“Anton?” I stared after him.
He paused, no more than ten feet from me, and half turned without meeting my gaze. “Remember what I told you, Sonya. Find a space within yourself and cling to it. Don’t lose yourself here.” His eyes shifted to the upper window. “Not to him.”
Before I could form a reply, Anton strode away, his dusk-blue cape billowing a brilliant arc behind him. Gone was the almost friend from the last hour, the steadying hand, the assuring voice. I saw the boy assume the role of prince in the way his boots clipped the stones, in the proud set of his chin and the narrowed slit of his eyes. He entered the palace without sparing me another glance.
My chest fell. He had done his duty to his brother. He had brought back the eldest Auraseer intact. What sheer relief he must feel to be done with me.
A stable master came and helped me off the horse. The palace doors opened and out streamed a flock of maids and attendants. Their pulsing auras revealed their surprise at the unusual delivery of the new sovereign Auraseer. I steeled myself as I let them guide me up the curving steps of the great porch, all the while mourning the sudden absence of Anton. I could no longer hide behind the folds of his cape or let the color of his eyes be my distraction.
My feet crossed the threshold into a spacious lobby where amber-inlaid floors gleamed back at me. I gazed beyond them to four sets of marble staircases, each twirling flight topped with golden rails. A magnificent painted ceiling loomed overhead. The seven gods of Riaznin sat on seven mighty steeds. At their center, beaming with seven rays, was a red sun, the symbol of Torchev—of the emperor.
I breathed in, breathed out, and sought with desperation that place Anton had urged me to find. A place of solitude within my heart. A place no other person could abuse or dominate.
I prayed such a place existed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I WAS LED TO A BEDROOM ON THE THIRD FLOOR OF THE PALACE—a great honor. The third floor was reserved for the royal family, meaning the only two left: Emperor Valko and Anton.
I refused to let myself feel important for sharing such close proximity to the emperor. As his protector, of course I needed to be nearby. If anything, it felt like a punishment rather than a blessing. I was not ready for this responsibility. Though when I saw what “close to the emperor” really meant—rooms at the opposite end of the longest corridor I’d ever seen—some relief opened my balled hands. They fisted again when I thought twice about my removed situation. Was I near enough to send warning of assassination or robbery or whatever the emperor deemed worthy of my intervention?
A luxurious rug rolled out from the gilded door of the emperor’s rooms like the red tongue of a dragon. I counted the repeating flowers woven into the design. Too many, stretching too far away. No wonder Izolda had been executed. She was well past her middle ages. Perhaps she couldn’t run down this corridor fast enough. I wasn’t sure I could do any better.
My attendants guided me inside my rooms and set my satchel on a table. I braced myself for excess, for the opulence that marked every corner and every bit of trimming in the palace. My antechamber didn’t disappoint my expectation, though I couldn’t say it pleased me. My idea of comfort would have been a bed of earth under a leafy tree, soft grass for my carpet, a ceiling painted with living stars. My time with the Romska had taught me true beauty, and it was not in the room before me.
The velvet couches had a stylish shape, but looked stiff and uninviting. In fact, nothing appeared welcoming. Every item seemed designed for one purpose—to impress. The walls were papered in a rich pattern, so red it made my head ache, and the varnish of the desk and tea table shone so highly polished I was afraid to touch them and cause some poor servant the extra chore of rubbing away my fingerprints.