Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(93)
“The emperor’s welfare is always in my hands.”
“Yes, but today he will be surrounded by more than nobles. He is opening the palace to admit the public.”
“A reception for the people?” I asked, unsure if I’d understood her correctly. When she nodded, I raised my brows. These receptions had once been a monthly tradition at the palace, an opportunity for the people to lay gifts at the emperor’s feet or beseech him with their requests. But in all my days as sovereign Auraseer, Valko had never held one. Rumor persisted that he’d only done so twice during his reign. Today’s reception surely had to do with his scheming for Shengli. He wanted to appear benevolent so the people would accept the lowered draft age with grace.
“I don’t wish to fast,” I said. “Could you please send Pia up with a tray?”
Lenka angled away from me and brushed a lock of hair back into her tight bun. “I’m afraid Pia is indisposed.”
My cavern of anxiety widened to a crater. “What do you mean?”
Lenka shrugged, but I still sensed that smugness about her. “I’m sure we’ll learn soon enough.” With that vague and unsettling explanation, she clapped her hands. Two servants entered with the traveling tub that seemed to rotate between my room, Anton’s, and surely other high-ranking staff. A flock of attendants followed with steaming buckets of water and reminded me of my first day in the palace.
“Come,” Lenka said. “We haven’t much time before the emperor requires you.”
The tables in the great hall had been removed. The only remaining furniture rested on the dais: Valko’s magnificent throne and my small stool. Guards flanked the perimeter of the room, tripling the amount that had served the night of the ball. Yuri wasn’t among them, still off on his recruitment errand for the empire.
Nobles milled about and left a wide berth around the center aisle for the forthcoming people. The commoners stood in line outside the closed doors. I’d passed them when I’d entered. Their auras wove a web of resentment, desperation, and curiosity within me. I kept a hand on my headdress’s dangling pearls, but the sting brought little relief.
It was harder to meet Valko’s eyes now that I’d made a pact against him. As I rose from my curtsy, he stared down at me from the height of his throne. “My Lord Emperor,” I said in greeting.
“Sonya.” His gaze softened, and he extended a jeweled hand to my stool. I lighted up the dais and took my seat.
The double doors to the great hall opened. The nobles quieted. Valko’s chest puffed beneath his brocaded kaftan.
The common people filed in, some with wide eyes as they took in the spectacular domed ceiling. Others trembled the nearer they advanced to Valko. But most wore grim looks of determination, their hands fisted, their faces set in stone.
Some were farmers who shared detailed reports of crop failure, despite the rains and melting snow. The soil was cursed, they said, and they pleaded with the emperor to petition the gods for relief from the famine. Others wanted more than Valko’s “royal channel to the heavens.” They came meeting their monarch in the finest clothes they owned—threadbare and patched—and asked him, while observing firsthand the extravagance of his stronghold, if he would share in his plenty until the earth yielded up her fruits again.
Valko had similar responses for all them. “Be of comfort. The time of prosperity is at hand.” Or “Hold fast. The gods have spoken and declared Riaznin will flourish.”
He meant every word. I felt his surety fill my breast. But I pushed out every breath of empathy for him. His means of restoring the empire were heartless. My role was to reveal a better way—a way that no longer required his leadership. More than that, I was to make him believe it.
My gaze wandered over the nobles as I searched for Anton. I yearned to speak with him, to concoct some sort of plan for approaching the enormous task before me. He must have some ideas for slowly breaking his brother down. At least, I hoped he did.
But the prince wasn’t here. I slouched a little on my stool, then chastised myself for being disappointed. It wasn’t as if we could have a treasonous conversion here, anyway. Or even a flirtatious one.
After the farmers, other people came with more grievances: quarrels with their neighbors, pleas for fortifying the villages around Torchev that didn’t have securing walls like our city. One thin-shouldered woman complained that the Azanel River was making her children sick. Refuse was dumped in the river, and she lived downstream of it. She wanted the sewer outlets diverted, or at least funds to dig a proper well.
Valko held a placid smile as he listened to her, but my fingernails dug into my legs with his grating impatience. He wouldn’t be able to brush her off as easily as he did the farmers. “I shall discuss the matter with my council,” he said at last. “It is my desire that all have clean water.” He lifted his gaze to the continuous stream of peasants while extending his ringed hand to the woman. With reluctance, she kissed it. As she left, Valko motioned for Councilor Ilyin to step forward. “Please see that this matter is addressed at our next meeting,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.
The graying councilor bowed. “If I may, My Lord Emperor,” he said quietly, “the woman’s request is one of many in the city. If you wish to recruit a younger, healthy army, you would do well to clean the water supply.”