Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(48)
Valko’s fingernail slid over my knee and sent a pleasured chill up my spine. I fisted my hands to ward off a flush to my cheeks. I couldn’t allow him to get to me like this, not when he would soon have a bride. “My expansion into Shengli,” he clarified with a smile. His gaze pierced mine and searched for what I was feeling, thinking.
“Oh, yes, of course.” I collected my thoughts, surprised that he had asked for my opinion on the matter. He’d never asked for my opinion in this setting. No one had. But I did have my own feelings regarding the continuing border wars with Estengarde and the ones resurfacing with Shengli after decades of peace. And now, with the strength of the emperor’s forthcoming marriage alliance, he wanted to lay siege against Shengli and annex it into our empire. As there was no daunting mountain range between us, Shengli was easier to invade than Estengarde and had more plentiful resources of gems and timber. But the Shenglin army, a lethal force of mastered discipline and skill, posed its own formidable barrier between us.
Valko’s councilors had spent an hour debating the wisdom of his latest scheme for bringing more wealth into Riaznin—or, as they put it, “spreading our culture to the east to protect ourselves from threat”—and now they awaited my answer with bored tolerance etched across their faces. Within them, however, I felt their resentment of me. As I studied the councilors and felt their anger twist my stomach, but not jab it with hot knives, I determined they were not dangerous. And after many long weeks of silence in council meetings, I decided to speak up.
“I think it is a false notion that acquiring more will bring about prosperity,” I began. “I’ve seen happiness abound in humble circumstances where people don’t live in domination under one another.” I alluded to the Romska, but the emperor didn’t know that part of my history. “Riaznin is capable of greatness without plundering it from another country, especially one with an unbroken history of being able to defend itself against our empire—indeed, it has often sought to conquer us. Why should we take the risk? I believe we have the competence to bolster ourselves from within.”
The rain softened on the windowpanes. No one said a word for several moments. I swallowed the ticking of my heart and absorbed the auras in the room. Some were caught on bitter humor—jeers they didn’t vocalize in the off chance the emperor might be pleased with my remark. For the smile on his face, he might have been. But the edges of his curved lips tightened, and his spidery fingers froze on my leg. A different energy—deep and familiar and flowing with admiration—made me turn in my chair.
Anton stood quietly, just inside the entrance of the room, his eyes trapped on mine.
Valko followed my gaze and stiffened upon finding his brother. The prince looked away from me too late. He cleared his throat and bowed to Valko. “I have a letter for you, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Not now.” Valko whirled back to his councilors. “That is all for today,” he told them. “You are dismissed.” They stood, gathering papers, and shot him curious glances. I moved to stand. “Not you, Sonya.” He examined a fresh stain of ink on his cuff.
I bit my lip and eased back down, unable to resist another look at Anton. As the councilors swept past him to exit the room, the prince twisted the letter and watched the emperor and me, his mouth contorting with a frown. A feeling of deep displeasure strung taut between the two brothers. Every muscle in my body cramped.
Valko rose after everyone left—everyone but Anton. He gripped the prince’s arm, ushered him out the door, shut it hard, and closed me in with him. Taking a steadying breath, the emperor rolled out a kink from his neck. Pain knotted on my own. With false calmness, he returned to me, hands clasped behind his back. “Stand up,” he said.
I did as he commanded, my knees wobbling while storm clouds brewed in my gut. Valko was furious, but for the moment he kept it at bay. Feya willing, he wouldn’t unleash it.
“How long have you been at court, Sonya?”
“Three months.”
“And how long have I been emperor? No”—he held up a finger—“how long have I been educated to rule Riaznin?”
My voice quavered. “Your whole life, My Lord.”
With a deep inhale, he nodded. “My whole life. And before I was born, Sonya, did the gods foresee my destiny as ruler? Did they bring it to pass—bring me into being—so I could wear this crown, in this very hour of need, for my empire?”
The storm clouds grew darker, more ominous. “You asked for my opinion, My Lord.”
The lightning struck. His face went crimson. A vein pulsed at his temple. “I had supposed the opinion of my Auraseer, my gifted protector, would support me!” I shrank back, fearing he would strike my face. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve planned this? And yet on a moment’s whim, you prattle off some thoughtless remark to shame me in front of my councilors!” He swept his kaftan back and placed his hands on his hips. “Do you have nothing to say?”
My body shook as I resisted the urge to hit him. I scrambled to throw up battlements against his fury before it consumed me, before I lost my own temper. He wanted an apology, but I couldn’t give him one, despite Kira, despite Dasha, despite the price of my own life. Some madness held me resolute. Deep in my bones, I knew the opinion I’d uttered was my right to give—and at his request. What I’d felt in Anton’s aura confirmed the justice of it. The emperor would not strip me of that moment when I, for once, felt important and worthy of goodness.