Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(75)
I rolled my eyes. Of course I wasn’t finished. The volume wasn’t thick, but the reading was dense. I’d never studied much poetry before. Ironic, since Tosya had been my reading teacher.
Closing the book around a finger to mark my spot, I said, “Tosya was in a caravan I traveled with every spring. He was like family to me. He would sing me songs and read me stories. He knew how to make me laugh when I thought I’d never laugh again.”
I saw him in my mind’s eye. Tosya had a stretched look from his brows to his chin, the opposite of Valko’s slightly smashed appearance. In fact, everything about Tosya was long—his nose, his fingers, his legs. His aura was just as lengthy, so open there was space for me to crawl inside and escape the world for a time.
“How do you know him?” I asked Anton. Tosya was intelligent, but as poor as any Romska boy. How would he ever have had the means or connections to write a book of poetry and have it published unless he had a benefactor? Could that have been Anton? How would Tosya’s path have even crossed with that of a prince?
“You weren’t the only one Tosya graced with his friendship,” Anton said with a smile.
I thought of Montpanon, the village close to Trusochelm Manor where the prince had been raised. The Romska camped nearby at the eastern front of the Bayac Mountains when they tracked herds of wild horses. “When did you meet?” I asked Anton. “How?”
“Good night, Sonya. Keep reading.” The midnight-blue door closed. I groaned and threw a pillow after it. Then I picked up the book again.
Valko kept to his rooms for five days. He didn’t emerge to see Floquart and his entourage of foreigners leave, and I doubted the emissary would have allowed it. I pitied the Esten Auraseer who must accompany Floquart and regretted my missed opportunity to somehow free her from her abuser. At the very least I had a respite from mine, for the emperor also abandoned his council meetings and dinners with the nobles. As for the servants in the palace, after the frenzy of preparing for the ball, they fell back into their quieter routines. My muscles eased with their relaxed auras. In the city, a few small celebrations were held in honor of the fertility goddess, Morva, highly neglected by the nobles, who were too weary from dancing and sick from head-splitting goblets of aqua vitae.
In the healing quiet of those days, I wrote a letter to Sestra Mirna, asking after Dasha and Tola; I allowed Lenka the painstaking task of trimming my thick hair; and I let Pia sneak me midday snacks and tell me at length about Yuri’s eyes and his promise to marry her. His parents were warming to the idea of having a serving maid as a daughter-in-law. “Just wait until they discover I’m well educated, too,” she’d said brightly. To that I’d smiled. “Are you saying you’d like to tackle arithmetic next?” I’d shrugged with a dramatic sigh. “There I cannot help you.” She’d laughed and read me the last page of the Armless Maiden story, her words slow and labored, but filled with wonder as she reached the climactic moment where the maiden mystically grew back her limbs to save her baby from a well.
My favorite parts of each day were the stolen hours when I crept into the tapestry room to do my own reading. Curled up on the bed, I’d open Tosya’s book of poetry.
The throne is the land to seat the mighty.
The mighty isn’t one, but many.
On the fifth night, my candle—one of many I’d replaced since Anton gave me the book—was a nub of wax. Its flame sputtered on its last bursts of light. The prince knocked and opened the door.
I sat up. “I’m not finished yet!”
He closed the door before my pillow could hit him in the head. Giving a little laugh, I plunked back down, but the movement stirred the air and my candle snuffed out. I sighed and shut the book for the night. More for tomorrow. With any luck, Valko would remain in his rooms.
He didn’t. Lenka came bright and early the next morning with her clapping hands and announced the emperor required my presence. He meant to take me on a stroll through the palace gardens. A pit of dread formed in my stomach. How freeing it had been to escape Valko’s attentions for a time. The bruise on the back of my head had almost healed.
I met the emperor in the lobby outside the great hall. He wore somber colors—a dark, olive-green cape over a gray shirt and breeches. Lenka hadn’t divined his mood, for I was donned in a dress of pale yellow with a lavender jacket that formed to my waist and fell to the first ruffle of my skirt. I felt ridiculous and longed for the simple clothes of the convent Auraseers and unrestricted styles of the Romska. But if I’d hoped to camouflage myself into the emperor’s flower beds, Lenka had served me well.
I settled my gaze on the bridge of Valko’s nose—Anton’s trick to distance himself from me—and swallowed as I curtsied. The emperor’s bridled temper made me at once suspicious, and I felt a bit shy in his presence, remembering how helpless and broken he’d been in my arms. I couldn’t predict how he’d act around me now, if he’d seek to prove his superiority or let the incident bolster his trust in me. His aura was remarkably reserved. I allowed myself an easy breath for the moment, but kept my muscles tense.
“Shall we?” He offered his arm. I saw no alternative but to take it.
Two liveried servants opened the doors leading to the rear of the palace. Birdsong filled the air as I inhaled the scent of green things after such a long winter. Tulips, daffodils, and mimosa grew in clever bunches amid the sculpted hedges and blossoming trees. Pavers in the manicured lawns created a labyrinth of private walkways. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. I already commiserated when I’d have to return back inside again.