Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(65)
The serpent coiled up toward my heart.
Valko grinned broadly. “I am ready to dance!” he announced to anyone within earshot. Turning to Floquart, he added, “I do hope you’ll take the opportunity to become acquainted with our Riaznian beauties. And I shall do the same so you may have proof for Madame Valois that her intended is as nimble on his feet as he is in his promise to lavish every luxury on her.”
Floquart nodded, his eyes trapped on mine, anticipating Valko’s next move. But the emperor wisely chose someone else—Countess Dyomin of the first-class-ranking nobles. As he led her out on the dance floor, the emissary’s shoulders relaxed. Still, there was a motive I had yet to discover in the man. It seemed the utmost importance I do it now.
But try as I might over the next few waltzes, minuets, and Valko’s rotating dance partners, I couldn’t find proof that the darkness I felt originated with Floquart. Every time my jaw clenched, my knees locked, or my nerves flared, he merely seemed bored. His eyebrows didn’t so much as twitch when horrid images surfaced in my mind.
Perhaps, with my shameful history and weakening barriers against my viler self, I needed to accept that the likeliest source of the darkness was me.
At the end of a contredanse, Valko left his partner and came to my side. He took my hand and brushed it over with his thumb. His touch burned like a kiss. Something shivered in my chest and unfurled like a flower, but threatened to wither in the darkness still holding me captive.
“Are you ready to redeem your promise, Sovereign Auraseer?” he said. No . . . he asked me. Like a gentleman would, no demand in his voice. He asked me. Like I’d asked Anton. The flower inside me raised its head.
The niggling reason in my mind grew stronger. Floquart was watching us, lip curled and eyes narrowed. Some instinct warned I shouldn’t dance with the emperor now; I should focus on my duties. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t deny Valko like Anton had denied me.
I curtsied, my hand still resting in his. “I am ready, My Lord Emperor.” Despite the swarming darkness, despite my suspicious thoughts of Floquart, I wanted this dance. I wanted, for a moment, to be just a girl.
Valko kissed my hand, which made Floquart’s eye spasm, and then he guided me deep into the nest of dancing nobles. They pulled back a little to give us a wider berth, but the air still felt too dense to breathe. Taking hold of my waist and raising my hand in the air, the emperor and I assumed the position of the waltz. My legs trembled, whether from my self-imposed starvation or the probing and judgmental auras fighting for purchase within me, I didn’t know.
“I don’t want to embarrass you, My Lord,” I said, already stumbling on my feet. “But I was never taught to dance.” Not like this.
He grinned as if my confession were the most becoming thing in the world. “Relax in my arms, Sonya, and I will carry you.” I did as he said, and like magic, we spun in a graceful circle. An amazed bubble of laughter tumbled out of me. I felt as elegant as a princess the more I fell in step with Valko’s confident lead. As we revolved and revolved, he gazed steadfastly upon me. His gray eyes fairly glowed from the abundant candlelight.
How kind he is. How patient.
No. The darker half of me obliterated my pleasant thoughts. He thinks I am weak, and he likes it. He likes being stronger than me.
We twirled around and around. I fought a dizzying rush, not only from the dance but the prying emotions of the nobles and their needling curiosity at seeing the sovereign Auraseer dance—and with the emperor. I battled their energy and tried to push them away, and then the writhing darkness did it for me. Like a billowing cloud of smoke, it overcame them. And as it dissipated, their auras were replaced in my mind with images of poison, sharpened knives, the knot of a noose, pooling blood.
Think, Sonya, think. The darkness couldn’t wholly be me.
I looked past the swirl of jewel-tone dresses to Floquart. He leaned on one elbow in the careless Esten way that wasn’t careless at all. His eyes were fast on me. I was a threat to him, though I didn’t know why.
Valko glided me around once more and pulled my gaze until it fell on Anton, who conversed with the most pompously dressed woman in the room. One bell tolled the quarter hour. Fifteen minutes until midnight. I imagined the prince’s boot tapping with impatience.
The emperor and I circled near Count Nicolai Rostav and his noblemen friends. The count’s lips were only slightly curved, as if his smile had faltered when he heard the bell. His panic reared up and beat again like a trapped butterfly inside my chest.
I searched for Yuri as I spun three more revolutions, but the guard was gone—as well as Pia. Had they sneaked another moment away together? Would Yuri leave her in time to join Anton, or did each man in the prince’s league intend to act his part alone?
Once more, I wondered where the Esten Auraseer was. Perhaps she had slipped back inside the ballroom through the orchestra door. But I couldn’t find her among the group of Estens gathered near the dais or with the servants on the outer edges of the room.
Valko and I spun again. My knees buckled at the sight of a new man. He wore an ill-fitting kaftan of brown silk, surely not his own. And, unlike the Riaznian nobles, this man sported a trimmed beard despite the emperor’s decree. Feliks was here. Feliks, the commoner. The man from the city. The man Anton had passed the reins of his troika to upon our arrival—and his secret letter.
How had Feliks gained entrance to the ball?