Burning Glass (24 page)

R
IAZNIN WAS A BIRD IN
T
OSYA’S BOOK, A WHITE-
WINGED
dove. The gods formed her and promised her a sky broad enough to fly in, a land vast enough that her children would never go hungry. No matter which siblings came first or second, no matter which ones were lovelier, or which were male or female, each was blessed to share the bounty of the land in equality.

“Are you finished yet?” Anton asked the following night, peeking his head into the tapestry room. Granted, this time he preceded it with a light knock.

I rolled my eyes. Of course I wasn’t finished. The volume wasn’t thick, but the reading was dense. I’d never studied much poetry before. Ironic, since Tosya had been my reading teacher.

Closing the book around a finger to mark my spot, I said, “Tosya was in a caravan I traveled with every spring. He was like family to me. He would sing me songs and read me stories. He knew how to make me laugh when I thought I’d never laugh again.”

I saw him in my mind’s eye. Tosya had a stretched look from his brows to his chin, the opposite of Valko’s slightly smashed appearance. In fact, everything about Tosya was long—his nose, his fingers, his legs. His aura was just as lengthy, so open there was space for me to crawl inside and escape the world for a time.

“How do you know him?” I asked Anton. Tosya was intelligent, but as poor as any Romska boy. How would he ever have had the means or connections to write a book of poetry and have it published unless he had a benefactor? Could that have been Anton? How would Tosya’s path have even crossed with that of a prince?

“You weren’t the only one Tosya graced with his friendship,” Anton said with a smile.

I thought of Montpanon, the village close to Trusochelm Manor where the prince had been raised. The Romska camped nearby at the eastern front of the Bayac Mountains when they tracked herds of wild horses. “When did you meet?” I asked Anton. “How?”

“Good night, Sonya. Keep reading.” The midnight-blue door closed. I groaned and threw a pillow after it. Then I picked up the book again.

Valko kept to his rooms for five days. He didn’t emerge to see Floquart and his entourage of foreigners leave, and I doubted the emissary would have allowed it. I pitied the Esten Auraseer who must accompany Floquart and regretted my missed opportunity to somehow free her from her abuser. At the very least I had a respite from mine, for the emperor also abandoned his council meetings and dinners with the nobles. As for the servants in the palace, after the frenzy of preparing for the ball, they fell back into their quieter routines. My muscles eased with their relaxed auras. In the city, a few small celebrations were held in honor of the fertility goddess, Morva, highly neglected by the nobles, who were too weary from dancing and sick from head-splitting goblets of aqua vitae.

In the healing quiet of those days, I wrote a letter to Sestra Mirna, asking after Dasha and Tola; I allowed Lenka the painstaking task of trimming my thick hair; and I let Pia sneak me midday snacks and tell me at length about Yuri’s eyes and his promise to marry her. His parents were warming to the idea of having a serving maid as a daughter-in-law. “Just wait until they discover I’m well educated, too,” she’d said brightly. To that I’d smiled. “Are you saying you’d like to tackle arithmetic next?” I’d shrugged with a dramatic sigh. “There I cannot help you.” She’d laughed and read me the last page of the Armless Maiden story, her words slow and labored, but filled with wonder as she reached the climactic moment where the maiden mystically
grew back her limbs to save her baby from a well.

My favorite parts of each day were the stolen hours when I crept into the tapestry room to do my own reading. Curled up on the bed, I’d open Tosya’s book of poetry.

On the fifth night, my candle—one of many I’d replaced since Anton gave me the book—was a nub of wax. Its flame sputtered on its last bursts of light. The prince knocked and opened the door.

I sat up. “I’m not finished yet!”

He closed the door before my pillow could hit him in the head. Giving a little laugh, I plunked back down, but the movement stirred the air and my candle snuffed out. I sighed and shut the book for the night. More for tomorrow. With any luck, Valko would remain in his rooms.

He didn’t. Lenka came bright and early the next morning with her clapping hands and announced the emperor required my presence. He meant to take me on a stroll through the palace gardens. A pit of dread formed in my stomach. How freeing it had been to escape Valko’s attentions for a time. The bruise on the back of my head had almost healed.

