Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(115)
I gaped at him. “Well, then go and tell your friend he fetched the wrong set.”
“This is the only set, the only ring! Don’t you understand? The jail master doesn’t have the key.”
The weak fabric of hope holding me together threatened to rend at the seams. “Then we must find it.”
“If he doesn’t have it, no one in the dungeons does.” Yuri paced away and kicked up the straw. He left the last key jammed in the lock.
“Valko has them,” Anton said, looking at all of us with grim acceptance. “He must. It makes perfect sense. He’s sought to have me imprisoned for ages. Now that he’s succeeded, he won’t trust anyone one else with the means of releasing me. He’s too suspicious of his own people—too worried, in the end, of their loyalty to him.”
My stomach hardened into stone with the heavy weight of dread. “I must return to the emperor.”
“No, Sonya,” Anton said resolutely. “I won’t ask that of you.” Tosya kept his lips sealed and lowered his eyes, entrusting his fate to his friend.
“I must. I won’t leave you here! What if the revolution doesn’t succeed?”
“It’s going to succeed.” Yuri broadened his chest. “And you needn’t worry about the emperor. Just grant me access, and I will finish him. I won’t fail this time.”
Despite the desperation of the moment, the urgency, and the blood rushing through my veins, I felt a darkness in Yuri. And I recognized it—its snakelike writhing in my gut. I’d also felt it the night of the ball, when I was sure someone meant to kill Valko. But Yuri never tried to kill him then—never failed at that time—only plotted. What failure, then, was he referring to? Suddenly understanding dawned on me, as crystal clear as the goblet Yuri must have tainted. “You killed the dowager empress,” I gasped.
Yuri’s mouth fell open. His eyes flew wide, darting to Anton. “What are you speaking of?”
“You tried to kill the emperor before, by poison,” I said. “You evaded Izolda by using Pia.” The mystery unfolded before me like a row of painted murals. “The sovereign Auraseer would never have detected an unknowing girl’s involvement. You wouldn’t have told Pia, of course. She was too pure to ever consider being your accomplice. But it would have been simple enough—perhaps something laced in the herbs of the emperor’s tea. You could have dropped it in while kissing Pia in the kitchens. Of course, you would have made sure to be far away when it was administered, so Izolda wouldn’t sniff you out. But you still failed. The empress consumed what was meant for her son.”
“This is absurd!” Yuri shifted backward. His neck and ears flushed red.
“She was with me,” Anton said, more to himself than anyone else. “My mother had taken up the custom of bidding me good night to make up for all the times she couldn’t. After she spoke with me, she went to see Valko. I was on the verge of sleep when I heard shouts to summon a physician. I ran into Valko’s room and . . . I was with him when our mother drew her last breath.” The tendons of his throat contracted as his eyes flashed to Yuri. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”
The soldier’s beard trembled near his mouth. His aura nearly buckled me over with grief and madness. “The revolution was at a standstill,” he said, his confession pouring out of him. “Nicolai was scarcely persuading any nobles, and you denied Feliks his desire to gather the peasants for a public revolt. Meanwhile, the empire grew stronger, more oppressive . . .” He shook his head in misery. “I found out from another guard that Valko forced himself on Pia,” Yuri finally admitted, as if that were the root of his justification.
I blinked. Had Yuri known all this time what Pia had labored to conceal from him? The truth made my heart ache for my friend.
“I was incensed!” Yuri said, and gave Anton a pleading look. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I swear to you, I never meant to harm your mother.”
The prince’s brows were unflinching. “You didn’t harm her, you killed her.”
Yuri dropped his chin. His wretchedness was palpable as he lowered his gaze. “Forgive me,” he whimpered.
Anton’s diamond-hard aura locked my knees and straightened my spine. “You are to leave this palace, leave Torchev,” he commanded. “I don’t ever want to see you again. And you will not lay a finger on my brother.”
“But . . .” Yuri’s eyes rounded. “He killed Pia. He’s killed thousands. He deserves to die.”
“Valko will face trial, and his fate will be determined by the voice of the people, not you.”
A wave of hurt crashed over Yuri. He flared his nostrils. “You are not my superior. You taught me that. You cannot order me in anything. I will have my way with Valko, and you won’t be at liberty to stop me.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me to the wooden door.
“Let her go!” Anton rattled the bars.
Yuri whirled on him. “We all have a price to pay for this revolution. You taught me that, as well. This is hers.”
The wooden door flew open on its hinges—but not by Yuri. A bleary-eyed hulk of a man burst inside. His gaze riveted on the ring of keys dangling from the prison cell’s lock. Yuri reached for his knife, but the man—no doubt, the jail master—already had his dagger unsheathed. With one clean swipe, he dragged it across Yuri’s throat. I cried out as my captor crumpled over. His knife tumbled across the floor until it clanged against the iron bars.