Burning Glass (6 page)

His eyebrows arched. “For someone trained in the nuances of emotion, you are quick to anger.”

“Trained?” I laughed, my blood flaming. “Don’t you see how
untrained
, how unqualified I am? My time spent
without
true freedom while evading
your
empire has cost me the years I could have honed my ability for the servitude that has now been thrust upon me! And if I am angry, it is only because I feel what you, yourself, have not restrained.”

“I am not angry.”

My fingers curled in frustration and clawed the seat. I felt a flash of blinding pain from the animal that was slaughtered for the leather beneath me and the meat it must have provided at the emperor’s table. But that pain was swiftly eclipsed by my fury that Anton was right. He wasn’t angry. “You must be,” I said, despite the fact his face wore only the markings of piqued curiosity, and nothing I sensed within him could contradict it. That realization didn’t diffuse my anger in the least. If anything, it heightened it.

“Do you never take responsibility for your own emotions?” he asked.

“They far too often belong to someone else.” My teeth were on edge. Why couldn’t he be angry? He’d had anger enough to spare at the convent. Why now make me out for the fool I was?

“Is it so difficult for you to discern the difference?”

I bit the inside of my cheeks to prevent myself from speaking. He would not bait me again. This conversation had proved disastrous. I’d set out to seek the answer to the mystery behind his driving a troika alone, and he’d divulged nothing, yet succeeded in stripping me bare of too many secrets—my upbringing, my history of escaping the law, and the humiliating truth that I was the most ill-qualified Auraseer in creation to meet the task lying before me.

Anton shook his head for a stretch of silence. “Valko will make mincemeat of you.”

Nostrils flared, I shifted away as far as possible until my hip pressed the cold side of the sleigh. I didn’t need him to remind me of my bleak prospects. “I’m going to sleep now,” I announced, as if I could lull my frazzled nerves so easily.

“Very well.” He flicked his wrists and sent a light whip along the reins to keep the horses apace. “Dream while you can, Sonya. All too soon you will awaken to a life even I cannot forestall.”

I scowled. What did he mean by that? Laying my cheek against the sleigh, I fidgeted and tried to get comfortable. Was he saying he would grant me another life if it were in his power? I pictured his boot tapping the stones of the convent while his gaze swept over me. He knew I would be no good as sovereign Auraseer. So of course he would choose another, if possible, and
let me go if it meant better serving his brother—his dynasty. I stewed over that until the steady clip-clop of the horses slowed my breath and made my thoughts scatter and drift until my anger ebbed away.

On the cusp of sleep, I heard my name, again and again, echoing across the expanse of my mind. There was something about the way he’d said it. Perhaps because it was the first time my name had fallen from his lips. Or perhaps it was the whisper of the feeling I had when he spoke it—
Sonya
—and the inkling that the prince had, after all, found a small measure of pity for someone else. Pity for a girl like me.

The irony was I no longer wanted his compassion. I wanted release, from
being
me, from being everything I was, or had done, or would do, which was just cause to be pitied all the same.

A
TICKLE OF SNOW ON MY NOSE AWAKENED ME.
T
HE SHARP
winter light bled through my eyelids, and when I peeked them open, I found I was alone in the sleigh. The horses’ heads lowered as they chomped on hay scattered across the frozen ground. I pulled myself into a sitting position. My body ached from hours spent tucked up at an odd angle.

Where was Anton?

A cottage to my right shaded me. Beyond it was a stable—too small for the troika. In the distance, a little village sprawled over the glistening snow. Wisps of smoke curled from every chimney. I imagined a comfortable inn. A warm meal. A soft bed. Why hadn’t we gone any farther? Why stop here?

I stood—Anton was mistaken if he expected me to remain in the sleigh for who knew how long—and a blanket fell off of me. I stared at it, bunched at my feet. It was wool and mossy green, embroidered at the ends with bright flowers. It wasn’t
one of the thin blankets I had wrapped around my shoulders, those I brought with me from the convent. I had the sneaking suspicion it was the blanket Anton had been sitting on as he drove the troika last night, though I hadn’t taken great pains to notice it in the darkness.

He must have laid it on me after I’d fallen asleep.

Some compulsion came over me to touch the shining threads of the embroidery. As soon as did, I gasped. A flood of powerful emotions washed through me. One of the flowers I’d brushed was a deeper shade of red than the others. Its darkness bloomed beyond its careful stitching. My stomach tightened. It must be blood. At the corner of the blanket, “K.O.” was monogrammed in silver lettering.

Katerina Ozerova. The dowager empress. Anton’s mother.

His murdered mother.

I recoiled. I didn’t want to touch the blanket again, but I couldn’t leave it on the floor of the sleigh. It somehow felt a disgrace to the deceased woman. Careful not to graze the blood-dried flower, I folded the blanket and returned it to Anton’s half of the seat.

After stepping down from the sleigh, I skirted quietly around the cottage. Some instinct warned me to be covert. Thankfully the snow wasn’t packed here like it was in Ormina. My footfall whispered along as if I walked in nothing more than dusting sugar. Approaching the corner of the house, I peered along its far outer wall.

