Burning Glass (27 page)

I turned the letter over and wondered if Valko had already sent men throughout the empire to announce the lowered draft
age. The council had approved the directive. Anton and Nicolai were outnumbered.

Pia touched my knee. “You don’t have to read it aloud. Just tell me when you’re done if I’m right and it
is
romantic. I have no shame in living through you until Yuri gets back.” She grinned.

I shook my head at her. “That soldier needs to marry you quickly. You’re going to torture me every day until he does.”

She giggled. Despite myself, I laughed along with her. “Just read it!” she said.

“Fine.” I groaned a sigh. “But you’re going to be wrong.”

I rose and moved a few steps away so she wouldn’t peer over my shoulder. I broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and pressed a free hand to my stomach to settle my nerves.

That was it. No salutation with my name or signature of his. There was little to go by, but knowing Anton, this was a critical errand if it involved endangering me. Surely I would be punished if I were discovered fleeing the palace, even though this outing must be brief since he didn’t ask me to bring anything more than what I had on. Only I couldn’t wear
this
. Lenka would come soon and change me into my nightgown. Anton knew that. He knew my clothes weren’t stored in my bedroom.
That’s why he sent Pia with the letter, I realized, so I would find a way to keep my dress and evade Lenka. But I couldn’t think of an excuse that would fall below her suspicion. Besides, the fabric of my dress was a rich brocade. Not exactly discreet.

Pia, however, was someone I could trust with at least part of this plan. Anton had trusted her to the extent he gave her this letter. Yuri had, as well, in that he used her room as a meeting place for Anton’s league of revolutionaries. The prince said Pia was uninvolved beyond that. She wasn’t a part of his inner circle, and I could see why. She was too scattered with light emotion and free with gossip to trust implicitly. Still, she was my true friend, and the only ally I could secure tonight.

“Well?” Her large eyes were round and beautiful.

I folded the letter. “No one can know what I’m about to tell you.”

She nodded and inched forward in her seat. “I understand.”

I bit my lip, preparing for her to draw the wrong conclusions. “It seems I’m going somewhere for the night, though I imagine I’ll be back before dawn.”

Pia’s mouth dropped open.

“And I need your help,” I went on in a rush. “I need a plain dress.”

She sprang up from the couch and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Sonya! I’m so happy for you! Didn’t I tell you it would be romantic?”

It occurred to me that was the only cover I could give her—one she was already willing to believe. And so, feeling
like a fool, I let her excitement ripple up my throat into a noise I hoped came off as happy. To my ears it sounded like a squealing pig. “You did!” I replied.

Lenka entered the room with her always-horrible timing. I hid the letter at my side and broke apart from Pia, who darted for the door and wished me good night, forgetting her tray in her hurry. When Lenka’s back was turned, Pia winked at me, then exited. Her giggles rang through the hallway.

Lenka pinched her brows and sucked in her bony cheeks. “What’s come over her?”

I backed closer to my furnace. “Oh, she’s always like that.” With a little flick of my hand, I tossed the letter behind the grate.

My maid’s gaze followed the movement, but she couldn’t have seen what I’d done.

I turned around and offered her the laces of my dress. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m exhausted.”
Overdoing it
, I chided myself.

Lenka didn’t say a word, not then, nor during the rest of our nighttime routine. Her aura was no longer irritable, it was closed. She must have learned how to conceal her feelings after all her years of serving Izolda, just as Anton had an ability to when he focused hard enough. I wasted a moment trying to pry Lenka’s aura open, but it was no use. As her wiry fingers jostled me out of my gown and brushed and braided my hair, I wondered what in Feya’s name I was thinking in so readily agreeing to sneak out with Anton. I didn’t even know what he
meant to do, and now I’d gotten Pia involved and likely raised the suspicion of my head maid.

I may not have committed to helping the prince with his revolution, but he still held me in a measure of his power. Or perhaps I held him in a measure of mine. Perhaps this secret night together was a way for him to prove his full confidence in me. I only hoped it was worth the risk for everyone involved.

A
PPARENTLY, THE ONLY KEY TO MY WARDROBE WAS
IN
L
ENKA
’
S
possession. Pia could see no way to fetch it from her, so she brought me one of her spare uniforms.

“I can’t go dressed like a maid,” I said.

“Dressing like a maid will get you to the kitchens unnoticed. I have something else for you there.”

She helped clothe me and we walked together, our chins tucked low as we made our way down the servants’ stairs. Once we reached the kitchens, Pia glanced around to make sure we were alone and ushered me inside a pantry so large it made the convent’s ample food stores seem pitiful. Behind a barrel of pickled cabbage, she pulled out a dark-blue sarafan. The bell-shaped peasant dress would be perfect. “This is also mine, but I think it will do.” She grinned. “I chose the color to help you blend in with the night.”

“You’re having far too much fun with this.”

That drew a laugh from her, not the hardest thing to do. “True.” She helped me change again and wrapped a bright, floral scarf over my head.

