Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(58)
As Valko had promised, their gradual entrance was far easier to bear. But that didn’t make my task simple. I had to gather all my wits about me and summon my full strength. Inhaling and exhaling, I reminded myself of the work I’d done with Pia to prepare for this challenge. I called up everything I’d learned.
I first studied the allegiance of the Riaznian nobles by the red and gold of their sweeping gowns and tailored kaftans. Their dress was another decree from the emperor. As for the beard decree, I caught the grumbling auras of some men with little nicks along their jaws and throats, the evidence of shaving with unpracticed hands.
I felt more than that.
Now that my hyperfocus on the emperor had subsided, a wash of new emotions and sensations tumbled into me with sheer force.
My pulse slowed as an elderly baron leaned upon his cane. It raced as a maiden twirled and showed off her dress to a young lord. I flinched when two dukes exchanged bitter glances. My stomach cramped when a lady put a hand on her waist, likely shrunk by diuretic tea. Awe and scorn mingled with my pent-up breath as the nobles stared aghast at me, observing where I sat on the dais, a place of honor that had never been reserved for a sovereign Auraseer.
As, one by one, the nobles approached the emperor’s dais to bow and be acknowledged, I fought to contain the impulses begging for release inside me.
“Everything is hanging by a thread tonight,” Valko said in a low voice meant for only me to hear. “You must let me know how the foreign diplomats receive the Esten emissary, and how my nobles receive him. Here in the palace we may smile at one another, but do not forget there are wars on all borders of Riaznin.”
“I will not fail you, My Lord.” I sounded as calm and collected as the master of ceremonies when he heralded each guest, but the pressure inside me bubbled to the surface like an overflowing kettle. The dowager empress’s murderer was likely in this very room.
My hands, clutching the pearls, began to tremble. How could I do this? How could I control myself and guard the emperor? I swallowed hard and looked out among the finely dressed people, much greater in number than the peasants had been at the convent’s gates.
We are far from the border wars, I reminded myself. These guests are largely in good humor. They’re not a violent, single-minded mob. I have nothing serious to fear.
As I tried coaxing reason into my brain, I realized I was tugging the black ribbon around my wrist, the pearls of my headdress forgotten. At the thought of the convent, my imagination went wild. The Auraseers seemed to circle me like wraiths. Something is very wrong with you, I recalled Nadia’s accusation. You were the ruin of me, Yuliya would say if she had life to move her lips. The dead peasant man joined them as they swarmed me, his skin blistered and charred from being burned to death at my hands.
A small whimper escaped me as I stared at the mass of guests in the ballroom, the scores of palace servants behind them at the walls, the guards stationed near every window, every exit. I felt them all.
After a lull of arriving guests, the master of ceremonies abruptly rapped his staff again. I startled to find I’d been rocking back and forth and pulling my hair. “His Imperial Highness, Prince Anton Ozerov.”
My head jerked to the ballroom’s entrance. Awash in candlelight, Anton stood, his kaftan black and gold and perfectly cut to his body. His emotions were shrouded, his brows drawn low in concentration. Somehow the sternness only made him look more handsome.
A warmth cascaded through my body and settled my nerves. I wasn’t the only lady in the room admiring the prince, but the reaction radiating inside me was assuredly my own.
That inexplicable certainty, that grasp on my aura, pushed back the others fighting for space within me. The ghosts of my past also fled, shying away from the luminous feeling swirling through my breast. My ribs expanded. I took a deep and sustaining breath.
“Has my brother caught your attention, Sovereign Auraseer?” the emperor said as the last of the House of Dyonovich paid their respects and strolled away from the dais. Valko wore a light smile for me, but his jealousy scraped against my bones.
I strove to appear natural and shrugged one shoulder. “Only in that the prince is wearing gold with black, rather than gold with red like the other nobles.”
“Mmm.” Valko’s eyes darted from me to Anton, and the bone-scraping sensation dulled to a scratch. “He always insists on making a spectacle of himself.”
“Indeed, My Lord,” I replied, even though I regarded Anton’s rebellious nature as far more subtle than that. The emperor had no idea what the prince was really up to this Morva’s Eve. Then again, neither did I.
I allowed myself only one more glance at Anton, who never returned my gaze, then turned to face the orchestra. I concentrated on their music and forced my mind away from the prince. The diversion worked, and the scratch of Valko’s suspicion abated entirely.
A moment after the prince was heralded, the murmur of guests in the ballroom silenced. Their energy rose in a crescendo of intrigue—and a note of disdain. They had anticipated who was to come next. “His High Nobility, Monsieur Floquart de Bonpré,” the master of ceremonies announced. Anton stepped away from the double doors, not bothering to approach the dais as custom dictated, and in the place he vacated stood the emissary.
The fashion in Estengarde must have been monochromatic elegance, for the gentleman wore only pale hues of gray: his silk waistcoat; his ballooned breeches, gathered at the knee; the hose on his legs; and his cunning heeled shoes, complete with satin bows. Lace dripped from his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. And his hair, fastened at the nape of his neck, was flocked with an abundance of white powder.