Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(60)
Could he be the same man who had passed the letter to Anton on our travels? The man with the letter about Morva’s Eve?
As if he sensed I wished to see him better, the man turned around. He looked to be in his midthirties, with a lean but muscular physique and a great mop of wavy hair. All in all, he had the appearance of a brown-petaled flower. I would have passed him off as being gentle in nature if not for his pensive gaze. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes roaming over the couples spinning to the music, until they landed on a specific person.
When I saw who it was, my stomach plummeted to the soles of my satin slippers. Anton was dancing. Anton, who took no time for social pleasantries. Aloof, solemn, and pragmatic Anton had his hand on a lady’s waist, her outstretched hand in his. I took in her shining red hair, her rosy complexion, and—above all—her grace as she glided across the marble floor.
Something dark and bitter coalesced inside me. Heat flashed through my veins. Who was this woman that the prince should dance with her and never bat an eye at me unless I barged into his room?
I gritted my teeth and pulled a smug smile to my lips. Anton could dance with as many ladies as it pleased him. Did he think that would distract me from finding out what he was truly up to? If so, he was wrong, for I’d discovered something he meant to keep from me: the nobleman with the silver cup was in league with him, as well as Yuri. The nobleman’s ring and the way he’d sought Anton out from the crowd were too suspicious, and I was desperate enough to call anything evidence now.
I laced my fingers together, though every nerve in me begged me to launch myself from the dais and confront Anton. I needed to keep my cool. If I left the emperor’s side, Valko’s gaze would only follow me. I didn’t want him suspecting anything until I’d discovered what this was about. As maddening as the situation was, I had to wait and keep watch on Anton, Yuri, and the nobleman. With enough patience, I would learn more. Midnight would come. If Anton thought he could protect me from all the palace politics, he was wrong. I wasn’t the naive girl he took me to be, the simpleton he fleetingly tried to rescue from distress. Why couldn’t he be the hero to me in public? Why always behind closed doors?
The emissary laughed at something Valko said, and I glanced sidelong at the emperor, wishing to hear the end of the joke. He muttered it to Floquart, however, not bothering to share it with me. The anger I’d already felt at Anton multiplied as yet another Ozerov brother chose to pretend I didn’t exist. I knew it was ridiculous that I should feel so jilted, but I couldn’t help it. I was Sovereign Auraseer, but I was also a girl who had spent the day being beautified, albeit against my will, a girl who had made very few friends in her life, and now, like any other girl in this ballroom, I wanted to be seen. Admired. Talked to. Danced with—as I’d been promised I would be. Instead, though I sat on the dais in a position of esteem beside the emperor, I was trapped here in a cage of my loneliness while all the other guests were at liberty to do as they pleased.
My wretchedness and resentment, like yeast beneath a sprinkling of sugar, began to grow and fester. I wanted to burn out of myself all of the desires and dreams other girls had. When had I begun thinking I was entitled like them? I was an Auraseer. I had no rights, no freedom. Besides, I didn’t deserve happiness. If the Romska were wrong and the gods were real, I would one day find myself in the deepest pit of the underworld for all the wrongs I’d committed. I deserved that punishment. I was darkness personified.
My eyes grew heavy, and my heart beat a slow and tormenting rhythm. My gaze fell to the blue tracery of veins on the emperor’s wrist, where it lay on the arm of his throne. I imagined the sharp edge of a blade pressed there, like the knives Yuliya would use to cut herself. Her flowing blood would match the color of Valko’s velvet sleeve and the carpet beneath his feet.
The waltz ended, and my dark thoughts broke apart. I gave a shaky exhale. I wanted to scrub at my eyes to chase away the images of death and blood, and with them my harrowing guilt. Did I need to torture myself during the ball? Couldn’t that wait until afterward when I could be alone with the statue of Feya?
Seeking the nearest method to distract myself from myself, I slid closer to Valko, to the command of his aura, and latched on to it as I listened in on his conversation with Floquart de Bonpré.
“When Madame Valois is escorted into Torchev,” Valko said, “it will be magnificent.” He brandished his hand in the air, painting a picture. “She’ll ride in a carriage with ten perfectly matched horses. Four companies of Riaznian cavalry will accompany her, as well as all the high noble lords. Her path will be paved with roses, and the gates to the palace will open with the heralding of a thousand silver bells.”
My astonishment at the emperor’s words was the distraction I’d been hoping for. Was his marriage to Delphine agreed upon, then—and so soon? The council had arranged to convene with both the emperor and emissary tomorrow afternoon. I’d expected the terms of the union to be bargained upon then, not tonight.
“Delphine dotes on that kind of attention,” Floquart said, his knees crossed over each other in the Esten fashion. He leaned on the armrest with one elbow and motioned for a servant to fan his face. “Though I will share with you her preference for white horses spotted like a leopard. Do you breed such horses here?”
Valko angled himself to match Floquart’s artful posture. “But of course.” Deceit bled from his aura and made my pulse race. He had no idea how to procure such horses. They were native to Estengarde, and I sensed Floquart knew it.