Burning Glass (39 page)

“Sonya?” he asked when I’d reached the threshold of his rooms. His voice held the fear of a child when his parents must leave his bedroom at night.

Tears leaked from my eyes from the magnitude of all the auras still surging within me.
Almost finished
, I told myself. “Yes?”

Valko’s hair was flattened from the absent pressure of his crown. “Don’t leave me here alone—you, who understands me so perfectly. You know I cannot suffer it.”

How had this boy ever tempted me, ever made me feel inferior? “Then you must learn to suffer, for I am done understanding you.”

With ease, I pushed his tiny aura out of mine.

He crumpled to his hands and knees, then curled into himself, his body racking.

I walked out the open door. The guards parted for me. I handed the dagger to one and told another to keep the emperor’s saber out of reach.

Valko lifted his head as I spoke with the men who had been his to command only an hour ago. His eyes cut across the room to me with a gaze so sharp it rivaled the blades I’d taken from him. “You will suffer for this, Sonya.” His voice simmered with rage.

I didn’t acknowledge his fury. I didn’t let the edges of his fury so much as nick at my skin. I turned away. Shoulders erect, I strode down the long corridor, the trailing tongue of the dragon that would never ensnare me again.

With the brass key pressed to my breast, I left the corridor without a backward glance.

T
HE DUNGEONS WERE EMPTY OF GUARDS.
E
VERY
ABLE MAN
must have been recruited to defend the palace. I opened the heavy oak door leading to the solitary cell, which took all my remaining strength.

Anton and Tosya sprang to their feet and brushed straw from their trousers. Anton’s eyes rounded as they swept over my bloody hand and slashed-open sleeve. “Are you all right?” His voice was heavy with concern.

I nodded and straightened my back. But as I came nearer, my legs shook, each step more difficult than the last. I had let all the people’s auras go. Now I felt I was nothing but a common girl, exhausted at the end of a very long day.

Nevertheless, from the folds of my skirt, I brandished a shining brass key.

Tosya laughed, his hand covering his mouth.

Anton’s body stilled. He smiled softly, his gaze unwavering on mine. “I never doubted you.”

Tears threatened to fall again. I held them in check. All I wanted was to feel his arms around me. With trembling hands, I set the key to the lock and turned it over. The tumblers clanged with a beautiful sound. I pulled against the barred door and gave a small cry of frustration when it opened only a handbreadth. The jail master’s dead body blocked its path. I had no muscle to move him. Tosya lowered himself to the ground and pushed the man away with his feet. As soon as the door spread wide, I stepped over the poet’s legs and threw myself at Anton. His warmth embraced me, and at last I allowed myself to sob.

I’d never felt more wonderful.

“Shhh.” He stroked my hair. “Talk to me. What has happened?”

I steadied my breathing and looked up at him. I wanted to smile, to laugh, but only succeeded in spilling more tears. “You are no longer a prince.” His brows drew together. “The emperor has abdicated,” I said, answering his silent question. “The people have the government. They have
liberty
, Anton.”

He searched my eyes. After a moment, he asked, “Truly?” It was a mark of his profound amazement that his deep and resonant voice achieved a genuine whisper.

I nodded. “There is only one problem.”

“What is that?”

“They are still outside the gates.” I finally managed a smile. It radiated within me, brighter than the glow of the legion of
auras. “I’d like to let them in.” I slid my uninjured hand in his. “And I’d like you to come with me.”

Anton and I emerged from the darkness below, our arms full of gathered food from the kitchen pantries. Past the destruction of the amber lobby, we greeted the night sky. The smoke had lifted. The stars glittered above us, countless as the Riaznians waiting beyond the palace gates.

Tosya remained behind. He felt it his duty to take the jail master’s keys and free the other prisoners from the dungeons.

Now, with a retinue of willing servants trailing behind us and carrying baskets laden with breads, cheeses, cured meats, and dried fruits, Anton and I descended the palace steps and wove through the guards. Many had already removed their military coats. As the masses of peasants saw us approach with our offerings, they quieted and helped their injured comrades to their feet. Some shot narrowed glances at the Ozerov prince, but when their gazes fell to our joined hands, a portion of their worry abated. Whispers darted among them.

“It’s the girl from the balcony.”

“The sovereign Auraseer.”

“She was with the emperor when he abdicated.”

Anton and I crossed the gravel and came closer. The peasants’ wariness heightened, as if they worked to piece together what my role had been in the critical hour of battle—if I was a reluctant supporter of the revolution or genuinely on their side.

“It’s all right,” I assured them, and halted a few feet away.
“I stand with your former prince. He is the benefactor of Tosya Pashkov and the secret leader of this revolution. He is the bringer of your freedom.”

At that moment, Tosya appeared on the palace porch with a bedraggled entourage of prisoners.

“Tosya is a prisoner no more,” I added, watching the peasants’ eyes rivet to the poet and take fresh courage. “Neither are you the slaves to tyranny.” I turned to Tosya and prompted him with a nudge of my brows. If he was truly the face of this revolution, now was the moment to stake his claim.

