Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(77)

“There must be, or else chaos would reign. The wiser must govern, and the infants must be carried and shown the way—the right way.”

And who were the infants in this structure of his? The Shenglin? The Estens? The peasant Riaznians, no doubt. What about me? “Is that what I am to you? An infant?”

Valko’s confusion swept through my aura. I could almost hear him thinking, Why doesn’t she understand? “You are my sovereign Auraseer. I depend on you.”

“As a master depends on a serf to reap the harvest,” I quipped.

His brow furrowed. “Does it matter? We will eat the fruit together.”

“But you will profit from the excess.” The emperor had claimed to need me, but I would never stand on equal footing with him.

He regarded me a moment. “I think I know why you are angry.” He threw his last pebble in the pond. “I can’t marry you, Sonya.”

My eyes flew wide. “I wasn’t speaking of marriage.” As if I had any wish to mingle my common bloodline with his.

“You’ve made it clear you have no desire to be my mistress.”

I clamped my mouth shut at that. He was right.

“I’m afraid I can’t raise your status here any higher than that.”

I suppressed an eye roll. Of course he thought becoming his illegitimate lover would be greater than my current occupation.

“We care for each other, however . . . don’t we?” he asked.

In truth, I wasn’t sure how much care bled through his infatuation. In the same regard, how many of my feelings for him were my own and not an echo of his—or my concern for the people of the empire not a reflection of his passion for expanding it? As he waited for some kind of answer, I replied, “Yes.” I did care for the broken child in him, the child who had never asked to be emperor.

“It’s enough for me that you are my balm, my seer, as you said.” He kissed my hand, and his aura blazed to life again. “Dear Sonya.” He softly grinned. “You’ve already done so much for me. You were right. You showed me who I am, and look what is happening. Look what I see!” He spread his hands wide to show the expanse of the pond, as if it represented the world—his world, his all-encompassing empire.

He began pacing again. He threw more rocks and prattled on and on, faster and faster. He spoke of what we could do with the riches of Shengli, how we could lower the age of the draft to increase our armies, how we could build greater navies, greater strongholds. His manic nature made my skin crawl as if I were covered with a thousand insects.

He’s becoming a monster. And he thanks me for it.

I kept my lips sealed. I dared not say more because he didn’t listen. Everything I spoke he twisted, until it fit his corrupt vision of glory.

And so I sat and bided my time. I didn’t pretend to share so much as a spark of his enthusiasm, for I had none. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. Valko was so caught up in himself and his ramblings of a greater empire that he no longer sought out my encouragement—or whatever his reason was for desiring my company today. He hadn’t even apologized for hurting me the night of the ball.

I hadn’t realized until now that I’d clung to a small shred of hope that he might be sorry, that he might revert back to the charming boy whose touch had so often made my blood quicken.

I would never waste my hope on him again.

I knocked on the midnight-blue door that night. Anton opened it. “Your brother is mad,” I said.

He nodded, his eyes lowering to the volume of Tosya’s poetry in my arms. “Did you finish the book?”

And the gods weep to see the children of the dove in a closed nest.

And they rend their holy robes that the birds will never see the skies.

“Yes.”

Break apart the thatch, O children.

Unfurl your downy wings.

“Come in.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


ANTON DREW TWO CHAIRS NEAR HIS TILED FURNACE. SPRINGTIME in Riaznin was lovely enough during the daytime, but the cold still bit at night. I traced the gilded lettering of Tosya’s book while the prince tended to a copper samovar, which whistled with uncanny timing. He poured two servings for us in glasses lodged inside pewter casings, not delicate Shenglin porcelain like the emperor used. The aroma of briar tea filled the air.

“Jam?” Anton asked. I nodded and watched him spoon something of the rose leaf variety into my glass. In his own, he tipped a dash of rum. Perhaps he needed something to settle his nerves—perhaps some of the anxiety dancing through my veins belonged to him. This was going to be a night of answers. I felt it. My mind whirred with what they might be.

He set the tea glasses on a small mahogany table between our chairs. The wood matched the other varnished furnishings in the room and complemented the earthy colors of the upholstery, bedding, and curtains. Several candles were lit. Again, I wondered if he’d anticipated my visit, if he knew, somehow, enough time had passed for me to finish the book and be ready for him.

My gaze drifted over his clothing—a loose shirt tucked into breeches and tall black boots. The only time I’d caught him wearing less was the night he’d just finished bathing. I began to wonder if he slept wearing those boots. I twirled the soft ends of corded belting on my night robe. Perhaps he slept wearing nothing at all.