Burning Glass (3 page)

She lifted her nose at us as we crossed the threshold into the east wing. “Basil, tell these girls they have nothing to fear.”

He forced a reassuring smile, even though every one of us had the gift to divine what he was really feeling. “Everything is fine. Go back to your warm beds. This happens every winter.
The peasants have yet to penetrate the gate.”

A pinch-faced Auraseer—Lena? Lola? I could never remember her name, nor did I wish to—folded her arms. “The peasants have never come in such numbers.” She shivered and the girl beside her placed a hand to her own stomach. They must sense the mob, but not like I did. They wouldn’t be standing here if they truly understood the peasants’ need.

“Yes, well, I have firearms if it comes to it,” Basil replied. He drew one of the great doors closed. As it thudded into place, my heart pounded with the peasants’ ravenous urgency. I couldn’t be locked in here. I couldn’t. Not when there were so many mouths to feed.

He set his hand on the latch of the opposite door when the solution to my dilemma presented itself.

Nadia’s eyes narrowed, riveted to mine. The careful balance of her head tipped to the side. “Something is very wrong with you,” she said slowly, her words laced with accusation.

I retreated behind Basil. My fingers grazed his over the latch.

His wiry brows peaked. “What are you—?”

“Stop her!” Nadia shouted.

I kicked Basil in the pit of his knee so he crumpled to the floor. I fetched the gate keys hanging from his pocket, shoved him into the huddle of girls, then darted into the hallway and flung the door shut behind me. The wooden beam boomed into its iron casings as I pulled it down across both doors, fastening them closed. The Auraseers were locked inside. They couldn’t stop me now.

Cries rang out from the other side as the girls rammed their fists against the barricade.

I smiled. They deserved to panic for all the spitefulness they’d doled out on me.

Basil’s throaty voice rose above them. “Sonya, don’t do this! Don’t let them in. For the sake of all you love and hold dear—for Yuliya’s sake—
do not let them in!
”

I backed away from the doors. My hands shook. My heart beat wildly in my chest. A morsel of reason—of warning—wormed its way into my mind.

What was I doing? Had I gone too far?

The thought snuffed out like a breath on weak flame when the peasants’ tidal wave of emotion called to me. They waited for me. I had to deliver them.

I spun around and tripped over the hem of my nightdress as I raced through the corridor, down the winding flight of stairs, past the dining hall, and into the foyer of the convent. I tamped down all remembrances of how the Auraseers would tease me when the sestras took us to the market. Our abilities needed to be tested in crowded places, they said. Within minutes, I would inevitably be huddled on the ground, rocking back and forth, and raving like a madwoman. But not now. Now I welcomed the multitudes. Now I knew with clarity what they felt and how to help them.

“I’m coming,” I whispered, my eyes wide and unblinking as I flung the lock and opened the cedar doors. The peasants were outside, waiting in the distance and held back by the gate.
I needed to grant them entrance, let them share our food and warmth, be even closer to their auras. I needed to be whole again.

Swirls of white danced past me and dusted the marble tiles. I stepped into the calf-deep snow. The cold was nothing new to my bare feet. I already felt the sting of a thousand frostbitten toes. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Hitching up my nightdress, I pressed forward, riveted to the peasants’ wash of torchlight like a beacon. Could they see me? I hadn’t thought to bring a candle. Did they know the end of their suffering was at hand?

I halted as a new sensation took hold of me, more ferocious in its desire—in its hunger—than the mob had yet been. The twist in my gut buckled me to the ground until I rested on hands and knees like an animal. The deep snow cradled my belly with a coldness I strangely felt numb to. I thrashed forward to the gate, certain only in my target of the peasants. I had to reach them.

Their cries broke apart until the night gave way to the silence of snowfall. The quiet was short-lived. Only a stunned, stuttering heartbeat.

What was happening? Three breaths later, I found my answer. I heard it. Far away, as if from the muffled madness of a dream.

The howling of wolves.

T
HE HOWLING FELL LIKE MUSIC ON MY EARS.
I
T
LURED ME, MY
shoulders rising and falling in rhythm. My lips pulled back to bare my teeth. Hunger—raw, pure, and deadly—encompassed me. My fingers clawed into the snow, ready to shred whatever necessary in order to satiate the greatest need I’d ever felt.

