Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(90)
I shouldn’t chide Anton for his secrets. Mine were so dark I hoped he would never uncover them.
Tosya put his hands in his pockets. “Anton once treated me the same way he treats you. Being abandoned at such a young age . . . it had a profound effect on him. It’s difficult for him to place his trust in anyone.”
“I was also separated from my parents.”
“Yes, well, as he said, you are truly incredible. Don’t judge him too harshly for grieving differently than you. Be patient with him.”
I looked past Tosya’s dim figure to Anton, several feet away. He sat, head lowered, hands clasped together on the parlor table, as if steeling himself for another long council meeting. “I don’t think any amount of patience can outlast his resolve. When it comes to me, the prince is determined to remain distant.”
Tosya rubbed my arm. “Perhaps that’s because he needs you more than anyone and doesn’t know who he would be if that need in him was gone. He’s only ever learned to fight, to be without everyone he’s ever cared for, to guard his emotions from others.”
“Until he met you.”
“Yes,” Tosya relented. “But through me he’s found another reason to keep fighting. That is what binds us in the end. I was content with the Romska, writing my songs and secret stashes of poetry, until Anton saw something within me larger than myself—something in my words that could give people hope. And I’m assuming he’s seen something bigger within you, as well, and you’re now a part of this fight.”
I nodded, though I’d never quite committed to the role the prince had laid out for me.
Tosya leaned closer and whispered with a chuckle, “It’s terrifying, though, isn’t it?”
I looked at him in surprise. Tosya may have inadvertently launched a revolution, but he was still the same unassuming Romska boy who had been my friend for years.
“I try to let Anton and the others do all the talking and political maneuvering,” he confessed. “My poetry has said all I want to say.” With a wink, he added, “Now I’m just the pretty face of the cause.”
I lifted a brow. “One who will be executed if he’s ever discovered by the authorities.”
“Always the first to sour the mood, Sonya.”
That drew a small laugh from me.
“Come on.” He draped his long arm around my shoulder and guided me back to the parlor. “Let’s go pretend we’re as qualified for this revolution as the prince believes we are. With any luck, we’ll start believing it ourselves.”
Tosya’s humor could only briefly lift my spirits. It might have been terribly selfish of me, considering we were talking about war and the future of the empire, but all I could think of was that no amount of luck would make a lynx-shaped birthmark materialize on my arm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“FELIKS IS STILL PRESSURING ME TO OVERTHROW VALKO AND claim myself as emperor,” Anton said as he scratched the growing stubble on his chin.
He and Tosya had spent the last half hour catching up on all the latest happenings. The situation was dangerous for my Romska friend. He’d been accused of high treason, the empire’s bounty hunters and soldiers were searching for him, and any copies of his book were to be burned if discovered. He spent most of his days in hiding and had taken a great risk in coming to Torchev to meet with Anton. Tosya was supposed to have convened with the prince and his revolutionaries on Morva’s Eve, but when the night before the modest holiday had turned into a grand ball in honor of Floquart de Bonpré, Anton instructed Tosya to stay away.
Their thus-far-quiet rebellion was coming to a head, the wrath of the people transforming into its own beast. Something violent was on the brink of happening. Anton feared the spark might be ignited when the people learned of the lowered draft age. “Feliks believes it will be easier to transition the government to the people if I first take it myself,” the prince said.
“Why don’t you do it that way?” I asked, seeing the merits of Feliks’s reasoning. I’d learned that the man with the piercing blue eyes was also Anton’s representative of the people. Every large city or group of villages in Riaznin had a similar leader in the plot of the revolution. They held secret meetings, shared their dreams of freedom, and reported back to Feliks, who also headed up the circle in Torchev.
“Then you’ll have the backing of the nobles,” I added. “At least for a time.” Many would support Anton as emperor; many believed Valko was only the changeling prince. “In that case, Count Rostav would be a stronger ally.” While Feliks represented the people, I’d discovered Nicolai was assigned to the nobles, only a tiny fraction of whom were being slowly conditioned to the infant steps of equality. “He would have more time to persuade other nobles to your cause and grant the peasants and serfs more rights.”
Tosya leaned forward, arms folded on the table. A nearly empty tumbler of kvass rested beside him. “Is Nicolai holding steadfast?”
I remembered the count’s disturbing neutrality in our last council meeting. Anton hadn’t forgotten it, either. “He is faltering, the more perilous this becomes.” The prince sighed. “My vision for this revolution is peaceable, and Nicolai has clung to that. He isn’t the warrior his father was, and in truth, I’m not confident he can remain loyal to our cause. It’s all happening too fast, and if we can’t persuade the people to be more patient, blood will spill, and too much of it.”