Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(86)
Immediately, a sober demeanor overcame him. “Shhh.” He touched my lips, and my heart surged and beat faster. “Not here.” I nodded, and he pulled his hand away.
“I brought us cloaks.” He divided the bundle in his arms and gave me half. I draped the roughspun around my shoulders and pulled the hood up over my headscarf. So much for drawing out my hazel eyes. The prince donned his own cloak. “Ready?”
I followed him out the door to the stables and expected him to fetch Raina. I felt a little foolish when he came out with a tawny draft horse. Of course he would choose a less noticeable breed. Perhaps Pia wasn’t the only one with a romantic dream of what this night would hold. I needed to pull myself back to reality. I still didn’t know where we were going or what we were up to. Neither did I ask Anton as he saddled the horse and muffled its hooves with strips of cloth. As we readied to leave the palace grounds, my stomach fluttered and every part of me felt wide awake. I could scarcely keep from bouncing on my toes. The mystery of our destination only made our escape more thrilling.
We didn’t yet ride the horse. We walked alongside it as Anton sneaked us to a small gate at the side of the palace walls, not the main entrance at the southern front. He muttered something to the guards and handed over a purse. Apparently the prince schemed with more soldiers than just Yuri.
The gate opened and we slipped outside. My chest expanded, and I drank in the air that already tasted so much cooler and clean. I felt lighter on my feet the farther we progressed down a dim road enclosed by arching cherry tree branches. Their white blossoms dotted above us like stars. In our everyday clothes, I imagined we were peasant lovers stealing away in the night. If only the common life was such a sweet dream in Riaznin.
After turning into the third alleyway, Anton felt it safe for us to ride the horse. He lifted me onto the saddle and mounted behind me. His hands slid around my waist to take the reins, and I smiled as his heightened aura made my nerves sing. He could tease me all he wanted about my itching for freedom, but his eagerness was just as palpable.
As he nudged the horse along at a steady trot, we rode away from the noble quarter of the city to the fringes where commoners still roamed the streets in the dead of night. At the sight of them—the feel of them—my elation snuffed out. I hadn’t expected to encounter any stray auras tonight. I’d hoped Anton and I would be alone in whatever errand he’d fashioned for us.
The commoners’ Torchev dialect rang out harsh and lazy as they laughed over shared crocks of spirits or hollered at ladies sauntering across brothel balconies with pushed-up curves that nearly spilled out from their bodices.
All of their auras mixed inside me, dark and jovial and rebellious . . . yet also sad. Exhausted after a long and hard day and now seeking release. I leaned against Anton, not wanting to taste them too deeply. His arms moved in closer at my sides, as if he understood my difficulty.
“We’re almost there.” His rumbled attempt to whisper breathed warmth against my ear.
A burst of raucous laughter split the air. I flinched, but it wasn’t directed at us. Five or six young people were playing some sort of game with rocks on the road. They clapped one of their comrades on the shoulder. The boy must have won. He was gangly but round-faced, probably no older than fourteen. His friend shoved coins into his pockets and tossed him toward the brothel doors. He grinned, but his foreboding drummed inside me. I closed my eyes, feeling at once sick and disgusted and sorry for the boy, a reflection of his own emotions. Trying to purge myself of his energy without losing the contents of my stomach, I turned my head into Anton’s chest and inhaled his pine scent like a lifeline.
“Just another moment, Sonya,” he promised.
I nodded. The auras of the peasants were harder for me to resist acting upon than those of the nobles in the palace. The city people were brasher, more open, and while the nobles weren’t any less decent at heart, they were more skillful at masking their feelings to survive the game of politics they played.
True to Anton’s word, he led us back around the brothel to an even narrower alleyway, thankfully empty of people. At its end, we passed through the gate of a small lodging. The prince helped me off the horse and tied him to a lone tree in the yard. Taking my hand, he led me to a door of patched-together wood. He rapped three times.
A middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and a red bulbous nose appeared on the threshold. She grunted. “He said you would be coming”—her small eyes looked the prince over before scrutinizing me—“but not another tart. We have enough of you around here.”
I would have been offended, but the woman’s aura radiated more fear than revulsion. I hoped Anton was right about no one recognizing us.
He broadened his chest. “Don’t insult her,” he said to the woman, while clutching my hand tighter. “She is respectable. I assure you he will want to see her once he knows she is here.”
Who were they were speaking about? Who would want to see me?
The woman pursed her lips. “If he says no, the girl leaves. No more words about it.”
“Agreed.”
The woman grunted again and spared me another glance before moving back to let us in. We entered a cramped lobby with peeling paint. A rack strung with shabby coats and shawls was the only decoration. The woman left us and hobbled up a flight of rickety stairs. She seemed to have an ailment in her leg.
“What is this place?” I asked Anton.