Burning Glass (Burning Glass, #1)(87)
“A house for boarders, often fugitives or those seeking somewhere to stay when they travel to the city and don’t wish the authorities to know.” He let go of my hand and drew back his hood, unlacing his cloak and hanging it on the rack.
I did the same and adjusted my headscarf. “Why does the woman risk the occupation?”
“Her name is Ruta, and she is desperate”—he sighed—“like anyone dwelling in this quarter. She has no family and must make a life for herself the only way she can.”
I looked over my slumlike surroundings, more grateful for my own lot in the empire. “Who does Ruta think you are?” They seemed to know each other.
“A university friend of ‘the gypsy,’ as she calls him just to try to provoke him.”
Gypsy? My heart pounded faster. “Anton, who are we here to see?”
“You must call me Gavril.”
“Gavril, then,” I said impatiently, “who is here?”
The stairs creaked. A young man stood on the landing and held a candle. He wore a vest and flowing peasant shirt with the sleeves rolled back to expose his long arms. His legs were also long, stuffed into trousers and worn leather shoes. In fact, everything about him was long, even his endearing face. I gasped, my mouth stretching into a wide smile. “Tosya?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TOSYA TOOK ONE STEP DOWN THE STAIRS, AND HIS GAZE NARROWED. Did he truly not recognize me? I had seen him every spring for eight years, though the last one we’d shared together was a full two years ago. Tosya had been my family among the Romska, the closest person I had to a brother. I pulled the scarf off my head. The motion brought my blonde braid over the front of my shoulder. His eyes popped wide. His lips parted as if to say my name.
Anton put a hand on my back. “Tosya, you remember Klara, don’t you?”
Tosya blinked, quickly catching on. “Yes, yes, of course.” He turned to Ruta, who had carefully watched his reaction. “It’s all right. This girl is, uh, Gavril’s . . .”
Tosya and Anton spoke over each together, finishing my introduction.
“Cousin.”
“Wife.”
I jerked my head up to Anton.
Even in the dull light, I saw color sweep his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “We’re married now. I married my cousin.”
Tosya’s brows lifted as he suppressed a grin. “You have my congratulations.”
Anton gave him a warning look.
“Very well.” Ruta frowned. “But I don’t want any trouble. Go to the parlor and keep your voices low. I won’t have you waking the other guests.” As Tosya descended the stairs, Ruta tugged her shawl closer. “There’s a tray of bread and jam in the kitchen, and a bottle of kvass in the cupboard.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tosya assured her. “Get some sleep.”
She grumbled, muttering to herself as she hobbled back to where her upstairs room must have been.
“I think she likes you,” I whispered when I was sure she was gone.
“I’m a favorite with all the ladies.” Tosya preened himself by smoothing his vest.
I laughed, and he hopped off the last step and swooped me up in his arms. He kissed my cheek and set me down. “Did you get shorter?”
“No.” I smacked his chest. “You got taller.”
“That’s what my friends keep telling me, but I have this theory that everything in the world keeps shrinking but myself.”
“Hmm. I think your education gave you an ego.”
“A necessary requirement of a poet. That and a wide range of insecurities.”
I laughed again and shook my head as I breathed in all of him. He carried the scent of the forest mulch and campfires surrounding the Romska wagons. His aura was equally familiar—light on the surface, but beautifully deep and awe-inspiring beneath, like the sea under shallows where the sunlight reaches. “It’s so good to see you.”
“And you.” His humor simmered to something more sincere for a moment. Then he clapped Anton’s arm. “I can’t believe you went off and got married without telling me!”
The prince lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Don’t start. I had to say something since you were tripping all over your words. You’re better with a quill, you know.”
Tosya scowled at him and threw me a teasing smile. “Your husband is frank to a fault.”
Anton groaned. “Shall we move to the parlor?”
“And domineering,” I added.
Anton brushed past us, muttering, “Maybe it was a mistake bringing you two together.”
Tosya and I giggled like naughty children and fell in tow behind him.
The parlor was at the back, down a narrow hallway and adjacent to the kitchen. Everything in the lodging was a little off-kilter, from the slanting floors to the crooked windowsills and doorframes. But with Tosya at my side, the place was starting to grow on me.
We sat around a small, circular table, probably meant for a game of cards. Our three pairs of knees kept colliding—Anton’s because he sat closer to me, and Tosya’s due to the length of his legs.
Tosya set his candle on the table and leaned forward, his chin propped on a knuckled hand. “I never imagined I’d see the two of you under the same roof. How is it you know each other?”