Several feet away, Anton stood outside an open door, which
blocked whomever he spoke to at its threshold. A small and callused hand extended to the prince and gave him a satchel. Another hand followed, belonging to a third person—a man’s, judging by the size, and a noble’s by the amethyst ring that sparkled from his smallest finger. He passed Anton a folded piece of paper. The prince gave a determined nod and concealed the paper in the inner breast pocket of his cape.

I leaned forward and reached for the pull of emotion that might tell me what Anton and the others were feeling, but my hand slipped on the icy slats of the house. I made a small peep, fearing I might stumble over. Anton’s head jerked in my direction, and I thrust myself behind the wall.

My heart raced. My chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Had he seen me? I twisted my hands together. What did it matter if he had seen me? Why would I have assumed that I was intruding or that anything he was doing might be secretive?

Only one answer made sense: the guarded feeling came from
him.
Which confirmed he didn’t want me to witness the exchange. I thought over what I’d seen. Even with only their hands to judge them by, I concluded that one person—a woman—lived in this humble place, while another—a noble—did not. Were they having a forbidden tryst? If so, why did Anton bother to protect them from someone like me? Then again, I wasn’t just someone anymore, I was the sovereign Auraseer, the sixth sense of the emperor.

Anton’s footsteps drew nearer. They were rough, heavy. He didn’t pretend at being cautious anymore. Neither would I.

Commanding a show of confidence, I strolled around the corner and feigned a look of surprise. “There you are.” I smiled, which was a mistake. If he hadn’t suspected me before, he would now.

His eyes narrowed, and he gave me a curt nod of greeting. I’d probably offended him again by not dipping into a curtsy. I would need to learn the habit. The emperor would surely be less patient than his brother.

“Have we stopped to rest here?” I asked, acting as if I couldn’t see the satchel in his hands. There must be food wrapped inside, which meant we weren’t staying. “The emperor can’t expect you to make this journey round-trip without pausing to sleep. At the very least, the horses could use some time to regain their strength.”

Anton’s fine aristocratic eyes were dulled by shadowy half-circles. When was the last time he’d slept?

“If there were time to rest, I would have let you bury your friends,” he replied, his voice neither cold nor warm. A rush of sorrow stole my breath as I thought of Yuliya lying in her infirmary bed, stiff and silent awaiting her plot in the ground.

The prince’s gaze moved past me without meeting my eyes and fastened on the troika. “There’s a little food here if you’re hungry.” He handed me the satchel and walked around me to the sleigh.

I followed him. “That’s very kind of whoever lives here.” I bit my lip. “Do you know them?”

His shoulders broadened as he inhaled a large breath. “I
thought it wiser to stop here and pass the village entirely. I”—he cleared his throat—“might be recognized, and that would only slow us down.”

He stepped into the sleigh. The length of his breeched legs made the maneuver seem easy. This time I didn’t shun him when he offered his hand. He pulled me up with a strength that made me feel light and hollow like a nesting doll. But that delicate feeling vanished when the toe of my boot caught the lip of the sleigh. I yelped as my nose collided with the prince’s chest. Apparently there was no hope of me entering a troika gracefully.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning as I peeled away.

A bit of color also flushed his neck. He’d likely never been accosted in such a manner. Once more, his eyes fell to my nose, rather than holding my gaze. I began to wonder if I had some unknown deformity.

“You’re bleeding,” he observed.

I touched my nose, and a trickle of warmth slipped down to my mouth. “Oh.”

“Here.” He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. As he passed it, something fluttered to the ground. The folded piece of paper.

Blood forgotten, I ducked to fetch it just as he did. The paper fell open. Rows of cramped handwriting filled every space. The only words I made out before Anton snatched the paper away were
midnight
and
Morva’s Eve.

He stood abruptly. His cape rustled as he tucked the letter back inside. I remained kneeling and stared at the scratched floor of the sleigh while I chastised myself for my boldness. How would I excuse myself? After a moment, I settled for, “I’m sorry I caused you to drop that.” Awkwardly rising to my feet, I pressed the handkerchief to my chin, where my blood now dribbled.

The flush on Anton’s neck darkened to an angrier shade. Fire blazed along my nerves, but I tamped it down. It didn’t belong to me. I had nothing to be incensed about.

His jaw muscle taut, he sat on the bench of the sleigh and took up the reins. As he was about to snap his wrists and rouse the horses, his brow twitched. He glanced down at the mossy-green blanket beneath him, as if just remembering he’d last put it somewhere else.

I sat beside him. “Was that your mother’s?”

His eyes jerked to mine, smoldering like coals.

“Did she have it on her when she died?” I pinched my lips closed as soon as I’d asked the question. The answer was yes. The peaking fury rolling off of him confirmed it. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to bring up what I’d felt when I touched the embroidered threads. I’d meant to say something to curb his frustration, but I’d only made it worse.

His brows drew together in a flat, unflinching line. “Do you wish to discuss the death of your friend?”

I shook my head and instinctively reached for the black ribbon on my wrist.

“Then do not speak to me—
ever again
—about my mother.”

“I was only—”

“Ever. Again.”

