Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(117)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I STUMBLED THROUGH THE MAZE OF THE DUNGEONS. ABOVE the stone ceiling, more muffled pops of musket fire rang out. Distant shouts came as a growing roar, like I was nearing a massive waterfall. My heart pounded faster, harder. The auras of the peasant army rushed inside my breast and gave me fierce courage. I hurtled onward through the darkness.
Boom!
A huge blast echoed through the corridor and shook the ground and the very foundations of the palace. I crashed to my knees. The ceiling split apart with fissures. Chunks of stone rained down around me. I cried out as the panic of the servants, guards, and nobles burned like acid on my skin. My hand flew to the wall and groped for support as cramps of nausea racked my body.
The shaking stopped, but terror still seized me. It seized everyone. I pressed my fists to the sides of my head and rocked back and forth.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t bear the auras of both the oncoming revolutionaries and those fighting in defense of the palace. I couldn’t bear any of them.
After a brief lull, the shots fired again. The peasants took up their battle cries.
I fought to breathe, to stop all my limbs from trembling. I wanted to run back to Anton and burrow into his protective warmth. I pictured him in his jail cell, his ankles crossed over each other, his energy calm and assured. His faith in me gave him that confidence. I wanted to be the person he believed in, to see myself as he did. He always trusted that I had inner strength. Once on a snowy troika ride, he’d taught me how to prevent my loss of control. But the power he gave me over the onslaught of city dwellers was more than the distraction of his handsome face. It was an intangible power, rooted in something far more beautiful, which gathered its forces when the prince and I joined in unity.
I found that power now, past my sheer anxiety and racing fear. Deep within my aura, Anton’s radiant light and love still burned brightly. I let his presence fill me, combine with mine, and ground me with self-command.
Setting my jaw, I took a long breath. I got back on my feet.
As I clung to Anton’s aura, the myriad surrounding me abated until I was able to move and think of my own volition—until I was certain my feelings were my own. Rushing forward, I puzzled my way through the dungeons’ maze and finally reached the stone stairwell. I ascended to the main floor of the palace, traced my way back through the corridors, but skidded to a halt in the grand lobby. My mouth fell open in shock.
The amber floors were blasted apart in sections and littered with broken glass. Gunfire continued to pour inside and ricocheted off the walls, blowing bits off the marble statues. Servants screamed and ducked for cover, while others abruptly joined the revolutionaries and battled the guards with shards of glass and half-demolished beams.
Moonlight and torch fire flickered in through the shattered windows. Beyond them, I saw the peasants had yet to penetrate the gates of the palace. But they raged a war through its bars, never ceasing their volley of musket fire and screams for justice, for liberty. For the freeing of Tosya Pashkov. For the head of the emperor. The guards shot them down, but more rose up where their comrades had fallen, a ceaseless wave of fury.
The people’s auras were stronger now and attacked my thrown-up barrier with their own war of demanding emotions and sensations. Gritting my teeth, I breathed in slowly through my nose. I filled my lungs with air. I focused on the inner workings of my body, on my aura and Anton’s. And I stayed single-minded to my purpose, my mission—and not anyone else’s.
I crouched low with my arms wrapped protectively over my head and struggled to keep moving forward. I scrambled up the nearest flight of stairs and passed guards stationed on the steps, their muskets behind the ramparts of the banister, as if it were the crenellation of an ancient castle. They paid little attention to me. Either they didn’t know who I was and that I was wanted, or they no longer cared.
The muscles in my legs burned as I reached the third floor of the palace and leaned against a wall to catch my breath. Valko’s rooms stared at me from the end of the dragon’s tongue, the red carpet rolling out from his door.
My heart drummed. I set one foot in front of the other to inevitably close the distance to him. As I passed the door to my chambers, I pictured the statue of Feya on my windowsill. I touched two fingers to my forehead, then my heart, and prayed for the goddess to be with me—for Yuliya to lend me her calm peace from Paradise.
I remembered my friend’s bravery in the face of death, the feeling she had finally reached past her pain and terror. I’d only tasted that courage the first time I’d touched the blood spatter on Feya. From then on in my self-torture, I’d let go before the comfort could come. I allowed it to fill me now. It was always there, hidden inside me.
I prayed for Yuliya’s forgiveness, for the mercy of all those who had died because of me. The Auraseers of the convent. Pia. Yuri. Even the jail master. Each person had been dealt a harsh lot in this life. Each person tried their best to come out alive. I wanted them alive.
Anton was right. The world had seen enough death. I had the chance to stop any more from happening. At least on this day. At least in Torchev.
More than twenty guards surrounded the emperor’s door. Unlike below, here the soldiers recognized me and had me bound in their arms before I advanced any nearer.
I allowed them. They would not kill me. They would bring me faster to the person I must see. He stood where I’d left him, at the doorway to his balcony. Only this time he was dressed in his finest kaftan, his red sash tied diagonally from shoulder to waist, his saber hanging at his side, his ceremonial crown upon his brow. If he were to go down, he wouldn’t go down like a beggar. He would show his power until the very end.