Burning Glass (33 page)

I moved closer, as close as Anton would allow me. “Do you remember that strength inside me you asked me to find and hold on to? Well, I’ve found it.” I smiled, trying to show him what it felt like. “It’s what makes me most grounded and sure and resilient. It’s my feelings for
you,
Anton. I don’t doubt them.
They give me hope, like I’ve done one good and smart thing in this world by setting my heart on you.”

As he gazed back at me, his brows drew together in anguish. I felt him wanting to believe in my words, but he didn’t know how.

“You’ve lost just as much as I have,” I said. “You’re just as broken. I’m not the only one who needs comforting.”

I yearned to touch him, but I didn’t dare. He sat so rigidly and withdrawn into himself. As I watched him, a pang of loneliness and sorrow lodged in my breast. I couldn’t lose him now, not when I felt with the fullness of my aura that we were meant for each other.

I memorized every plane, curve, and slant of his achingly beautiful face, like I had long ago in the troika. I found the small mole near his eye, the delicate sculpt of his upper lip. And more wonders came to surface. A little freckle along his jaw. A tiny scar above his right cheek. The slightest unevenness of his aristocratic nose. Somehow it felt like I might never see him again, like through the small separation of our bodies, he was already slipping through my fingers like sand.

“You said I was your savior,” I said, “but you won’t let me save you, not truly.”

He shrugged in misery. “I don’t know how to be saved.”

I tucked my knees to my chest as my heart sank. We were at the same impasse as ever, divided by his inability to trust my feelings for him. And perhaps there was more, something deeper Anton didn’t trust about himself.

The light of the candle nearest us wavered as the wick sagged into the last of the melting wax. When at length it sputtered out, I rose and slowly brushed the dust from my dress. “Thank you for tonight,” I said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” My insides twisted with guilt and regret. They weren’t mine.

“Wait.” Anton stood. He blew out a shaky breath. “Stay.”

I frowned with uncertainty.

He advanced a step. “I promise I won’t kiss you again.”

I sighed. “I
want
you to kiss me.”

“Stay.”

I crossed my arms and kept my distance. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to keep falling for him when he couldn’t commit to fully opening his heart.

“You let me hold you,” he said, “even when it was difficult.” A foreign emotion of timidity seeded within him. “I’d like to allow you the same.” He winced like he wasn’t expressing himself correctly. “That is, I’m asking you.” His shoulders wilted. “I’m
trying
, Sonya. This is the best I can do.”

I bit my lip.

He searched my eyes. “Stay.”

A breeze pressed against the windowpanes. The gilded walls of the palace creaked. My flimsy barrier against the prince came undone. I walked away, but not to the midnight-blue door. I climbed into his bed. A sliver of moonlight angled across the blankets from a crack in the window curtains. He took a long breath and followed me. We sat opposite each other, me with
my legs curled at my side, him with one knee propped up. Then we moved nearer, as if this was the most delicate dance of all, as if we hadn’t already spent the greater part of the night in each other’s embrace. Somehow this was different. This was him relenting to me. It felt fragile, like a painted porcelain egg.

I lay back on the pillow and held out my open hand. He eased himself down and settled his head in the crook of my shoulder. I slid one arm beneath him, the other on top, and pressed my lips to his brow. His body sank lower in the mattress. His hair brushed my cheek and smelled of soap and evergreens. I smoothed it back as he’d smoothed mine.

It wasn’t long before Anton’s chest rose and fell beside mine in the pattern of peaceful dreaming. Two silent tears tracked down my cheeks, my last thoughts of the night for Pia, and then my eyes drifted closed, my head drooping against the softness of Anton’s hair.

S
OMETHING WHITE AND PIERCING AWAKENED ME.
A
RAY OF
sunlight sliced through the crack in the curtains like a dagger. I cringed and turned my face so the beam moved out of my eye. Then I caught sight of Anton and remembered with amazement that I had slept beside him. Our positions had shifted in the night. His head lay across my stomach, his mouth open in deep slumber as his arms draped along my sides. One of mine was bent above my head on the pillow, while my free hand was burrowed in his hair. He appeared younger, more vulnerable, more beautiful now that his cares had slipped away in the realm of sleep. I wanted to stay with him like this forever.

