Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(21)
“Don’t think about them,” Anton said, realizing what I was doing when my head craned to study a guard we were passing. “We’re almost there.”
My eyes lifted to the palace. Up close, it looked less like a confection, more like the ominous structure it really was. A pretty cage to belie what it held within.
Something winked from the leaded glass of a window three stories off the ground, almost like the sun had bounced off a mirror or a large jewel. Anton’s body straightened behind me as he looked up. Then his arms stiffened. “I have to go,” he said, and abruptly dismounted the horse. Keeping his head low, he quickly pulled the satchel off his shoulder and passed it over to me after withdrawing his mother’s blanket. He tucked it under his arm and departed.
“Anton?” I stared after him.
He paused, no more than ten feet from me, and half turned without meeting my gaze. “Remember what I told you, Sonya. Find a space within yourself and cling to it. Don’t lose yourself here.” His eyes shifted to the upper window. “Not to him.”
Before I could form a reply, Anton strode away, his dusk-blue cape billowing in a brilliant arc behind him. Gone was the almost friend from the last hour, the steadying hand, the assuring voice. I saw the boy assume the role of prince in the way his boots clipped the stones, in the proud set of his chin and the narrowed slit of his eyes. He entered the palace without sparing me another glance.
My chest fell. He had done his duty to his brother. He had brought back the eldest Auraseer intact. What sheer relief he must feel to be done with me.
The stable master came and helped me off the horse. The palace doors opened and out streamed a flock of maids and attendants. Their pulsing auras revealed their surprise at the unusual delivery of the new sovereign Auraseer. I steeled myself as I let them guide me up the curving steps of the great porch, all the while mourning the sudden absence of Anton. I could no longer hide behind the folds of his cape or let the color of his eyes be my distraction.
My feet crossed the threshold into a spacious lobby where amber-inlaid floors gleamed back at me. I gazed beyond them to four sets of marble staircases, each twirling flight topped with golden rails. A magnificent painted ceiling loomed overhead. The seven gods of Riaznin sat on seven mighty steeds. At their center, beaming with seven rays, was a red sun, the symbol of Torchev—of the emperor.
I breathed in, breathed out, and sought with desperation that place Anton had urged me to find. A place of solitude within my heart. A place no other person could abuse or dominate.
I prayed such a place existed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I WAS LED TO A BEDROOM ON THE THIRD FLOOR OF THE PALACE—a great honor. The third floor was reserved for the royal family, meaning the only two left: Emperor Valko and Anton.
I refused to let myself feel important for sharing such close proximity to the emperor. As his protector, of course I needed to be nearby. If anything, it felt like a punishment rather than a blessing. I was not ready for this responsibility. Though when I saw what “close to the emperor” really meant—rooms at the opposite end of the longest corridor I’d ever seen—some relief opened my balled hands. They fisted again when I thought twice about my removed situation. Was I near enough to send warning of assassination or robbery or whatever the emperor deemed worthy of my intervention?
A luxurious rug rolled out from the gilded door of the emperor’s rooms like the red tongue of a dragon. I counted the repeating flowers woven into the design. Too many, stretching too far away. No wonder Izolda had been executed. She was well past her middle ages. Perhaps she couldn’t run down this corridor fast enough. I wasn’t sure I could do any better.
My attendants guided me inside my rooms and set my satchel on a table. I braced myself for excess, for the opulence that marked every corner and every bit of trimming in the palace. My antechamber didn’t disappoint my expectation, though I couldn’t say it pleased me. My idea of comfort would have been a bed of earth under a leafy tree, soft grass for my carpet, a ceiling painted with living stars. My time with the Romska had taught me true beauty, and it was not in the room before me.
The velvet couches had a stylish shape, but looked stiff and uninviting. In fact, nothing appeared welcoming. Every item seemed designed for one purpose—to impress. The walls were papered in a rich pattern, so red it made my head ache, and the varnish of the desk and tea table shone so highly polished that I was afraid to touch them and cause some poor servant the extra chore of rubbing away my fingerprints.
A furnace towered from floor to ceiling in the corner of the room, its surface covered in beautifully painted tiles. I was glad to have warmth in the winter, but I couldn’t help wondering at the expense of such artistry when a simple wood-burning stove would do. The people of Riaznin were burdened beyond the breaking point from taxation. I hoped the majority of their money didn’t go into prettying up the emperor’s home—my home.
My attendants bustled around me. “Is she truly the eldest Auraseer?” one maidservant whispered to another as they stoked the fire behind the grate of my furnace. Both girls looked to be my age. They were surely used to a sovereign Auraseer outranking them by years, not to mention in clout. I lifted my chin and did my best to appear unaffected by the disbelief radiating from them in waves. They couldn’t see my hand behind my back, where I wrapped a loose thread from my sleeve around my finger, making it throb with trapped blood. That sensation kept me tethered when this roomful of intrusive auras threatened to tunnel into my mind, make me lose all my wits, and expose me for the undeserving fool I felt I was.