The chorus of wolves built in volume. Urgency flooded my limbs. I tore through the snow and the gate loomed closer.

The peasants didn’t see me. They had their backs to the convent. Their murmured arguments sifted through the air. A few of them darted away, followed quickly by others, running in the opposite direction of the echoing wolves.

“No!” My voice ripped through my throat, garbled and guttural. “Wait!” I lunged forward, then ground my hands in the snow, trying to stand as the emotions of the peasants grew stronger inside me than the wolves’ deadly urges. “I’m coming!” I called to the people. “Don’t leave!”

No one turned. No one heard me above their own cries and growing frenzy. A single howl sliced through the frigid night, louder and much nearer than the others. The remaining peasants shrieked and launched after those who had left.

“No, please!” I kicked past the snow until, at last, I reached the gate. I shook the iron bars as I fought to gain their attention. “There is enough food for all of you!”

They fled into the forest without glancing back at the convent. Or me. I cried out in frustration and hit the gate again and again. My hands smarted with pain, but I didn’t care. All of this had been for nothing.

Crumpling to the ground, I hit the gate once more, then screamed as hunger bit inside me with renewed ferocity. A large wolf raced across the clearing between the convent and the forest. Its jaws gaped open to reveal a flash of deadly teeth. The howls of his companions mounted behind him and they emerged past the evergreens. The pack ran, streaks of brown and gray against the field of white.

I thrust my arms between the bars and tried in vain to reach the wolves. They would feast on their prey without me. I threw myself to the icy ground and started digging. I could tunnel a path. Join them. I wasn’t too late.

I paused. Blinked. I’d forgotten about the keys. I must have dropped them in the snow. I crawled in a circle, sniffing at the ground. No, I couldn’t smell them. What was the matter with me? I stood, trying to think clearly and retrace my steps. I didn’t move one foot before I buckled over and growled again. My
entire body trembled as I fought to gain control of my bloodlust.

Keys, keys, keys
. . . I had to stay focused. The wolves’ howling softened with their growing distance. My hunger faltered. I clawed at my stomach, trying to trap it there. The wolves would have release when they ate—after they earned it. I would feel the same.

Dull silver winked at me. I flared my nostrils and flung myself at the ring of keys. Just as I touched them, the warm light emitting from a convent window dimmed and darkened a patch of snow. I clutched the keys to my breast and glanced up. Sestra Mirna’s unmistakable silhouette framed itself in an upper-story window.

A fragment of logic nudged me to hide. I crouched behind a currant bush and peered past its dead foliage. The sestra didn’t move.

“Go away,” I growled.

The swish and patter from the wolves’ feet lightened as they left the clearing and raced after the peasants. Their howls sounded mournful. Or had I twisted the sound to mirror my own deepening loss? How could I catch up with them now?

“Go away, go away,” I said to the silhouette at the window.
The wolves are gone.
I imagined Sestra Mirna could hear my thoughts.
Go back to Yuliya. She might bleed to death if you don’t watch over her. She needs you. The convent is safe.

My heart thundered. The howling grew faint. The silhouette hesitated.

“Please.” My breath misted in the air.

Sestra Mirna stepped back into the room. The patch of snow pooled to amber once more in the full light of the window.

I muttered a prayer of thanks to Feya—a mark of my profound relief that I stooped to acknowledge my threadbare belief in the goddess—and raced back to the gate, keys in hand.

The last wolf exited the clearing as I reached the lock. “Wait!” I called as I jammed the largest key into the hole and fought against the rusted and frozen inner workings. “Wait!” I called to the peasants who were already gone.

The key turned, but a locked chain wrapped the barred doors together. Basil’s reinforcement. Hands shaking in anticipation, I tested the smaller keys on the padlock. At last I found the right one. I yanked the chains off the bars, and with a great exhale, pulled open the gate. It creaked on its hinges, but only budged a finger’s length. I growled with frustration. The deep snow dammed its path. I crouched and beat at the snow. Trampled it down. Flung it aside. Scooped it away by the armful.

