’d never been taught such a thing, and I’d just met in seclusion with his brother.

“Hmm.” Valko’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Am I a mere man?”

“No.” I dropped my gaze, wishing to appear humble. “You are my lord emperor, sanctioned by the gods, blessed above common, vulgar men who would seek to tarnish someone’s virtue without thought.” Was that too heavy-handed? All I could think of was drawing a definite line between what I would and wouldn’t do. I looked up at him and raised the pitch of my voice so I sounded young and innocent. “I know I can trust you.”

He searched my eyes for a heart-stopping moment, then he erupted with laughter. I hadn’t sensed the shift in him fast enough to anticipate it. “Whatever did Anton tell you about my summons tonight?”

I stared at him dumbfounded, not wanting to betray anything his brother had said.

“Come, Sonya.” He whirled around and descended the stairs to his crimson pillow. “I only wish for you to give me a report on the last few weeks. I should have had you do so sooner, what with the attempt on my life just before you arrived in Torchev. But you must forgive me, I’ve been in a rather dreary state since my mother died.” At those words, his humor wilted. He cleared his throat and spent a few moments arranging the smaller cushions around him, keeping his face averted from mine.

I followed him as far as the lip of the stairs, then I hesitated. A heaviness came across my chest and limbs, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I observed the emperor closely. His sorrow was authentic. Just as real and weighty as mine and the loss I had suffered.

He sat on his pillow and stared at his empty hands, then
glanced up at me with a smile, as genuine as before, though it seemed to pain him. He extended an arm to the cushion at his right. “Come.”

My pulse hammered as I descended the stairs, stepped around the pillows, and lowered myself at his side. I kept waiting for some evidence to reveal him as the man who had charmed Pia or as the schemer Anton had warned me about. I found nothing. Regardless, I hung on every thought, every feeling, assuredly my own. I couldn’t let Valko’s aura compromise me. His energy was collected enough now, but there was no telling when it might shift. I hadn’t forgotten how abruptly his mood altered during this afternoon’s council meeting. Even more worrisome was the idea his aura could change so subtly it slipped my detection altogether.

“I apologize for the late hour,” he said, and lit a match to a cluster of fir cones beneath a golden samovar on the table. Smoke curled out from beneath it with a soothing aroma. “My days are ruled by tedious affairs, and so I find myself sleepless at night. Perhaps it is my own stubbornness for not wishing to yet face the morning—that or clinging to the fragments of time belonging to no one but myself.”

“It’s all right,” I replied, and relaxed a little more to find we had something in common. “I was awake. I also have difficulty sleeping.”

“Truly?” He blew on the lit cones, and their smell of incense came stronger. “But then of course you do with all those auras rattling around inside you.”

I managed a grin to placate him, for I sensed he was trying to understand me. He didn’t. No one really could. No one knew the awful extent of my crimes. “It’s more than that,” I said before I pressed my lips together. I didn’t wish to admit to the way Yuliya haunted my thoughts or how I had left Tola and Dasha with Sestra Mirna to bury the dead.

Valko waited for me to say more, but when I didn’t, he replied, “I’m sorry if your transition here has been a difficult one”—he set his hand on my arm—“and if that’s why you are wakeful in the night.”

Under the gentle pressure of his fingers, I was filled with the same stalwart calm and steady reassurance I experienced at Anton’s touch. The emperor’s aura felt . . .
sympathetic
. It reverberated with the same aching sorrow and regret as mine did, even though he didn’t know my dark history.

“I’m well versed in rough transitions,” he went on, and drew in a long breath. “When I was a child and en route to the secret manor that would become my home, an innocent boy was murdered to ensure I was raised in safety.” He ran a hand through his hair and released a heavy exhale. “I’m sure you know the story.”

I nodded as I remembered what Pia had told me about Valko and the changeling prince.