“And what does this blend with?” I smirked.

“Nothing.” The apples of her cheeks lifted. “But it will hide your hair and bring out the hazel of your eyes. A good trade, in my opinion.”

I relented to wearing the scarf. I couldn’t deny the part of me that wanted to look pretty for Anton. And since I couldn’t fill out Pia’s dress at the chest and hips, I needed all the help I could get. Her shoes didn’t fit, so I settled on wearing my night slippers and hoped they’d go unnoticed under the long hem of my skirt.

We left Pia’s maid uniform in the pantry so I could change back into it later, assuming Anton would return me before Cook and her staff began their early hours of preparations. Then Pia guided me to the specific kitchen door the prince had indicated. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she whispered.

“That leaves nothing.”

She giggled and gave me one last hug. “Have fun. I want to hear all about it tomorrow!”

“Of course.”

Oh, the lies I’d have to spin!

Pia dashed off on tiptoes, and I was left leaning against the door and wringing my hands in the dark. The air was spiced with soap and blood from the butcher’s tables. The auras of dead beasts drifted around my nostrils. I resolved to touch nothing.

Having arrived early, I waited a quarter hour standing with jittery and restless legs. Finally Anton came. I pressed back into the shadows until I was sure his silhouette belonged to him. The span and angle of his shoulders were a good clue, but it was the profile of his handsome, aristocratic nose that gave him away. A part of me wanted to remain hidden and admire him from afar for several more minutes. Recognizing how deeply I cared for him was a gift. Even if he didn’t trust my feelings,
I
did. That surety had taken me long enough to discover over the past few months, and now I wouldn’t deny it.

I stepped into a shaft of moonlight from a nearby window. “I’m here.”

The prince moved close to me. I caught his scent of musk and pine as his eyes traveled over what I was wearing. In his arms, he held a bundle of clothing. “You came,” he said, a thread of amazement in his voice.

“Did you doubt I would?”

“I only dared to hope. I know how dangerous this is for you.”

“What exactly are we doing?”

Something creaked. Anton dropped the bundle. It landed on the floor with a quiet thud. At the same time, he grabbed me and thrust us both into the shadows by the door.

Another creak sounded, this time from a farther distance. The padding of footsteps emerged then grew softer like someone was walking away. When the sound completely faded, I became aware of Anton’s arms wrapped protectively around me. My fingers clutched his shirt at the chest.

As one, we slowly looked at each other. My vision had done enough adjusting to the dark to make out the heavy-lidded set to his eyes. His heart thumped against my hand, and his aura bathed me with heat.

“Did anyone follow you here?” he asked, his deep voice making a true whisper impossible.

“No.” Pia didn’t count. She had come
with
me, not after. But perhaps she’d stayed waiting and watching, hoping she’d see something scandalous. I wouldn’t put it past her.

He nodded. “Good.” But he didn’t release me.

My fingers curled against him. His gaze fell to my mouth. I had the overpowering urge to kiss him, but I pulled back before I ever leaned in. At my first twinge of resistance, Anton let me go.

We moved a foot apart, a healthier space that granted me my breath. He rubbed the back of his neck and bent to retrieve what he’d dropped.

We kept stealing awkward glances at each other. My lips tingled with the absence of our almost kiss. But if I
had
kissed Anton, he would have only accused me of mirroring his desire. “Shall we go now?” I asked, turning slightly away.

“What gave you the idea we are leaving?”

My head snapped to him. I blinked twice. “Well, the dress you made sure I wear.” I shifted on my feet. “The door by the stables . . .” A sinking feeling of disappointment made my shoulders droop. “We
are
leaving, aren’t we?”

He chuckled. By the gods, was he actually teasing me?
“Yes, we’re leaving.” He cocked his head. “You’re an anxious one for a bit of freedom, aren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think you know that much about me.” Was I actually bantering with the stoic prince? “And since you’re a revolutionary,” I added with a grin, “you really can’t talk.”

Immediately, a sober demeanor overcame him. “Shhh.” He touched my lips, and my heart surged and beat faster. “Not here.” I nodded, and he pulled his hand away.

“I brought us cloaks.” He divided the bundle in his arms and gave me half. I draped the roughspun around my shoulders and pulled the hood up over my headscarf. So much for drawing out my hazel eyes. The prince donned his own cloak. “Ready?”

I followed him out the door to the stables and expected him to fetch Raina. I felt a little foolish when he came out with a tawny draft horse. Of course he would choose a less noticeable breed. Perhaps Pia wasn’t the only one with a romantic dream of what this night would hold. I needed to pull myself back to reality. I still didn’t know where we were going or what we were up to. Neither did I ask Anton as he saddled the horse and muffled its hooves with strips of cloth. As we readied to leave the palace grounds, my stomach fluttered and every part of me felt wide awake. I could scarcely keep from bouncing on my toes. The mystery of our destination only made our escape more thrilling.