“Come back,” I told the wolves.

“Come back,” I told the dwindling yearning inside me.

“Come . . . come . . .”

I shivered, leaning back against the bars. My legs splayed out in front of me, pink with cold and exposed from knee to ankle. Snowflakes collected in my tangled hair, which had escaped my braid. I couldn’t feel my toes or fingertips. My chin wobbled, whether from the unbearable chill or my stunned recollection of myself, I didn’t know.

What in the name of Feya, or all the holy gods, had come
over me? I turned slowly and observed the trodden snow beyond the gate where the masses of peasants had stood, where the wolves had tracked behind them.

Nothing more remained of the madness. Their madness. Mine.

“Basil,” I gasped, and pressed my hand to my head. Had I really locked him and the Auraseers in the east wing?

Nadia was right. Something was terribly wrong with me. Perhaps my parents should have turned me over to the bounty hunters a decade ago and not given me to the Romska. My chance at freedom wasn’t worth this. At the very least, I should have worked harder at my lessons with the sestras. It was unnatural to feel the urges of animals, even for an Auraseer.
This is what happens when an ability goes unrestrained
, Sestra Mirna had once told me.
It becomes wild.

I was more than wild, I was a walking keg of gunpowder. What if I’d made it to the gate mere moments before I had? What if I’d let the peasants in? Or the wolves?

A whimper stirred the air. I craned my head. Stone towers mirrored each other from both sides of the gate. At the base of the left one, a something shifted. A huddle of black. Another whimper came.

“Hello?” I said.

A pale face lifted at my greeting. I stepped closer and pressed my body against the bars. A gnarled-looking man rested there, curled into himself. His face was so thin it seemed strangely oblong. Dark hollows cut beneath his eyes and cheekbones. He
tugged a ragged coat closer to his chest. That and his matted fur hat were all he had to keep him warm.

A flicker of emotion burned its way past my frozen ribs and lodged inside my heart. This man was desolate, without hope—nothing like the powerful pulse the mob had radiated, but just as real. I ached with him. At the very least, I could help one person tonight. What harm could one famished man do?

“Excuse me.” I curved my numb lips into a semblance of a smile. “If you can reach past the bars and help me clear this snow, I would be happy to repay you with a warm meal and a seat beside our fire.”

I removed the man’s snow-laden coat and draped it over a kitchen chair, then drew up another one until its legs butted against the raised hearth. “Sit here.”

The man removed his fur cap and twisted it with bony fingers. His nails were jagged and filthy. I felt shameful for staring, so I raised my eyes to his bare head. His hair stuck up from the wrath of dueling cowlicks and strange partings. Physical signs of insanity. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t spoken a word as we worked together to open the gate and made our way inside.

Muffled noises echoed above us. The man jumped as the copper chandelier rattled. The candles weren’t lit or else they might have flung hot wax onto his skin.

“Never you mind about them.” I nodded at the ceiling. Above us, the Auraseers remained trapped in the east wing. Their anger tried to smother me, but I ground my teeth and
pushed it back, only letting it prick at my skin. My own shame felt more insufferable. I couldn’t face them yet, nor bear their reprimands for my loss of self-control. Could I help it that I took pleasure in confining them, when that’s all they had done for months—confined me with their ostracizing? Nadia and her ring of friends could wait it out up there a little longer.

Taking hold of the man by his shoulder, I gently guided him to the chair by the fire. Sestra Mirna once told me the sense of touch heightened an Auraseer’s awareness. I would use that to lose myself to the man’s numbed emotions and drown out the fury of the barricaded Auraseers.

He sat stiffly on the chair. His energy was so focused on his physical needs that it served as a blissful escape from reality. I kept my leg brushed against his knee as I ladled him a bowl of stew. The sestras always kept something bubbling in the iron pot, adding water, herbs, and chopped roots throughout the day. After passing him the bowl, I added another log to the coals. In moments, the dry wood crackled with flames.

“That’s better.” I broke our contact to draw up another chair beside him. That brief separation was enough to make my gut twist with guilt. I had prevented a catastrophe tonight by not letting the peasants in the convent, but I had also failed them. How many would still suffer from their hardships because of me, and for how long?