I swallowed and nodded. My hands flexed as I fought to contain
his
rage that made my legs shake, my heart pound, my pulse flood my ears.

He blinked, checking himself. My breath came easier. He must be fighting to dam his emotions.

“You should eat something, then rest,” he said, and looked down at the handkerchief I held to my nose. Did he realize the difficulty I’d have in eating right now? “I hope to make it as far as Isker by nightfall. It would be better for us both if you went back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I don’t care.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Perhaps if we cannot talk of your mother, we can discuss what will happen at midnight on Morva’s Eve.” Feya help me, I couldn’t restrain myself. How was it possible when I felt exactly what
he
felt about me? His contempt for my impetuousness kept making that self-same trait multiply like a magician’s trick.

His eyes flashed, ready to strike me with lightning. He parted his lips, then clamped them shut again as he deliberated how to answer—how to deal with me.

My body trembled all over, completely at a loss of control. Half of me inwardly begged him to calm himself—calm
me
;
the other half welcomed his rage and how far he could push my limits.

A mad twist of a grin pulled at his lips. “Is this me, Sonya?” He gestured to my coiled tight arms, my clenched fists. “Are you nothing more than my reflection?”

I didn’t know how to answer him. The iron taste of blood wetted my mouth. I pinched my nose harder. “Of course I’m more than your reflection.”

He leaned forward. “Then I beg you, find that space within yourself and hold on to it, or you will not survive the emperor. If there is one thing I will share with you about my mother, it is that she always said
I
was the mild-mannered child.” He raised his brows and gave me a knowing look. “Think on that.”

Without another word, he whipped the three horses. The troika slid away into the countryside gliding through the powdered snow. I bumped along in my seat, but felt like I’d been tossed aside in a snowdrift for how stunned my mind was, how nimbly Anton had put me in my place. I yearned to dig in my heels at every mile we advanced toward Torchev. The emperor of Riaznin grew nearer to me, and with him the intense foreboding that I was sure to meet my death. The only thing that kept me from flinging myself off the sleigh and making a run for it were the images of Dasha’s and Tola’s faces and the idol in the pillow slip at my feet. I kept my leg pressed against it. My promise to Yuliya gave me strength. And what brought me more was the remembrance of my friend’s calm courage in the
moment of her death. I would not let Anton frighten me with his words. I would find that quiet space within myself, and I would cling to it.

Emperor Valko would not be the end of me.

Anton, for all his determination, could not stay awake to drive the troika through the second night. The third time he nodded off and tugged the reins askew, I demanded to drive the sleigh myself. The idea was abhorrent to him, even when I explained my experience with horses. The livelihood of the Romska caravans depended on their horse trade, and with my ability to sense auras, I had an uncanny skill for taming a wild horse. If I could ride bareback, surely steering a sleigh couldn’t be so difficult.

None of that mattered to the prince. Perhaps he thought I would drive the troika along a cliff and kick him into oblivion. The idea
had
crossed my mind.

At last he resolved to spend the remainder of the night at a small inn between villages. Removing his cape, he pulled a woolen cap over his royal head and wrapped his mother’s blanket around his shoulders, taking care to conceal its finely embroidered edges. He handed the innkeeper three coins and asked for one room to share with his wife. I blanched at that and the small bed the innkeeper revealed when he opened our door.

I needn’t have worried. As soon as the innkeeper left, Anton gruffly muttered, “Get some sleep,” and nodded to the bed while he rolled his mother’s blanket for use as a pillow on
the floor. I watched him a moment, deliberating on whether or not I could take the bed when he was more sleep deprived and of nobler blood. But when I saw him settle onto the floor planks to barricade the door, I flopped down on the bed and stretched out, giving an exaggerated sigh of pleasure. He hadn’t given me the bed out of kindness. He didn’t trust me. I hoped the floor worked knots into his back.

Something jostled me at the shoulder and wakened me when the room was gray and hazy in the light before sun. “What is it, Yuliya?” I asked, my arm thrown over my face in the position I always slept in.

“We need to be going,” came the deep rumbling voice of the prince of Riaznin.

The loss of my friend crashed down over me, fresh and acute. My heart squeezed from the weight of it. I didn’t move my arm. I didn’t want Anton to see the tears clouding my eyes. “I just need a moment,” I whispered.

His warm hand, still on my shoulder, lifted away. His footsteps receded until he stood by the doorway. I took measured breaths as I fought to exhale all my grief. Either that or trap it back inside. Now wasn’t the time to lose myself. Once I reached the palace, I would have my own room, my own place to mourn in solitude.

Anton didn’t say a word, not even when my emotions got the better of me and a quiet sob escaped my labored breathing. He kept his back to me and his head bowed during the several
minutes it took me to collect myself. His finger twisted around a loose thread of embroidery on his mother’s blanket.

At length I sat up, matted down my tangled braid, and crossed to the door. Anton’s chest expanded as if he was about to say something, but I couldn’t bear to listen. He’d told me I needed to control my emotions if I wanted to succeed as sovereign Auraseer. I couldn’t endure another lecture. I opened the door and left the room.