Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(26)

His hair was slicked back, the windblown look from our journey gone. He wore a green silk kaftan. Its hem skimmed his thigh in the new fashion and was belted low at the waist with a brown strap of leather that matched his dark boots. I took in his furrowed brows and pressed lips. I didn’t need to decipher his aura to know he was displeased. His eyes fell to my hair, to my gown, and a feeling of nakedness came over me, worse than when Lenka and my maids had assessed my body. Perhaps I should have worn the fur-lined robe and headdress. Clearly without them, I gave offense. And with them, I’d have had all the more layers to hide beneath.

I glanced away from the prince and lifted my chin, taking a keen interest in a sconce on the wall, surely the most ordinary thing in the room. For all my rapt attention, it could have been a wreath of diamonds.

At length, the emperor and his councilors decided their untimely conversation was over. Valko seated himself, followed by the court nobles doing the same. Together, they were a wave of rustling taffeta and scraping chairs.

My heartbeat quickened. I clutched the skirt of my dress. I didn’t want to call notice to myself by standing alone, but every seat seemed occupied—every seat except the last chair at the emperor’s table. Was it reserved for the sovereign Auraseer?

It must be. It would be an ideal position for protecting him.

I took three steps in that direction when Anton shook his head. The motion was subtle, but clearly spelled no. I halted. The look on his face said I nearly escaped the social blunder of the century.

Emperor Valko was unaware. He took a sip of wine and idly traced the stem of his crystal goblet. I still had time to find my place.

I scanned the room. The people were a riot of pearls and feathers and winter pastels. For the life of me, I couldn’t find a vacant chair.

Anton’s eyes widened a fraction, and he tipped his head to the left. I frowned. He tipped it again. I glanced to that side of the room. Still no chair. He picked up his fork, and while polishing it on his napkin, pointed its prongs to the left. I shrugged my shoulders. He gave the fork a pronounced wiggle.

Where? I mouthed.

There? His lips pursed the silent word.

The emperor’s gaze lifted and narrowed on his brother, two seats away. Then his imperial eyes found me. I cursed the seven gods and stumbled a curtsy, ducking my head as I rushed to my left, where I demanded a chair to materialize.

A heavyset woman shifted and leaned to her plate, and the magical chair appeared. I promptly sat upon it and spent several long moments arranging my napkin just so on my lap, all the while praying that the burning in my cheeks looked like a healthy flush and not bright splotches of embarrassment. At last, I stole a glance at the dais.

Emperor Valko was still watching me.

Anton had taken up the fine art of buttering a roll. The emperor’s gaze flicked between us, but the prince didn’t acknowledge me again.

Valko whispered to the councilor on his right. The man skimmed the crowd. His eyes riveted to mine. The man nodded, then whispered to Anton, seated on his right. This was like some infuriating child’s game where I was the target of the prank. Anton set down his knife and muttered a reply, never again looking in my direction. The councilor passed the message to Valko, who arched his brows. His gaze returned to me, and he leaned back in his chair. What had happened was simple enough to determine—the emperor had confirmed I was his Auraseer.

He stared without blinking, with the steady eyes of a man intimidated by nothing. In contrast, I seemed to have collected a dozen lashes on my eyeballs for how they twitched and glanced about. I strained to focus on anything but him—when I saw only him. The flush of heat stubbornly clung to my cheeks.

A servant brought me a bowl of creamed beet soup. I took up my spoon straightaway, grateful for the distraction. But even with my vision centered on the murky purple liquid, I felt the weight of Valko’s stare. His aura spun around mine, curious, mildly annoyed, and, above all else, no longer bored. How lovely for him. I, on the other hand, was left with my own mess of emotions and, worse, trapped in one of those rare moments I couldn’t borrow, blend into, or be blinded by another person’s energy.

I drew into myself and avoided the fleshy elbows of the noblewoman beside me. I kept swallowing my soup without troubling to cool it. I waited for Anton to look at me. I waited for Valko to stop. When my bowl was empty, I set down my spoon and clasped my hands below the table as I fought not to wring them.

Valko lifted two fingers and whispered something to the servant who came to his side. The servant took a silver platter of meat from the emperor’s table, stepped off the dais, and wove around the first table to the second—to me.

My stomach spasmed. My mouth clamped shut. At last, the flush left my cheeks. My blood drained away with a sickening prickle. All heads in the room revolved to watch that silver platter approach me. With a flick of his fingers, the emperor had done what I’d sought to avoid all evening—draw attention to myself. And in the worst way possible. In a way that couldn’t please him. Because I would not eat that meat.

The servant stopped before me, and his heels clicked together. I wanted to crawl under the table, rip open the floor, burrow a hole through the frozen earth until I found the Romska camps. I could hide in the woods with Tosya, who always made me feel safe. “His Imperial Majesty, the Lord Emperor and Grand Duke of all Riaznin, favors you, Sovereign Auraseer,” the servant said.

The room perked up with interest once my title was revealed. A flurry of whispers emerged from the nobles like a flock of hidden birds. Just as quickly, everyone hushed as they waited to see what I would do. A distracting swell of energy lanced the edges of my awareness. I didn’t entertain it. I forced myself to glance at the meat. Instinctively, my nose wrinkled. Roast swan. The head still intact. The beak open and stuffed with stewed figs. The bird’s eyes were seared shut. It looked like it was crying.