I quickly ladled a second bowl for myself—no matter I’d already had second helpings for supper—I had to do something to quell the ghosts of hunger inside me.

I sat down and scooted closer so my knees touched the man’s. My stomach rumbled in time with his, and I sighed in relief at his simplicity. We ate to the chorus of the rattling chandelier and the
drip, drip, drip
of the ice melting from my nightgown. I wriggled my toes as I tried to draw feeling back into them and wrapped my makeshift shawl—a kitchen towel—more snugly across my shoulders.

“Are you from Ormina?” I asked at length, uncomfortable with our silence. “Of course you’re from Ormina. You couldn’t have walked from anywhere else, not in this snow.”

The man’s eyes reflected the undulating flames. He didn’t bat his lashes to acknowledge I’d spoken. Instead, he tapped his spoon against his empty bowl.

“Would you like more?”

Tap, tap.

“Yes?”

His hand snaked out to the pot.

“No!”

A horrible sizzling hissed out as his fingertips met the hot iron. He wailed, his mouth falling open to reveal a row of chipped teeth. I leapt to my feet, rushed to the buckets of ice thawing into water, and yanked the kitchen towel from my shoulders, letting it sponge up the moisture.

“Here.” I knelt at his feet and wrapped the wet cloth around his hand. He rocked back and forth, biting his lip. “I made a mistake situating you so close to the fire,” I said. “Shall I scoot you back, or do you promise to be more careful?” I cringed at
my tone. I sounded far too similar to Sestra Mirna. “Do you promise?”

He swallowed and gave a rough bob of his head. I couldn’t be sure if it was a nod of acquiescence or simply an incoherent movement.

“All right, then.” I settled myself at his feet with my shoulder pressed against his leg.

It was warmer here, nearer the white coals of the fire. I denied myself the urge to hold my hands to the flames. That would only encourage him to do something rash. I made do with basking in what little warmth penetrated the wet threads of my nightgown.

The log split in half, and the flames danced taller. Fire was a fascinating element. The way it teased you, swaying one moment, snapping at you the next. I could watch it for hours. I might do that tonight. Perhaps by morning my gown would be dry and the Auraseers wouldn’t be at my throat for a night locked in a wing they would have spent their sleep in, anyway.

A trembling hand reached past me and snatched at the flames. I grabbed the man’s arm. “Not that again. You mustn’t . . .”

Whatever I intended to say died on the tip of my tongue. The orange, pulsating light was so beautiful. It curled like fingers beckoning me. I would never be warm until I lived inside that light. Until it blossomed within me and took root in my veins. My blood could be fire. I could be made of light. I was meant to be light. I would be warm forever.

I let go of the man’s arm. Why had I been holding it? Heart pounding, I crept closer to the flames. The heat kissed my cheeks. I closed my eyes and let it burn my lids. It wasn’t enough. I had to touch that warmth.

My hand crawled into the outlying ashes, near the coals. A long shard of wood lay forgotten, away from the heart of the fire. Only its tip was charred. It must have splintered off from the log. Feeling sorry for it, I picked it up and set its end into the most inviting lick of flame. The wood popped as the flame spread. I pulled it toward me. Beautiful.

So beautiful I would share.

I twisted around to face the man and smiled. My eyes blurred with tears. He would be so happy when I—

He abruptly stood kicking the chair out from beneath him. He thrashed about the kitchen. I stared dumbly after him, unsure what was the matter. Had he burned himself again?

My gaze dropped to his smoking trouser leg, and fear spiked through my chest. I must have come too close with the flame. The flame still burning on the shard in my hand. The flame closing in on my fingers.

I gasped and hurtled the shard into the fireplace as sparks flew around me. The man screamed. I spun around, crying with his pain. His leg no longer smoked. It was on fire. It ate at the cloth like perfect kindling. I sprang to my feet, limping in agony as I advanced on the man and sidestepped him as I racked my brain for what to do. Terror—his and mine—froze my logic.

At last I remembered the buckets of ice water.
Stupid girl.
How could I have forgotten?