The emperor withdrew his hand from my arm and picked at his thumbnail. “It’s difficult to explain the exquisite form of torture it was to grow up in a beautiful countryside manor, knowing I would one day be emperor, when I had someone else’s death to thank for that. And the pain didn’t lessen after
I ascended the throne—another harsh transition. The choices I’ve made have caused even more death and suffering. That is the inevitable part of ruling Riaznin—some must be hurt so the majority survive.” He folded his hands together and glanced up at me with a sad smile. “But it doesn’t mean I’ve found it any easier to sleep at night.”

His gaze upon me lingered, not in a passionate sort of way, but in the way of a friend. “I’m glad I have found someone who understands,” he said.

For a moment, he felt his age—a boy, not much older than myself, the weight of the empire resting on his still broadening shoulders.

Perhaps Anton had misjudged Valko. He couldn’t know him well; they had been raised apart. Perhaps what the emperor needed most was a trusted companion, since he never had the closeness of a sibling.

“I understand you more than you know,” I replied. “I also attained my position due to the death of others.” As the words fell from my lips, my eyes widened with astonishment. I couldn’t believe what I’d just confessed. My hand flew to the black ribbon on my wrist. Was it the emperor’s forthcomingness that loosened my tongue, or the realization that I may have found someone who could relate to a measure of the pain I’d endured?

“Izolda’s failure to protect my mother wasn’t your fault,” Valko said.

“She’s not whom I’m referring to. There was a tragedy at the convent—a fire,” I rushed on, despite my better instincts to
stop speaking. “And I—I started it. It was an accident, but that doesn’t excuse my hand in it. So many Auraseers—women and young girls—would still be alive if I had been a better person.”
Better trained, less stubborn, more humble.
I buried my hands in the folds of my robe. “You would have a polished sovereign Auraseer at your side instead of an unrefined girl.”

A wave of shame spread up my neck to my ears. I wanted to hide, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from Valko. I scrutinized every feature of his face for an appalled reaction—a disgusted curl of his lip or admonishing slit of his eyes. I searched within myself for any physical manifestation of his reproachful aura—an angry clench of my muscles or humiliating twist of my gut. No such things were present. The shame was my own. It began to fade, however, as I mirrored the steady beat of Valko’s heart and the expanding of his chest as his lungs made room for a deep and consoling breath.

He watched me for several moments. What was he was thinking? “Do you know what my father’s parting words were when he sent me away?” he asked at length.

I frowned and shook my head.

Valko lowered his voice to affect Emperor Izia’s menacing tone.
“Come back an emperor or don’t come back at all.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “I’m sure my father meant to forge within me a desire to return to Torchev with greatness and preparedness for the crown of our dynasty. But as a child, all I felt was the sheer threat that there was no room for failure in my life.”

“How terrible,” I murmured, though my anxiety bled
through my pity for him. Was he telling me this to distance himself from the horror of my confession?

“Thank the gods I also had a mother,” he continued, softly grinning with fondness. “She left me with more hopeful words:
Live your life without looking too far behind you or too far ahead.
” He sighed. “I can’t say I’ve done either parent justice. Like you, I let the past torment me and the future cast a foreboding shadow. Sometimes I fear I will never live up to my destiny. But I believe my mother was right.” He shifted nearer, his eyes trapped upon mine with all the fervor of what he was trying to convey. “Though the blood of innocents has been spilled to bring you and me this life, wouldn’t we be doing those who died a worse crime by being ungrateful for our positions? Shouldn’t we seize the present, live for
now
?”

He placed his hand on my shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. Comfort settled over me like a warm blanket. “What happened at the convent was a terrible tragedy, but I’m not sorry you are here, Sonya. Nor would I wish for another to take your place.”

I stared at him in amazement. The slivers of blue in his gray eyes caught the light and lent him a depth and beauty I’d never noticed before. My throat tightened against a rise of tears. I opened my mouth and shut it again, struggling to form words. What could I say in response to his inconceivable mercy and sympathy?
Thank you
was far too trite. In truth, I didn’t dare express my appreciation at all. I would surely crumple into a mess of sobs.