I met the emperor in the lobby outside the great hall. He wore somber colors—a dark, olive-green cape over a gray shirt
and breeches. Lenka hadn’t divined his mood, for I was donned in a dress of pale yellow with a lavender jacket that formed to my waist and fell to the first ruffle of my skirt. I felt ridiculous and longed for the simple clothes of the convent Auraseers and unrestricted styles of the Romska. But if I’d hoped to camouflage myself into the emperor’s flower beds, Lenka had served me well.

I settled my gaze on the bridge of Valko’s nose—Anton’s trick to distance himself from me—and swallowed as I curtsied. The emperor’s bridled temper made me at once suspicious, and I felt a bit shy in his presence, remembering how helpless and broken he’d been in my arms. I couldn’t predict how he’d act around me now, if he’d seek to prove his superiority or let the incident bolster his trust in me. His aura was remarkably reserved. I allowed myself an easy breath for the moment, but kept my muscles tense.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm. I saw no alternative but to take it.

Two liveried servants opened the doors leading to the rear of the palace. Birdsong filled the air as I inhaled the scent of green things after such a long winter. Tulips, daffodils, and mimosa grew in clever bunches amid the sculpted hedges and blossoming trees. Pavers in the manicured lawns created a labyrinth of private walkways. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. I already commiserated when I’d have to return back inside again.

As I opened my eyes, I caught Valko’s wistful smile. I hoped
it was an omen of a nonviolent morning. “You look at home here,” he said.

“I feel at home,” I replied, thinking of the growing things of the earth and the home among them that the Romska had taught me was mine. But perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, for the emperor moved closer to my side. My heart pounded, and I resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, I kept my hands close to my body to discourage him from touching me.

We walked along a curving row of flagstones, a retinue of guards several paces behind us. Butterflies danced in our path, adding to the illusion that this was a beautiful moment we were sharing, when all I felt was the strain of pretending I could ever feel normal and truly adored by the emperor again. My tongue seemed glued to the roof of my mouth. I didn’t know how to relax without first understanding what Valko wanted from me. I prayed this wasn’t another attempt at securing me as his mistress.

We crossed a bridge over a stream—one of many trickling waterways springing off the Azanel River that ran through Torchev. The stream fed into a pond, nestled in the shade of an outdoor pavilion. Its marble columns and terraced steps gave it the appearance of a small temple. Valko motioned for me to sit beside him on a bench, while the guards waited outside the pavilion.

I clasped my hands in my lap and watched fish turn lazy circles in the pond. The sun rose higher in the sky. At length, the emperor spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me, Sonya.”

“Oh?” He must be referring to the night of the ball, when I’d told him many things.
I’m not a good person. You don’t know me. This isn’t love.

His next words sounded practiced. They came at more cost, more humility. “You promised to show me what I could become.” He examined his hands. “You said I was enough.”

“You are.” Had he really listened to me? Did he truly believe Riaznin didn’t need to expand from sea to sea?

“The emissary said something that struck me: we have enough military in Torchev to stop the border wars with Estengarde.”

I considered Valko. The same could be said of many needs in the empire. While we feasted to excess and danced under the gold-domed shelter of the palace, so many outside our walls went starving and in need of more support. So many were taxed while the nobles were exempt. The common people were the spine of Riaznin, yet they were drafted into fighting our wars, paying too much of their own wages, crops, and furs to the empire, and receiving far too little in return. “I believe that’s true, My Lord. We have the means to spare.”

“And if we had
more
means . . . think what we could do then.”

The enthusiasm that had been broadening my chest and filling me with hope was swiftly punctured by doubt. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“What did I need Estengarde for?” he prodded.

The hole of doubt opened wider. “To conquer Shengli. But you agreed Riaznin was enough.”

“We are!” Valko stood and walked about the pavilion. “If we have the strength to stop the border wars in the west”—he talked quickly with animated hands—“why not send that strength to the east where our military can gather the necessary forces to triumph over those barbarians?”