With a sigh of blissful contentment, I cast my gaze back to the window curtains. Then I frowned, blinking at the shaft of light as I studied it closer. It wasn’t hazy with the gray of dawn; it was cut with bright lines. I gasped and nudged Anton. “Wake up!”

He lifted his head and peered up at me with one eye, his chin resting over my dress at the navel. “Sonya?” he said, as if still dreaming.

“I’m supposed to be back in my bedchamber!” I hissed. In all the nights I’d spent in the tapestry room, I’d never once slept so soundly that I hadn’t awoken before Pia came.

Pia.

An ache emerged in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t lose myself to tears again. “I have to go,” I said. “Lenka will be looking for me.” Why had I come to Anton’s room last night? My selfishness put him in danger, too.

A sharp rapping came on his outer door. The prince and I jolted upright. I scrambled for the other side of the bed, aiming for the tapestry room, but the hinges of the outer door squeaked and the handle turned as it prepared to open.

My jaw hung. I couldn’t think. I would never make it out of here in time.

Anton’s reflexes were faster. None too gently, he tossed me across the bed to plunk down on the opposite side of the floor. I landed squarely on my rump, and a little yelp escaped me.

The door creaked open. “Good morning, brother.”

Valko.
I ducked lower. My nerves flashed cold. Beneath the bed, I watched his polished black boots approach Anton’s bare feet and clip along the floorboards from across the room.

The prince cleared his throat. “Good morning”—the boots halted—“Your Imperial Majesty.”

The emperor’s boots came three steps nearer. My breath
thinned as they swept close to the bed. “It’s been a busy two days,” Valko remarked casually. “The people’s reception went well, I daresay. There was that unfortunate matter about the serving maid”—he rocked slightly back on his heels, then revolved and put a little more space between himself and Anton—“but what’s done is done. It was necessary.”

I narrowed my gaze on the gleam of black leather. Why had the emperor come? Was this usual for him to barge in on Anton and ramble on about tedious matters of the empire? Never mind they regarded the death of my dearest friend.

The tendons contracted at the back of Anton’s ankles. “And what is the news of today? Is it cumbersome, as well?”

My stomach knotted from their auras. Their voices were light, but cords of tension strung between them, thicker than ever.

“On the contrary,” Valko replied, “the gods are smiling on me. Only yesterday I raised the bounty threefold on refugees from the law, and already I’ve received word that one man has been captured.” He chuckled. “Seems people can’t resist their share of a bounty hunter’s purse, especially when all that is required is the whispering of a criminal’s whereabouts.”

“Indeed,” Anton replied stiffly. “Am I to presume then that Yuri has been apprehended?”

“No, no. Someone far more valuable.” The heels of the boots snapped together, side by side. “That infamous gypsy poet.”

All my breath rushed out of me. Anton’s toes clenched white against the floor. “Tosya?” After a strained moment of silence,
the prince walked past Valko, no doubt so his brother wouldn’t see the look of horror etched across his face. “Tosya . . . Pashkov, isn’t it?” Anton tried to sound disinterested, but I heard the tremor in his voice, mirroring the tremor inside him. My entire body quivered with it. He knew as well as I did Tosya’s fate was sealed. If Pia had been executed for mere association with a traitor, there was no question the supposed instigator of the revolution would not be spared.

“The very same,” Valko answered.

Anton’s feet turned slightly toward the emperor. “And is he here now? Imprisoned?”

“I’ve seen him myself. An odd fellow. Rather too tall to be hunched over a writing table.”

The prince twisted around to face his brother. “If I may, My Lord, I would caution you not to execute him straightaway. He has won the favor of many countrymen, and they will demand a fair trial. You wouldn’t want any riots, not when you are seeking to boost your popularity in light of the lowered draft age.”

I silently praised Anton for his quick logic. The only card he had left to play was delaying Tosya’s execution for as long as possible. Perhaps, with a little more time, we could find a means of helping our friend escape.

The emperor shifted and leaned his weight into his left boot. “Tosya
will
be tried,” he said at length. “Publicly,” he added, “so all those intoxicated by his words will discover him for the defamer and blasphemer he is.”

