Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(29)

“You know about that?” I followed her into my antechamber where a samovar of tea and the promised bun were waiting on a lacquered tray inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“Rumor spreads fast here. It isn’t every day we get a new Auraseer, or a girl who would dare present herself to the emperor without pinching in her waist and pushing up her curves.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t wait to meet you.”

I felt color stain my cheeks. I appreciated Pia’s open attitude toward me, but I doubted anyone else in the palace found my eccentricities so endearing. I sat on the couch and nibbled at my bun as she went to pour my tea. “What else have you heard?”

Pia tipped back the samovar when my cup was half full and glanced at the door leading to the hallway, as if Lenka might walk in at any moment. She bit the corner of her lip. “Is it true Prince Anton brought you here on a white stallion?”

“Yes,” I said carefully, “though it was a mare.”

She sighed and sank beside me on the couch, obliterating what small level of formality remained between us. “Was it very romantic?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was told you rode together on the horse.” Her eyes searched mine. “He’s handsome, don’t you think? And his story is so tragic.”

“Tragic?” I lifted my cup. Did she mean the loss of his mother?

“You know . . . how he was raised thinking he would rule Riaznin one day.”

I choked on my tea. “Oh?”

Pia’s brow creased. “You really don’t know?”

I shook my head and clutched my throat so I wouldn’t cough again. “Isn’t Valko the older brother?”

She scooted in closer. “Yes, but the boys grew up separately. There was always someone trying to assassinate or usurp Emperor Izia. So to protect his dynasty, he sent the princes to live far apart from each other—and from Torchev. Valko was only six when he left the palace, and Anton just five.”

“Why not keep them together?”

She shrugged as if it was simple. “To make sure there was still an heir in case one of them was killed.”

I gaped at her. “But why did Anton think he would be emperor?” For some reason my heart pounded faster. “Both boys lived.”

“No, they didn’t. Not according to the tale Anton was told—that all Riaznin was told. For years, the people of the empire believed Valko’s carriage was overtaken on the road to his hidden manor. He was discovered, and he was murdered.” Pia’s eyes were as round as my tea saucer.

I searched her aura for any lurking humor and found none. “That’s impossible.”

Enraptured by the horror of it, she touched my arm. Her energy heightened and pulsed through my veins. “Another boy was murdered in his place.”

“Wait . . . I do know this story. The changeling prince?” The Romska had a song about it. Tosya used to sing it to me. I’d assumed the tragedy happened long ago, when Riaznin was young. I hadn’t even been sure it was true.

Pia nodded. “They say the murder was staged to protect Izia’s eldest child, so that no further attempts would be made on his life.”

I was beginning to understand. “Meanwhile Anton thought he was the heir.”

“Until his father passed away, and Valko claimed the throne. Then Anton realized the full weight of what his father had done.”

I set my cup down and leaned back, processing the incredible story. By his actions, Emperor Izia had made it clear Anton’s life was less valued than Valko’s. Any would-be assassins would have sought out Anton as a child, while the true heir remained safe.

I thought of every moment I’d shared with Anton, remembered his underlying bitterness whenever he spoke of his brother, his despair over the death of the dowager empress. Their time together must have been precious and brief. How often had she been able to visit him in his seclusion?

Pia settled back beside me. “Thus the tragic prince.”

I fidgeted with my nightgown and folded a length of the skirt into pleats. “How can anyone be sure Valko isn’t the imposter?”

“No one can be. That’s why his life is so endangered, why he was almost assassinated, though his poor mother died in his place. It’s why you’re so important. Whenever he is in the nobles’ favor, they insist he is Izia’s eldest son. He looks so much like his father, the same distinguished brow, the same confidence. But when he is difficult—which is often,” she added under her breath, “the debate continues over the changeling prince.”

The door opened from the hallway. Lenka entered but halted when she saw my servant and me reclining side by side on the couch. Pia sprang to her feet and tidied her kerchief.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lenka frowned at Pia. “Haven’t you finished your breakfast?” she added, turning on me.

I shrugged, already bristling from her irritable aura.

“Well, it’s too late now,” Lenka said. “I’m to prepare you at once to attend the emperor.”

I exchanged a glance with Pia. My mind was still awhirl from all she had told me.

“You can take that tray back to the kitchen,” my head maid said to Pia, who gave me a sorry look that I could not finish my meal. “Go on.” Lenka clapped at her.