I cringed, remembering how Floquart had called
us
savages. How conveniently each country thought themselves more civilized than their neighbors. “With all due respect, My Lord, I would hardly call a people with a superior knowledge of medicine and astrology barbaric, not to mention their unsurpassed skill in the art of warfare. The Shenglin have their own culture, their own supreme god. I don’t think peace will come by uniting with them.”

“This isn’t about peace! It’s about claiming what is duly ours.
Our
gods created this world. This blessed land wasn’t divided a millennium ago. The jade and timber-rich forests should be used to honor the gods who created them. The Shenglin owe us centuries of servitude to amend for their abominations. If we conquer them, they will till our land, mine our ore, and build great strongholds like Torchev across Riaznin.”

Valko picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them, one by one, across the far reaches of the pond. “I see the day, Sonya, that Riaznin’s strength will multiply until it is enough to forge the Bayac Mountains and defeat Estengarde, as well.
I understand now.” He whirled to face me, his eyes bright and alive. “This is why my bloodline brought me to the throne. This is why I was born first. Can you imagine the great honor it will bring the gods to see the world as one empire kneeling at their altars? With one emperor to usher in all that glory?”

Bile infested my stomach. It scraped up my throat. Lines of Tosya’s poetry kept coming at me and trampled Valko’s vision with one far more beautiful. “What if the gods see all of us as brothers?” Brothers didn’t seek glory through inequality, by rising up in the world off the backs of slaves. I knew well enough what life offered when you didn’t have a choice. “What if the gods wished for each of us to choose our own path?” Like the Romska who were content to live without religion, or Yuliya, whose devoutness to Feya brought her solace, or even the Shenglin, who worshipped not the seven gods of Riaznin but one all-powerful creator.

“Yes, yes, exactly!” Valko pulled me to my feet. “One family under the same gods.”

I shook my head. “How can there be lesser or greater within a family?”

“There must be, or else chaos would reign. The wiser must govern, and the infants must be carried and shown the way—the right way.”

And who were the infants in this structure of his? The Shenglin? The Estens? The peasant Riaznians, no doubt. What about me? “Is that what I am to you? An infant?”

Valko’s confusion swept through my aura. I could almost
hear him thinking,
Why doesn’t she understand?
“You are my sovereign Auraseer. I depend on you.”

“As a master depends on a serf to reap the harvest,” I quipped.

His brow furrowed. “Does it matter? We will eat the fruit together.”

“But
you
will profit from the excess.” The emperor had claimed to need me, but I would never stand on equal footing with him.

He regarded me a moment. “I think I know why you are angry.” He threw his last pebble in the pond. “I can’t marry you, Sonya.”

My eyes flew wide. “I wasn’t speaking of marriage.” As if I had any wish to mingle my
common
bloodline with his.

“You’ve made it clear you have no desire to be my mistress.”

I clamped my mouth shut at that. He was right.

“I’m afraid I can’t raise your status here any higher than that.”

I suppressed an eye roll. Of course he thought becoming his illegitimate lover would be greater than my current occupation.

“We care for each other, however . . . don’t we?” he asked.

In truth, I wasn’t sure how much
care
bled through his infatuation. In the same regard, how many of my feelings for him were my own and not an echo of his—or my concern for the people of the empire not a reflection of his passion for expanding it? As he waited for some kind of answer, I replied,
“Yes.” I
did
care for the broken child in him, the child who had never asked to be emperor.

“It’s enough for me that you are my balm, my seer, as you said.” He kissed my hand, and his aura blazed to life again. “Dear Sonya.” He softly grinned. “You’ve already done so much for me. You were right. You showed me who I am, and look what is happening. Look what I see!” He spread his hands wide to show the expanse of the pond, as if it represented the world—
his
world,
his
all-encompassing empire.

He began pacing again. He threw more rocks and prattled on and on, faster and faster. He spoke of what we could do with the riches of Shengli, how we could lower the age of the draft to increase our armies, how we could build greater navies, greater strongholds. His manic nature made my skin crawl as if I were covered with a thousand insects.