Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(19)

My head throbbed. I couldn’t concentrate. Behind Anton, flocks of strangers stared and pointed. The road grew more crowded as the steady influx of people were bottlenecked in. Anton shook me, drawing me back to him. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“Well . . . you,” I replied in exasperation.

“What about me? What color are my eyes?”

My vision dotted with stars. I wasn’t breathing properly. “Brown.”

“What kind of brown?”

I wanted into curl into a ball and make myself disappear, hide from the city dwellers of Torchev, from their brazen curiosity, their shameless amazement, their confounding presumptions of me. Instead, I clung to the intense challenge of Anton’s gaze. In the broad daylight, with no moon to soften the edges of him, with no trees to cast him under their mottling shade, I saw the prince with new clarity. “Butter,” I said.

“Butter?”

“Butter,” I repeated.

“Butter is not brown.”

“It is when it simmers in a pot and smells dark and nutty.”

One of his eyebrows lifted in submission. “Very well. And what of my nose?”

“This is foolish.” I sneaked a glance behind him at the people.

“You think my nose is foolish?”

“No!” I whirled back to him. “No, of course not.”

“I was told I have my grandfather’s nose.”

“Did your grandfather have a small mole on the bridge, nearly touching his right eye?”

“He did not.”

“Then you have been lied to, Prince Anton.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Tell me about my hair.”

My heart pounded. How many people were watching us? How many knew I could see into them? “I’ve never met a boy so vain.”

“My hair, Sonya,” he said, keeping me on task.

I swallowed. “I like it windblown. No doubt you will have it slicked to perfection once we reach the palace.”

“Speaking of reaching the palace, at the snail’s pace we’re traveling, I don’t believe I’ll have enough body parts left for you to discuss.” Something glinted in his eye. “You’re right. There are far too many people.”

“Yes . . .” What was he thinking? “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” If only my ability allowed me to read his thoughts. I used to pretend I had a gift for that type of divining with some of the Romska caravans—it helped me earn my keep and complemented the trade of their fortune-tellers—but the truth was I was as blind to mind reading then as I was now. But what did it matter? I found myself fascinated with the mystery of Anton, with the perfect shape of his mouth, with the thinness of his upper lip, which had once made him look so stern. Somehow, despite the masses surrounding us, my sights and senses had entirely trapped on him. I released a marveled breath. How had he done it? How had I?

“Do you promise you will stay in the troika while I do something?” he asked.

My nerves flashed with anxiety. “Are you leaving me?”

“No, Sonya.” His hand squeezed my side, then carefully drew away. “I’m going to get us to the palace even faster. Would you like that?”

I nodded, though I felt unsure. My thoughts were tangled.

“Then stay thinking on me a moment longer.”

He waited, his gaze intent until I nodded again.

He brought us to a full stop before the fountain of the square, then rose and jumped out of the sleigh. I watched him in earnest as he began to unharness one of the horses with practiced hands. My emotions were better grounded, but I was frayed and exhausted. I might lose power over myself if I wasn’t careful.

“Feliks!” Anton called out. A young man with a trimmed beard and red cap emerged from the crowd. “Watch these horses and troika and bring them back to the palace when you’re able.”

Feliks nodded without question or exchange of money. His piercing blue eyes slid to me as he assisted the prince. Once the single horse was unharnessed, Feliks took the bridle of one of the others and whispered something to Anton. “Later,” was the prince’s muttered reply.

In any other circumstance, I would pause to puzzle over Feliks, how Anton knew him, how he knew he would be there, and why he trusted him with two expensive horses and a troika that belonged to the crown. But with too many emotions battling for ground within me, my questions surrounding the man quickly fled my thoughts.

That is until Anton passed him the folded slip of paper from his pocket—the letter I’d tried to read. Anton tried to be covert about the switch, but I caught a flash of white in Feliks’s palm after he shook the prince’s hand in farewell. I remembered another man then. The man hidden by the cottage door where Anton had stopped on our journey to Torchev. The man with the amethyst ring. The man who had given Anton the letter he’d just passed to Feliks.

“Sonya.” The prince rounded the sleigh and held out his hand. “Are you ready?”

A flare of panic lit inside me. I looked at the people crowded behind him. If I stepped outside the troika and any nearer to them, I would only sense their auras that much stronger.

“It’s all right,” Anton assured me.

I took a deep breath and reached for the pillow slip that held my sole belonging.