He gave me a wry look, like he couldn’t believe I was making him do this. Drawing a deep breath, he shouted, “The mighty isn’t one, but many!”

The people’s voices erupted in a triumphant cry. Some echoed back his words, while others chanted his name like another refrain of hope. Tosya gave a little shake of his head and spared me a glance that said he might kill me later.

I bit down a smile and revolved to face the people. Each one of them was beautiful. I breathed in their auras, and I did more, I understood them—the struggle they had waged for so long to cling to their dignity, to the whispering belief that they held enough power to govern themselves.

As they wept and cheered, Anton touched my cheek and gently turned my gaze to his. “Make no mistake, Sonya,” he said. “
You
are the bringer of freedom.”

His pride and adoration spread warmth through my limbs. Right there, with the world watching—but with a tenderness
that made me feel secluded with him—Anton leaned down, and he kissed me.

I didn’t go light-headed or weak at the knees. Instead, my body infused with strength. That strength remained as Anton withdrew from my side and called upon a guard to open the lock of the palace gates.

I brushed my thumb once across the black ribbon on my wrist, and then I stepped forward and wrapped my fingers around the golden bars, welded together into a great door, oiled and perfectly balanced on its hinges.

I exhaled, and pulled it open.

M
ANY HEARTFELT THANKS GO TO:

My husband, Jason, for championing me, knowing this would happen, and being my steadfast Masterpiece Classics buddy. My three children for their constant support, even if it meant swatting my hands from the keyboard.

My ninja agent, Josh Adams, and Tracey and Sam at Adams Literary for their fierce belief in me and their stellar work on my behalf.

My editor, Maria Barbo, who deserves an honorary degree in psychology for her deep analysis on my characters and all the awesomeness she’s doled out on this novel. My designer, Amy Ryan, production editor, Kathryn Silsand, and everyone at Katherine Tegen Books/HarperCollins for your hard work, enthusiasm, and love for
Burning Glass
.

My brother, Matt, for taking my kidney—with it, I would have never started writing. My author dad, Larry, for being my
first critic years ago (and dealing with the fallout). My mom, Buffie, who doesn’t slay vampires but had ten children (and staked none of us) and who is my trusted reader. My uncle, Brian Crouch, who told me at Grandpa John’s funeral that I should write a book about an empath.

Sara B. Larson for referring me to our agent, lifting me up in the dark times (and on occasional high heels), and being my number-one fan and friend. Erin Summerill for dragging me out of my hermit’s lair and making me sit on her couch, eat color-sorted candy, and write.

My critique group: Robin Hall, my first critique partner, and Wymount Bestie, who helped me never give up on writing, especially when I sucked; Ilima K. Todd, my almost-sister, for honesty, laughter, the best emails ever . . . and for
Sweet Land
; and Emily Prusso, who weaves magical words and never forgets what is most important in life.

Emily Rittel-King for your faith, intuition, and always knowing when to call and chat about life and writing. Michelle D. Argyle for your friendship and giving me your old laptop so I had a working computer with which to write
Burning Glass
. Beta-reader extraordinaire, Daisy, who has read all my stories in less than two days.

Jacques Margeret, who wrote a cool firsthand account about Imperial Russia that inspired many things, including the subplot of the changeling prince. Matthew J. Kirby, who helped me discover where to begin my story.

Weronika Janczuk, Louise Plummer, and Carol Lynch
Williams for believing in me, taking a chance on me, and teaching me the craft.

And you, dear readers, for going on this journey with Sonya. Here’s a sprinkling of snow, a commemorative troika ride, and a buttery-brown smolder from Prince Anton.

My last and utmost thanks I give to God. Life is crazy hard and crazy beautiful. I’m glad You’ve got my back.

The peace is unstable. Enemies are close. And Sonya is more vulnerable than ever.

Sonya spent her entire life running from her fate as sovereign Auraseer. Now that the emperor has fallen and Riaznin is free, the people view her as either a threat—or a weapon.

As Sonya fights for a new role in her world, she senses a darkness lurking in the shadows of the palace. Someone from her past has returned seeking justice. And that someone won’t be satisfied until Sonya pays for the mistakes she’s made.

Sonya and Anton may have brought about a revolution, but can they protect their homeland—and their love—with so many forces threatening to tear them apart?

DON’T MISS THE THRILLING SECOND INSTALLMENT OF KATHRYN PURDIE’S BURNING GLASS TRILOGY.

KATHRYN PURDIE
lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, with her husband and three children. Kathryn is a trained classical actress from the Oxford School of Drama and was inspired to write this debut trilogy while recovering from donating a kidney to her older brother.a kidney to her older brother.
www.kathrynpurdie.com

Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

BURNING GLASS
. Copyright © 2016 by Kathryn Purdie. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

www.epicreads.com

ISBN 978–0-06–241236–2

EPub Edition August 2015 ISBN 9780062426635

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