We didn’t yet ride the horse. We walked alongside it as Anton sneaked us to a small gate at the side of the palace walls, not the main entrance at the southern front. He muttered
something to the guards and handed over a purse. Apparently the prince schemed with more soldiers than just Yuri.

The gate opened and we slipped outside. My chest expanded, and I drank in the air that already tasted so much cooler and clean. I felt lighter on my feet the farther we progressed down a dim road enclosed by arching cherry tree branches. Their white blossoms dotted above us like stars. In our everyday clothes, I imagined we were peasant lovers stealing away in the night. If only the common life was such a sweet dream in Riaznin.

After turning into the third alleyway, Anton felt it safe for us to ride the horse. He lifted me onto the saddle and mounted behind me. His hands slid around my waist to take the reins, and I smiled as his heightened aura made my nerves sing. He could tease me all he wanted about my itching for freedom, but his eagerness was just as palpable.

As he nudged the horse along at a steady trot, we rode away from the noble quarter of the city to the fringes where commoners still roamed the streets in the dead of night. At the sight of them—the feel of them—my elation snuffed out. I hadn’t expected to encounter any stray auras tonight. I’d hoped Anton and I would be alone in whatever errand he’d fashioned for us.

The commoners’ Torchev dialect rang out harsh and lazy as they laughed over shared crocks of spirits or hollered at ladies sauntering across brothel balconies with pushed-up curves that nearly spilled out from their bodices.

All of their auras mixed inside me, dark and jovial and rebellious . . . yet also sad. Exhausted after a long and hard day
and now seeking release. I leaned against Anton, not wanting to taste them too deeply. His arms moved in closer at my sides, as if he understood my difficulty.

“We’re almost there.” His rumbled attempt to whisper breathed warmth against my ear.

A burst of raucous laughter split the air. I flinched, but it wasn’t directed at us. Five or six young people were playing some sort of game with rocks on the road. They clapped one of their comrades on the shoulder. The boy must have won. He was gangly but round-faced, probably no older than fourteen. His friend shoved coins into his pockets and tossed him toward the brothel doors. He grinned, but his foreboding drummed inside me. I closed my eyes, feeling at once sick and disgusted and sorry for the boy, a reflection of his own emotions. Trying to purge myself of his energy without losing the contents of my stomach, I turned my head into Anton’s chest and inhaled his pine scent like a lifeline.

“Just another moment, Sonya,” he promised.

I nodded. The auras of the peasants were harder for me to resist acting upon than those of the nobles in the palace. The city people were brasher, more open, and while the nobles weren’t any less decent at heart, they were more skillful at masking their feelings to survive the game of politics they played.

True to Anton’s word, he led us back around the brothel to an even narrower alleyway, thankfully empty of people. At its end, we passed through the gate of a small lodging. The prince helped me off the horse and tied him to a lone tree in the yard.
Taking my hand, he led me to a door of patched-together wood. He rapped three times.

A middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and a red bulbous nose appeared on the threshold. She grunted. “He said you would be coming”—her small eyes looked the prince over before scrutinizing me—“but not another tart. We have enough of you around here.”

I would have been offended, but the woman’s aura radiated more fear than revulsion. I hoped Anton was right about no one recognizing us.

He broadened his chest. “Don’t insult her,” he said to the woman, while clutching my hand tighter. “She is respectable. I assure you he will want to see her once he knows she is here.”

Who were they were speaking about?
Who
would want to see me?

The woman pursed her lips. “If he says no, the girl leaves. No more words about it.”

“Agreed.”

The woman grunted again and spared me another glance before moving back to let us in. We entered a cramped lobby with peeling paint. A rack strung with shabby coats and shawls was the only decoration. The woman left us and hobbled up a flight of rickety stairs. She seemed to have an ailment in her leg.

“What is this place?” I asked Anton.

“A house for boarders, often fugitives or those seeking somewhere to stay when they travel to the city and don’t wish the authorities to know.” He let go of my hand and drew back
his hood, unlacing his cloak and hanging it on the rack.

I did the same and adjusted my headscarf. “Why does the woman risk the occupation?”

“Her name is Ruta, and she is desperate”—he sighed—“like anyone dwelling in this quarter. She has no family and must make a life for herself the only way she can.”

I looked over my slumlike surroundings, more grateful for my own lot in the empire. “Who does Ruta think you are?” They seemed to know each other.

“A university friend of ‘the gypsy,’ as she calls him just to try to provoke him.”

Gypsy?
My heart pounded faster. “Anton, who are we here to see?”

“You must call me Gavril.”

“Gavril, then,” I said impatiently, “
who
is here?”

The stairs creaked. A young man stood on the landing and held a candle. He wore a vest and flowing peasant shirt with the sleeves rolled back to expose his long arms. His legs were also long, stuffed into trousers and worn leather shoes. In fact, everything about him was long, even his endearing face. I gasped, my mouth stretching into a wide smile. “Tosya?”