Just as I saw tears glisten in her eyes, Sestra Mirna turned away from me and lifted her chin. “You must listen to me now, once more. It is imperative you strive to perform your duty to your utmost ability. If not, Sonya, you will have the blood of more Auraseers on your hands.”
Her warning grounded me with resolve, as well as a resounding chord of foreboding. She spoke of Dasha and Tola. We both understood what would become of the little girls she kept under her wing if I failed the emperor. If he executed me as he did Izolda.
“I promise,” I said.
And now as I waited for the troika, I said it again, though Sestra Mirna couldn’t hear me from where she stood at the edge of the road with Dasha and Tola, the snow swirling about their faces. Dasha lifted her little hand in a wave and gave me a delicate smile. That she, the youngest of the three, should try to comfort me in this moment nearly broke me—she whom I was abandoning, whose life I was leaving in shambles.
I wiggled my fingers back at her and forced myself to return her smile. My vow was as much for Dasha and Tola as it was for Yuliya. I would be the best Auraseer I could be. And if that meant guarding the emperor with my gift—guarding the dynasty of rulers whose law brought me the life I had known, a life torn from my family and sent into hiding with the Romska, measures that had all been for nothing—then I would do it.
I’d taken Yuliya’s wooden statue of the goddess Feya from the infirmary windowsill and tucked it into the pillow slip that now served as my traveling bag. The idol would be a constant reminder of my promise.
As Anton guided the troika from the stables, my knees wobbled. Did I feel the fatigue of the three horses, whose rest from their initial journey hadn’t been sufficient, or was the weariness my own? Did it mark the resignation I would feel until my dying breath? I touched the black ribbon I had tied around my wrist, my emblem of mourning.
The twilight deepened. A gust of frosty air blasted through the thin gray dress I wore. It was nothing more than a laundered gown meant for the sick when they breached their next level of wellness. It was a dress meant for Yuliya. I should have left it behind for her to be buried in, but Sestra Mirna insisted I wear it into Torchev. It was the best the convent could offer. All the other clothes or trinkets in my possession had, of course, been burned.
My gaze drifted to the remnants of the east wing, where I hadn’t dared to go and say good-bye, where the bones of the dead Auraseers surely lay huddled together in some terrible dying embrace. Nadia was somewhere in there. She should have been taking this journey to Torchev, not I. As I scanned the fallen east wing one last time, I searched myself for some fragment of gratification that the once-senior Auraseer was gone, but all I found was my own self-loathing.
The troika pulled alongside me. Anton glanced over the blankets wrapped around my shoulders in lieu of a coat. The frigid air cast a pink tinge across his aristocratic nose and sculpted cheekbones. I shivered for him. “Don’t you have any furs?” he asked.
“I never wear furs.” I closed my heart off from the note of concern in his voice. I would not allow myself to think the prince capable of any small kindness. I would go with him, I would serve his brother, but he would not now, nor ever, be my friend. He represented the empire, whether or not he wore its crown.
“Why?” he asked after a brief hesitation, as if he’d lost the battle of resisting his curiosity, even if it meant engaging me in further conversation. I knew he cared as little for me as I did for him.
“I feel the aura of the beast who gave its life for its hide,” I answered plainly. “I feel the pain of its death. I would rather be cold than suffer that.”
He had no response, only a slight lift of his brows, which brought me some satisfaction. Perhaps my confession was disturbing enough to render him silent for the rest of our journey.
As I moved to enter the sleigh, he held out a gloved hand. I slighted him and gripped the carved side myself. I succeeded in hefting in my own weight, but not in the proud way I’d imagined. The sleigh’s platform was too high, and I ended up half dragging, half crawling my way to sit on the bench seat beside him. He didn’t bother to catch me up by my elbow or assist me again. There was warmth enough in my skin to flush my cheeks with embarrassment.
“Is it customary,” he asked, “for Auraseers to sense feeling from the dead?” He adjusted his gloves and transferred the reins between hands. His manner was casual. Too casual. More like affected.
Flecks of white ghosted through the air between us. The snow had started falling again. “It is for me . . . when I touch something. Sestra Mirna said my gift was unnatural.” I pressed my lips together. I was speaking too much. He didn’t need to know these things. I wouldn’t report to him at the palace . . . would I?