“Good thinking. I agree that is the best recourse,” Anton
replied, masterfully turning the conversation so the trial seemed to be the emperor’s idea in the first place.

“I will speak to my councilors.” The black boots clipped back to the door, first with deliberation, then they slowed, hesitating. The emperor spun around to the prince. “You haven’t seen Sonya this morning?”

I pressed my body flat to the floor. The jealousy in his aura tasted bitter on my tongue. Was this the real reason Valko had come, to see if I was here?

“No, I haven’t.” Anton didn’t miss a beat. He lazily padded toward the furnace where he kept his samovar. “Perhaps she went on a stroll through the gardens.”

“Yes . . . perhaps.”

I cringed and waited for Valko to say more—that he knew I hadn’t returned to my rooms last night, nor was I there at daybreak. But when he didn’t pursue the subject any further, I presumed Lenka had covered for me, once again.

The emperor opened the door. “If you do see her, tell her I’ve left her a gift in her antechamber. A peace offering. She’ll know why.”

“As you wish.”

The black boots left. The door thumped shut. I closed my eyes and rested them on the backs of my hands, allowing myself to breathe. Valko hadn’t discovered me. Still, I dared not move. What if he burst in again?

Anton seemed to have the same concern. A long minute passed before I heard the floorboards creak under his quiet
footsteps. The door opened and shut again. “It’s all right, Sonya. He’s gone.”

I lifted myself up on shaking legs and gripped one of his bedposts for balance. My gown was a rumpled mess.

Anton barely looked at me. He rushed to a small drawer in his dresser. “I’m assuming you don’t have your key.” He withdrew an identical copy and crossed to the midnight-blue door. “I have to leave at once.” He opened it. “You should return to your rooms.”

I stood frozen behind the bed. “Where are you going?”

“I need to speak with Nicolai and Feliks—together if I can arrange it.”

“About Tosya?”

“Yes.”

My heart sagged with unbearable weight. The world seemed to be crumbling at its foundations.

Anton strode back, took my arm, and ushered me to the door. He wasn’t being harsh by any means, but time was of the essence and I was only slowing him down. Unless—“Can I come with you? I could wear a disguise.”

“No . . . I can’t . . .” His jaw ticked. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, but his voice came tenderly. “I can’t risk losing you, too.”

Disappointment flooded me, but I didn’t argue. My place was here at the emperor’s side, my duty to both the empire and my pact to the revolution. “I’ll return to him,” I promised, knowing it had to be done. “I’ll try to persuade him to free Tosya.” At
least I’d have a fighting chance. Tosya, unlike Pia, was alive—for the time being.

“Please be careful,” Anton said.

“And you, as well.”

He finally locked gazes with me. In his eyes, I saw everything that had transpired between us last night. In his aura, I felt the ghost of our last kiss. I longed to kiss him again, to find some means to bring him comfort, to let him know all would turn out right, even if I didn’t believe it myself.

I leaned forward on my toes, but he anticipated me. “I must go.” The door shut between us. I blinked, staring at the swirl of painted stars.

A vase of blue hyacinths lay waiting on the table in my antechamber. Beside them was a small, varnished box. A ribbon wrapped around it, tied together with embossment wax and the emperor’s royal seal—a V beneath a crown with seven rubies. I broke it and lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of velvet, was a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds. It hung from a golden chain. The cut of the sapphire was marquise—oval with pointed ends. The facets winked at me in the sunlight from my window.

I closed the box and pushed it to the far end of the table. Did Valko think I could be bought? That a gem could replace a dear friend? The scent of the hyacinths burned my nostrils. I paced away. My hands flexed. My anger brimmed. The necklace was worth enough to feed a family for a year. It could repair
Ruta’s boardinghouse and give the Romska children more time to play in the fields rather than beg for copper coins in the cities.

I dropped down on a chair at my writing table and tried to wash away my disgust. There would be no giving away Valko’s gift. I’d have to accept it if I wanted to restore myself to good terms with him. As insufferable as that was, it was nothing next to becoming one with his aura, persuading him to release Tosya, and, while he was at it, give over his throne.

I scrubbed at my eyes. Fatigue turned my bones to lead, but I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t give in to desperation and self-pity. My task might be monumental, but my gift—my curse—was the only means I had of making a difference in this world.